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THE 



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POETICAL WORKS 



OP 



MILTON, YOUNG, GRAY, BEATTIE, 

AND COLLINS. 



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 



STEREOTYPED BY J. CRISSY AND G. GOODMAN. 



PHILADELPHIA: ^ 

JOHN GRIGG, No. 9. NORTH FOURTH STREET. 

1836. 




pi? (^ '^' 



Printed by 
T. K. & P. G. COLLINS, 
No. 1 Lodee Alley, Pliiladelphi 



2?'^ 



THE 



,^ 



OP 



JOHN MILTON. 



©ontentfii* 



Page. 
Life of Millon, • • » 

Encomiums upon Milton, • • • • " • xxx 

PARADISE LOST. 

Book I, 1 

Book 11, 8 

Book in, 18 

Book IV, 24 

BookV, .....•- 34 

Book VI, - . - • ... 42 

BookVIl, . . .... 50 

llookVlII, .56 

BookLX, 62 

BookX, 73 

Book XI, 83 

BookXn, 91 

PARADISE REGAINED. 

Book!, 97 

Book 11, 102 

Book 111, 106 

Book IV, Ill 

Sainson Agonistes^ • 117 

Comus, 12i 

POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONa 

On the death of a fair Infant, - • - - 144 
At a Vacation Exercise in llie College, - - 145 
On the morning of Christ's Nativity, - - - 146 

The Passion, 148 

On Time, 149 

Upon the Circumcision, ib. 

At a solemn Music, ib. 

An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester, 150 
Son? on May Morning, - • . • • ib. 
On Shakspv-are, . • . ib. 



Page. 

On the University Caixier, 151 

Anotlier on the Same, ib. 

L'AUegro, - ib. 

II Penseroso, 153 

Arcades, 154 

Lycidas, 155 

On (he New Forcers of Conscience under the Long 
Parliament, . . • 157 

SONNETS. 

To the Nightingale, . • - - 158 

On liis being arrived at the age of twenty -three, • ib. 
Wlicn the Assault was intended to the City, - ib. 
To a Viriiunis Young Lady, - - - • ib. 

To (he Lady Margaret Ley, - - • ib. 

On the Detraction which followed upon my writ- 
ing certain Treatises, - - - • • ib. 

On the ?anic, - - 159 

To Mr. 11. L;> wes, on the Publishing of his Airs, iU 
On the Religious Memory of Mi-s. Catlierine 

Thomson, ib. 

To the Lord General Fairfax, • • - - iU 
To the lion\ (General Cromwell, - • - ib. 
To Sir Henry Vane, the younger, - - . ib. 

On the late Massacre at Piemont, . - • 160 

On his blindness, ib. 

To Mr. I.awTence, • ib. 

To Cyriac Skinner, ...-.- ib. 
On his deceased wife, ... ib. 

To Cyriac Skinner, .... .161 

TRANSLATIONS. 

Horace to Pyrrha, 161 

Fragments, •..!&. 

Psalms, 162 

Paraphrase of Psalm cxiv, 170 

Paraphrase of Psalm csxxvi, . • • » ib. 



4 



Efit atte of Jfofin ifHflton* 



It is agreed among all writers, that the family 
of Milton came originally from Milton in Oxford- 
shire ; but from which of the Miltons is not alto- 
gether so certain. Some say, and particularly Mr. 
Philips, that the family was of Milton near Abing- 
ton, in Oxfordshire, where it had been a long time 
seated, as appears by the monuments still to be 
seen in Milton-church. But that Milton is not in 
Oxfordshire, but in Berkshire; and upon inquiry 
1 find, that there are no such monuments in that 
church, nor any remains of them. It is more pro- 
bable, therefore, that the family came, as Mr. 
Wood says, from Milton near Halton and Thame 
in Oxfordshire : where it flourished several yean 
till at last the estate was sequestered, one of the 
family having taken the unfortunate side in the 
civil wars between the houses of York and Lan 
caster. John Milton, the poet's grand-father, was, 
according to Mr. Wood, an under-ranger or keeper 
of the forest of Shotover, near Halton, in Oxford 
shire ; he was of the religion of Rome, and such a 
bigot that he disinherited his son only for being a 
protestant. Upon this, the son, the poet's father, 
named likewise John Milton, settled in London, 
and became a scrivener by the advice of a friend 
eminent in that profession : but he was not so de- 
voted to gain and to business, as to lose all taste of 
the politer arts, and was particularly skilled in 
music, in which he was not only a fine performer, 
but is also celebrated for several pieces of his com- 
position : and yet, on the other hand, he was not 
so fond of his music and amusements, as in the 
least to neglect his business, but by his diligence 
and economy acquired a competent estate, which 
enabled him afterwards to retire, and live in the 
country. He was, by all accounts, a very worthy 
man; and married an excellent woman, Sarah, of 
the ancient family of the Bradshaws, says Mr. 
Wood ; but Mr. Philips, our author's nephew, who 
was more likely to know, says, of the family of the 
Castons derived originally from Wales. Who- 
ever she was, she is said to have been a woman of 
incomparable virtue and goodness; and by her 
husband had two sons and a daughter. 

The elder of the sons was our famous poet, who 
was born in the year of our Lord 1608, on the 9th 
of December, in the morning between six and seven 
o'clock, in Bread-street, London, where his father 
lived at the sign of the spread eagle, which was 
jl2 



also the coat of arms of the family. He was named 
John, as his father and grand-father had been be- 
fore him ; and from the beginning discovering the 
marks of an uncommon genius, he was designed 
for a scholar, and had his education partly under 
private tutors, and partly at a public school. It 
has been often controverted whether a public or 
private education is best, but young Milton was 
so happy as to share the advantages of both. It 
appears from the fourth of his Latin elegies, and 
from the first and fourth of his familiar epistles, 
that Mr. Thomas Young, who was afterwards 
pastor of the company of English merchants re. 
siding at Hamburg, was one of his private precep- 
tors : and when he had made good progress in his 
studies at home, he was sent to St. Paul's school 
to be fitted for the university under the care of Mr. 
Gill, who was the master at that time, and to 
whose son are addressed some of his familiar epis- 
tles. In this early time of his hfe such was his 
love of learning, and so great was his ambition to 
surpass his equals, that from his twelfth year he 
commonly continued his studies till midnight, 
which (as he says himself in his second Defence) 
was the first ruin of his eyes, to whose natural de- 
bility too were added frequent headaches : but all 
could not extinguish or abate his laudable passion 
for letters. It is very seldom seen, that such ap- 
plication and such a genius meet in the same per- 
son. The force of either is great, but both toge- 
ther must perform wonders. 

He was now in the seventeenth year of his age, 
and was a very good classical scholar and master 
of several languages, when he was sent to the uni- 
versity of Cambridge, and admitted at Christ's 
College (as appears from the register) on the 12th 
of February, 1624-5, under the tuition of Mr. 
William Chappel, afterwards bishop of Cork and 
Ross, in Ireland. He continued above seven years 
at the university, and took two degrees, that of 
Bachelor of Arts in 1628-9, and that of Master in 
1632. It is somewhat remarkable, that though 
the merits of both our universities are perhaps 
equally great, and though poetical exercises are 
rather more encouraged at Oxford, yet most of our 
greatest poets have been bred at Cambridge, as 
Spenser, Cowley, Waller, Dryden, Prior, not to 
mention any of the lesser ones, when there is a 
greater than all, Milton. He had given early 



VI 



LIFK OF JOHN MILTON. 



proofs of his pontic gouiuB before ho went to tho 
univerHity, ami there ho excelled more and more, 
and diHtin<ruiMhed himuelf by Beveral co[)ica of 
verses upon oecnsioiiul sulijoctH, as well as by ail 
his acaileiiiical exercises, many of which arc print- 
ed anionjij his other works, and show him to have 
had a capacity above i»is ytuirs : and by his oblig- 
ing beliaviour, added to his great learning and in- 
genuity, he deservedly gained the allection of many, 
and admiration of all. Wo do not lind, however, 
tiial he obtained any preferment in tho university, 
or a fellowship in his own college ; which seems 
the more extraordinary, as that society has always 
encouraged learning and learned men, had tlie 
most excellent Mr. Meile, at that time a fellow, 
and allerwards boasts tho great names of Cud- 
worth, and Hurnet, author of the Theory of the 
Earth, and several others. And this, together 
with some Latin verses of his to a friend, rellect- 
ing upon the university seemingly on this account, 
might probably have given (KX'.asion to tho re- 
proach which was allerwards east upon him by 
his adversaries, that he was expelled fvom the uni- 
versity for irregularities conunittcd there, and 
forced ti> lly to Italy : but he sullicienlly refutes 
tliis calumny in more places than one of his works; 
and indeed it ia no woniler, that a person so en- 
gaged ill religious and |)olitical controversies as he 
was, should bo calunmiatcd and abused by tho con- 
trary party. 

lie was designed by his parents for holy orders; 
and among tho nnuiuscri|)ts of Trinity t 'ollege, in 
Cambridge, there are two draughts in Milton's 
own hand, of a letter to a friend, who had impo^ 
tuned him to take orders, when he had attained 
llie age of twenty-three : but the truth is, ho had 
conceived early prejudices against the doctrine and 
discipline of the church, and subscribing to the 
articles was in his opinion subscribing slave. 
This, no doubt, was a disapiH)intment to hi.s 
friends, who, though in comfortable, wem yet by 
uo means in great circumstances : and neither docs 
he BtH^n to have had any inclination to any other 
profession; ho had too freo a spirit to be limited 
and eonfmed ; and was for compn-hetuliiig all 
sciences, but professing none. And therefore aller 
ho liad letl the university in IGIW, he retired to his 
father's house in tiie country ; for his father had 
by this timeijuitted business, and lived at an estate 
which ho had purehast-d at liorton, near Cole- 
brooke, in Buckinghamshire. Here he n'sided 
with his parents for the space of live years, and, 
aa he himself has informed us, (in his stx'ond De- 
fence, and the seventh of his familiar Kpistles") 
rt'ad over all the Ci-eek and Latin authors, parti- 
cularly the historians; but now and then made an 
excursion to London, sometinies to buy books, or 
to meet hi« friends from Cambridge, and at other 



times to learn something new in tho mathematici 
or music, with which ho was extremely delighted. 
His retirement, therefore, was a learned retire- 
ment, and it was not long before the world reaped 
the fruits of it. It was in the year 1G31 that hia 
Mask was j>resented at Ludlow-Castlc. There 
was formerly a president of Wales, and a sort of a 
court kept at Ludlow, which has since been abo- 
lished ; and the president at that time was the Earl 
of Bridgewater, before whom Milton's Mask waa 
presented on Michaelmas night, and the princii)al 
parts, those of the two brothers, were performed by 
his Lonlship's sons, tho Lord Brackly, and Mr. 
Thomas Egerton, and that of the lady by his 
Lordship's daughter, tho Lady Alice l''gerton. 
The occasion of this poem seems to have been 
merely an accident of the two brothers and tho 
lady having lost one another on their way (o the 
castle: and it is written very much in imitation of 
Shakspeare's Tempest, and the Faithful Shefw 
herdesa of Beaumont and Fletcher; and though 
one of the first, is yet one of tho most beautiful of 
Milton's com^jositions. It was for some time 
handed about only in manuscript ; but allerwarda 
to satisfy the importunity of friends, and to sava 
the trouble of transcribing, it was jirinted at Lon- 
don, though without the author's name, in 1637, 
with a dedication to the Lord Brackly by Mr. H. 
Lawes, who comiiosed the music, and j)layed tho 
l)art of tho attendant Spirit. It was printed like- 
wise at Oxford at the end of Mr. R.'s poems, as wa 
learn from a letter of Sir Henry Wotton to our 
author ; but who that Mr. R. was, whether Ran- 
dolph, the p<M't, or who else, is uncertain. It has 
lately, though with additions and alterations, been 
exhibited on the stage several tunes. 

In UhTi, he wrote another excellent piece, his 
Lycidas, wherein he laments the untimely fate of a 
friend, who was unfortunately drowned that same 
year in the month of August, on the Irish seas, in 
his passnge from Chester. This friend was Mr. 
Kdvvard King, son of Sir John King, Secretary 
of Irelanil under tiueen Elizabeth, King James I. 
and Charles I.; and was a fellow of Christ's Col- 
lege, and was so well beloved and esteemed at 
Canjbriilge, that some of the greatest names in the 
Univei'sity have united in celebrating his obso- 
([uies, and published a collection of poems, Greek 
and Latin and English, sacred to his memory. 
The C^reek by H. More, &c.; the Latin by T. 
Farnaby, J. Pearson, &c.; the English by H. 
King, J. Beaumont, J. Cleaveland, with several 
others; and judiciously the last of all as the best 
of all, is Milton's Lycidas. " On such sacritiees 
theCiHls themselves strow incense;" and one would 
almost wish so to have dieil, for the sake of having 
lioen so lamented But this poem is not all mado 
up of sorrow and tenderness; there ia a uiixturw 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



Vll 



of satire and indignation; for in part of it tiie poet 
takes occasion to inveigii against the corruptions 
of the clergy, and seems tt> have first discovered 
his acrimony againet Archbishop Laud, and to 
have threatened him with tlie loss of his head, 
which afterwards happened to him through the 
fury of his enemies. At least I can think of no 
sense so proper to be given to the following verses 
in Lycidas. 

Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 
Dally devours apace, and nothing said ; 
But that two-handed engine at the door 
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more. 

About this time, as we learn from some of his 
familiar epistles, he had some thoughts of taking 
chambers at one of the Inns of Court, for he was 
not very well pleased with living so obscurely in 
the country : but his mother dying, he prevailed 
with his father to let him indulge a desire, which 
he had long entertained, of seeing foreign coun- 
tries, and particularly Italy: and having commu- 
nicated his design to Sir Henry Wotton, who had 
formerly been ambassador at Venice, and was 
then Provost of Eton College, and having also 
sent him his Mask, of which he had not yet pub- 
licly acknowledged himself the author, he received 
from him the following i'riendly letter dated I'rom 
the College the 10th of April, 1738. 

"Sir, 

" It was a special favour, when you lately 
bestowed upon me here the first taste of your ac- 
quaintance, though no longer than to make me 
know, that I wanted more time to value it, and to 
enjoy it rightly. And in truth, if I could then 
have imagined your farther stay in these parts, 
which I understood afterwards by Mr. H., I would 
have been bold, in our vulgar phrase, to mend my 
draught, for you left me with an extreme thirst, 
and to have begged your conversation again joint- 
ly with your said learned friend, at a poor meal or 
two, that we might have banded together some 
good authors of the ancient time, among which I 
observed you to have been familiar. 

" Since your going, you have charged me with 
new obligations, both for a very kind letter from 
you, dated the sixth of this month, and for a 
dainty piece of entertainment, that came there- 
with; wherein I should much commend the tra- 
gical part, if the lyrical did not ravish with a cer- 
tain doric delicacy in your songs and oiles, where- 
in I nmst plainly confess to have seen yet nothing 
parallel in our language, ipsa mollUies. But 1 
must not omit to tell you, that I now only owe you 
thanks for intimating unto me, how modestly so- 
ever, the true artificer. For the work itself I had 
viewed some good while before with singular de- 
light, having received it from our common friend 



Mr. R. in the very close of the late R.'s poems, 
printed at Oxford; whereunto it is added, as I 
now suppose, that the accessory might help out 
the principal, according to the art of stationers, 
and leave the reader con la bocca doke. 

" Now, Sir, concerning your travels, wherein I 
may challenge a little more privilege of discourse 
with you; I suppose, you will not blanch Paris in 
your way. Therefore I have been bold to trouble 
you with a few lines to Mr. M. B. whom you shall 
easily find attending the young Lord S. as his go- 
vernor ; and you may surely receive from him good 
directions for shaping of your farther journey into 
Italy, where he did reside by my choice somo 
time for the king, after mine own recess from 
Venice. 

" I should think that your best Une will be 
through the whole length of France to Marseilles, 
and thence by sea to Genoa, whence the passage 
into Tuscany is as diurnal as a Gravcsend barge. 
I hasten, as you do, to Florence or Sienna, the 
rather to tell you a short story, from the interest 
you have given me in your safety. 

" At Sienna I was tabled in the house of one 
Alberto Scipione, an old Roman courtier, iu dan- 
gerous times, having been steward to the Duca di 
Pagliano, who witii all his family were strangled, 
save this only man, that escaped by foresight of 
the tempest. With liiin I had often much chat 
of those affairs; into which he took pleasure to 
look back from his native harbour; and at my de- 
parture toward Rome, which had been the centre 
of his experience, I had won confidence enough to 
beg his advice, how I might carry myself securely 
there, without oflencc of others, or of my own con- 
science: Signor Arrigo meo, says he, i pensieri 
strelti, il visa scioUo, that is, your thoughts 
close, and your countenance loose, will go safely 
over the whole world. Of which Delphian oracl« 
(for so I found it) your judgment doth need no 
commentary; and therefore. Sir, I will commit 
you with it to the best of all securities, God's dear 
love, remaining your friend, as much at command 
aa any of longer date. 

H. Wotton 

" P. S. Sir, I have expressly sent this by my 
footboy to prevent your departure, without some 
acknowledgment from me of the receipt of your 
obliging letter, having myself through some busi- 
ness, I know not how, neglected the ordinary con- 
veyance. In any part where I shall understand 
you fixed, I shall be glad and diligent to enter* 
tain you with home-novelties, even for some fo-« 
mentation of our friendship, too soon interrupted 
in the cradle." 

Soon after this he set out upon his travels, being 
of an age to make the proper improvements, and 



Viii 



LIFE OP JOHN MILTON. 



not barely to sec sights and to learn the languages, 
like most of our modern travellers, who go out 
boys, and return such ns we see, but such as I do 
not clioi>se to name. lie was attended by only one 
servant, who accompanied him through all his tra- 
vels; and he went Hrstto France, where he had re- 
commendations to the Lord Scudamore, the English 
ambassador there at that lime; and as soon as he 
came to Paris, he waited upon his Lordship, and 
was received with wonderful civility; and having 
an earnest desire to vis-it the learned Hugo Gro- 
tins, he was by his Lordship's means introduced 
to that great man, who was then ambassador at 
the French court from the famous Christina Glueen 
of Sweden; and the visit was to their mutual sa- 
tisfaction ; they were each of them pleased to see 
a person, of whom they had heard such commen- 
dations. But at Paris he stayed not long; his 
thougiits and his wishes hastened into Italy; and 
80 alter a few days ho took leave of the Lord Scu- 
damore, who very kindly gave him letters to the 
English merchants, in the several places through 
which he was to travel, requesting them to do him 
all the good ollices which lay in their power. 

From Paris he went directly to Nice, where he 
took slii|)ping for Genoa, from whence he went to 
Leghorn, and thence to Pisa, and so to Florence, 
in which city he found sutlicient inducements to 
make a stay of two months. For besiilos the curio- 
eilies and other beauties of the place, he took great 
delight in the company and conversation there, and 
frequented their academies as they are called, the 
meetings of the most polite and ingenious persons, 
which they have in this, as well as in the other 
princip;d cities of Italy, for the exercise and im- 
provement of wit and learning among them. And 
in these conversations he bore so good a part, and 
produced so many excellent com[X)sitions, that he 
was soon taken notice of, and was very much 
courted and caressed by several of the nobility and 
prime wits of Florence. For the manner is, as he 
says himself in the preface to his second book of 
the Reason of Church-government, tiiat every one 
must give some proof of his wit and reading there, 
and his productions were received with written en- 
tomiums which the Italian is not forward to bestow 
on men of this side the Alps. Jacomo Gaddi, An- 
tonio Francini, Carlo Dati, Beneditto Bonmatthei, 
Cultellino, Frescobaldi, Clementilli, are reckoned 
among his particular friends. At Gaddi's house 
the academies were held, which he constantly fre- 
quented. Antonio Francini composed an Italian 
ode in his commendation. Carlo Dati wrote a La- 
tin eulogium of him, and corresponded with him 
after his return to England. Bonmatthei was at 
that time about publishing an Italian grannnar; 
and the eighth of our author's familiar epistles, 
dated at Florence, September 10, 1G38, is address- 
ed to him upon that occasion, commending his de- 



sign, and advising him to add some observations 
concerning the true pronunciation of that language 
for the use of foreigners. 

So much good acquaintance would probably 
have detained him longer at Florence, if he had 
not been going to Rome, which to a curious travel- 
ler is certainly the place the most worth seeing of 
any in the world. And so he took leave of his 
friends at Florence, and went from thence to Sien- 
na, and from Sienna to Rome, where he stayed 
much about the same time that he had continued 
at Florence, feasting both his eyes and his mind, 
and delighted with the fine paintings and sculp- 
tures, and other rarities and antiquities of the city, 
as well as with the conversation of several learned 
and ingenious men, and particularly of Lucas Hol- 
stenius, keeper of the Vatican library, who re- 
ceived him with the greatest humanity, and show- 
ed him all the Greek authors, whether in print or 
in manuscript, whic^h had passed through his cor- 
rection; and also presented him to Cardinal Bar- 
lierini, who at an entertainment of music, perform- 
ed at his own exjiense, waited for him at the door, 
and taking him by the hand brought him into the 
assembly. The next morning he waited upon the 
Cardinal to return him thanks for his civilities, 
and by the means of Holstenius was again intro- 
duced to his Eminence, and spent some time in 
conversation with him. It seems that Holstemns 
had studied three years at Oxford, and this might 
disjwse him to be more friendly to the English, but 
he took a particular liking and afVection to Milton; 
ami Milton, to thank him for all his favours, wrote 
to him afterwards from Florence the ninth of his 
familiar epistles. At Rome too Selvaggi made a 
Latin distich in honour of Milton, and SalfiUi a 
Latin tetrastich, celebrating him for his Greek and 
Latin and Italian jKtetry; and he in return pre- 
sented to Saltilh in his sickness those fine Scazons, 
or Iambic verses having a spondee in the last foot, 
which are inserted among his juvenile poems. 

From Rome he went to Naples, in company 
with a certain hermit ; ami by his means was in- 
troduced to the acquaintance of Giovanni Baptista 
Maiiso, Marquis of Villa, a NeajKilitan nobleman, 
of singular merit and virtue, to whom Tasso ad- 
dresses his dialogue of friendship, and whom ho 
mentions likewise in his Gierusalemme Libcrata 
with great honour. This nobleman was particu- 
larly civil to Milton, frequently visited him at his 
lodgings, and went with him to show him the 
Viceroy's palace, and whatever was curious or 
worth notice in the city ; and moreover he honour- 
ed him so far as to make a Latin distich in his 
praise, which is printed liefore our author's Latin 
j>oems, as is likewise the other of Selvaggi, and the 
Latin tetrastich of Salhlli together with the Italian 
ode and the Latin eulogium before mentioned. We 
may suppose that Milton was not a little pleased 



LIFE OP JOHN MILTON. 



k 



Vvith the honours conferred upon him by so many 
persons of distinction, and especially by one of 
such quality and eminence as the Marquis of Vil- 
la; and as a testimony of his gratitude he present- 
ed to the Marquis at his departure from Naples 
his eclogue intitled Mansus, which is well worth 
reading among his Latin poems. So that it may 
be reckoned a peculiar felicity of the Marquis of 
Villa's life, to have been celebrated both by Tasso 
and Milton, the one the greatest modem poet of 
his own, and the other the greatest of foreign na- 
tions. 

Having seen the finest parts of Italy, Milton 
was now thinking of passing over into Sicily and 
Greece, when he was diverted from his purpose by 
the news from England, that things were tending 
to a civil war between the King and Parliament : 
for he thought it unworthy of himself to be taking 
his pleasure abroad, while his countrymen were 
contending for liberty at home. He resolved tlierc- 
fore to return by the way of Rome, though he was 
advised to the contrary by the merchants, who had 
received intelligence from their correspondents, 
that the English Je.suits there were forming plots 
against him, in case he should return thither, by 
reason of the great freedom which he had used in 
all his discourses of religion. For he had by no 
means observed the rule, recommended to him by 
Sir Henry Wotton, of keeping his thoughts close 
and his countenance open. He had visited Gali- 
leo, a prisoner to the Inquisition, for asserting the 
motion of the earth, and thinking otherwise in as- 
tronomy than the Dominicans and Franciscans 
thought. And though the Marquis of Villa had 
Bhown him such distinguishing marks of favour at 
Naples, yet he told him at his departure that he 
would have shown him much greater, if he had 
been more reserved in matters of religion. But he 
had a soul above dissimulation and disguise; he 
was neither afraid nor ashamed to vindicate the 
truth ; and if any man had, he had in him the spi- 
rit of an old martyr. He was so prudent indeed, 
that he would not of his own accord begin any 
discourse of religion ; but at the same time he was 
so honest, that if he was questioned at all about 
Lis faith, he would not dissemble his sentiments, 
whatever was the consequence. And with this 
resolution he went to Rome the second time, and 
stayed there two months more, neither concealing 
his name, nor declining openly to defend the truth, 
if any thought proper to attack him : and yet, God's 
good providence protecting him, he came safe to 
his kind friends at Florence, where he was received 
with as much joy and affection as if ho had re- 
turned into his own country. 

Here likewise he stayed two months, as he had 
done before, excepting only an excursion of a few 
days to Lucca; and then crossing the Appenine, 
and passing through Bologna and Ferrara, he 



came to Venice, in which city he spent a month; 
and having shipped off the books which he had 
collected during his travels, and particularly a chest 
or two of choice music books of the best masters 
flourishing about that time in Italy, he took h\a 
course through Verona, Milan, and along the lake 
Leman to Geneva. In this city he tarried some 
time, meeting here with people of his own princi^ 
pies, and contracted an intimate friendship with 
Giovanni Deodati, the most learned professor of 
divinity, whose annotations upon the Bible are 
published in English. And from thence return- 
ing through France, the same way that he had 
gone before, he arrived safe in England, after a 
peregrination of one year and about three months, 
having seen more, and learned more, and con- 
versed with more famous men, and made more 
real improvements, than most others in double the 
time. 

His first business after his return was to pay 
his duty to his father, and to visit his other friends} 
but this pleasure was much diminished by the loss 
of his dear friend and schoolfellow Charles Deo- 
dati in his absence. While he was abroad, he 
heard it reported that he was dead ; and upon his- 
coming home he found it but too true, and lamented 
his death in an excellent Latin eclogue entitled 
Epitaphium Damonis. This Deodati had a father 
originally of Lucca, but his mother was English, 
and he was born and bred in England, and studied 
physic, and was an admirable scholar, and no less 
remarkable for his sobriety and other virtues than 
for his great learning and ingenuity. One or two 
of Milton's familiar epistles are addressed to him; 
and Mr. Toland says that he had in his hands 
two Greek letters of Deodati to Milton, very hand- 
somely written. It may be right for scholars now 
and then to exercise themselves in Greek and La- 
tin ; but we have much more frequent occasion to 
write letters in our own native language, and in 
that therefore we should principally endeavour to 
excel. 

Milton soon after his return, had taken a lodg- 
ing at one Russel's, a taylor, in St. Bride's Church- 
yard ; but he continued not long there, having not 
sufficient room for his library and furniture; and 
therefore determined to take a house, and accord- 
ingly took a handsome garden-house in Aldersgate 
street, situate at tlie end of an entry, which was 
the more agreeable to a studious man for its privacy 
and freedom from noise and disturbance. And in 
this house he continued several years, and his sis- 
ter's two sons were put to board with him, first 
the younger and afterwards the elder: and some 
other of his intimate friends requested of him the 
same favour for their sons, especially since there 
was little more trouble in instructing half a dozen 
than two or three : and he, who could not easily 
deny any thing to his friends, and who knew that 



LIFE OP JOHN MILTON, 



the greatest men in all ages had delighted in teach- 
ing others the principles of knowledge and virtue, 
undertook the office, not out of any sordid and 
mercenary views, but more from a benevolent dis- 
position, and a desire to do good. And his method 
of education was as much above the pedantry and 
jargon of the common schools, as his genius was 
superior to that of a common school-master. One 
of his nephews has given us an account of the 
many authors both Latin and Greek, which (be- 
sides those usually read in the schools) through 
his excellent judgment and way of teaching were 
run over within no greater compass of time, than 
firom ten to fifteen or sixteen years of age. Of 
the Latin the four authors concerning husbandry, 
Cato, Varro, Columella, and Palladius, Cornelius 
Celsus the physician, a great part of Pliny's Na- 
tural History, the Architecture of Vitruvius, the 
Stratagems of Frontinus, and the philosophical 
poets Lucretius and Manilius. Of the Greek He- 
siod, Aratus' Phenomena and Diosemeia, Diony- 
sius Afer de situ orbis, Oppian's Cynegetics and 
Halieutics, Cluintus Calaber's poem of the Trojan 
war continued from Homer, ApoUonius Rhodius' 
Argonautics, and in prose, Plutarch's Placita phi- 
losophorum, and of the education of children. Xe- 
nophon's Cyropsedia and Anabasis, Elian's Tac- 
tics, and the stratagems of Polyaenus. Nor did 
this application to the Greek and Latin tongues 
hinder the attaining to the chief oriental languages, 
the Hebrew, Chaldee and Syriac, so far as to go 
through the Pentateuch or five books of Moses in 
Hebrew, to make a good entrance into the Tar- 
gum or Chaldee paraphrase, and to understand 
several chapters of St. Matth«w in the Syriac 
Testament ; besides the modern languages, Italian 
and French, and a competent knowledge of the 
mathematics and astronomy. The Sunday's ex- 
ercise for his pupils was for the most part to read 
a chapter of Greek Testament, and to hear his 
learned exposition of it. The next work after 
this was to write from his dictation some part of a 
system of divinity, which he had collected from 
the ablest divines, who had written upon that sub- 
ject. Such were his academic institutions ; and 
thus by teaching others he in some measure en- 
larged his own knowledge; and having the read- 
ing of so many authors as it were by proxy, he 
might possibly have preserved his sight, if he had 
not moreover been perpetually busied in reading 
or writing something himself It was certainly a 
very recluse and studious life, that both he and his 
pupils led; but the young men of that age were 
of a different turn from those of the present ; and 
he himself gave an example to those under him 
of hard study and spare diet ; only now and then, 
once in three weeks or a month, he made a gaudy 
day with some young gentlemen of his acquaint- 
ance, the chief of whom, says Mr. Philips, were 



Mr. Alphry and Mr. Miller, both of Gray's Inr^ 
and two of the greatest beaus of those times. 

But he was not so fond of this academical life, 
as to be an indifferent spectator of what was acted 
upon the public stage of the world. The nation 
was now in a great ferment in 1641, and the cla- 
mour run high against the bishops, when he joined 
loudly in the cry, to help the puritan ministers, (as 
he says himself in his second Defence) they being 
inferior to the bishops in learning and eloquence; 
and published his two books. Of Reformation in 
England, written to a friend. About the same 
time certain ministers having published a treatise 
against episcopacy, in answer to the Humble Re- 
monstrance of Dr. Joseph Hall, Bishop of Nor- 
wich, under the title of Smectymnuus, a word 
consisting of the initial letters of their names, Ste- 
phen Marshal, Edmund Calamy, Thomas Young, 
Matthew Newcomen, and William Spurstow; 
and Archbishop Usher having published at Ox- 
ford a refutation of Smectymnuus, in a tract con- 
cerning the original of Bishops and Metropolitans; 
Milton wrote his little piece Of Prelatical Episco- 
pacy, in opposition chiefly to Usher, for he was foi 
contending with the most powerful adversary; 
there would be either less disgrace in the defeat, 
or more glory in the victory. He handled the 
subject more at large in his next performance, 
which was the Reason of Church Government 
urged against Prelacy, in two books. And Bishop 
Hall having published a Defence of the Humble 
Remonstrance, he wrote Animadversions upon it. 
All these treatises he published within the course 
of one year, 1641, which show how very diligent 
he was in the cause that he had undertaken. And 
the next year he set forth his Apology for Smec- 
tymnuus, in answer to the Confutation of his Ani- 
madversions, written as he thought himself by 
Bishop Hall, or his son. And here very luckily 
ended a controversy, which detained him from 
greater and better writings which he was medi- 
tating, more useful to the pubUc, as well as more 
suitable to his own genius and inclination : but he 
thought all this while that he was vindicating 
ecclesiastical Uberty. 

In the year 1643, and the thirty-fifth year of his 
age, he married ; and indeed his family was now 
growing so numerous, that it wanted a mistress 
at the head of it. His father, who had hved with 
his younger son at Reading, was, upon the taking 
of that place by the forces under the Earl of Es- 
sex, necessitated to come and live in London with 
this his elder son, with whom he continued in 
tranquillity and devotion to his dying day. Some 
addition too was to be made to the number of his 
pupils. But before his father or his new pupils 
were come, he took a journey in the Whitsuntide 
vacation, and after a month's absence returned 
with a wife, Mary the eldest daughter of Mr, 



LIFE OF JOHi\ MILTON. 



XI 



Richard Powell, of Foresthill, near Shotover in 
Oxfordshire, a justice of the peace, and a gentle- 
man of good repute and figure in that county. But 
she had not cohabited with her husband above a 
month, before she was earnestly solicited by her 
relations to come and spend the remaining part 
of the summer with them in the country. If it 
was not at her instigation that her friends made 
this request, yet at least it was agreeable to her 
inclination; and she obtained her husband's con- 
sent upon a promise of returning at Michaelmas. 
And in the mean while his studies went on very 
vigorously; and his chief diversion, after the busi- 
ness of the day, was now and then in an evening 
to visit the Lady Margaret Lee, daughter of the 
Earl of Marlborough, Lord High Treasurer of 
England, and President of the Privy Council to 
King James I. This Lady, being a woman of 
excellent wit and understanding, had a particular 
honour for our author, and took great delight in his 
conversation ; as likewise did her husband Captain 
Hobson, a very accomplished gentleman. And 
what a regard Milton again had for her, he has 
left upon record in a sonnet to her praise, exta)it 
among his other poems. 

Michaelmas was now come, but he heard no- 
thing of his wife's return. He wrote to her, but 
■ received no answer. He wrote again letter after 
letter, but received no answer to any of them. He 
then despatched a messenger with a letter, de- 
siring her to return; but she positively refused, 
and dismissed the messenger with contempt. 
Whether it was, that she had conceived any dis- 
like to her husband's person or humour; or whe- 
ther she could not conform to his retired and phi- 
losophical manner of life, having been accustom- 
ed to a house of much gaiety and company ; or 
whether being of a family strongly attached to 
the royal cause, she could not bear her husband's 
republican priftciples; or whether she was over- 
persuaded by her relations, who possibly might 
repent of having matched the eldest daughter of 
the family to a man so distinguished for taking 
the contrary party, the King's head-quarters being 
in their neighbourhood at Oxford, and his Majesty 
having now some fairer prospect of success ; whe- 
ther any or all of these were the reasons of this 
extraordinary behaviour; however it was, it so 
highly incensed her husband, that he thought it 
would be dishonourable ever to receive her again 
after such a repulse, and he determined to repu- 
diate her as she had in effect repudiated him, and 
to consider her no longer as his wife. And to 
fortify this his resolution, and at the same time to 
justify it to the world, he wrote the Doctrine and 
Discipline of Divorce, wherein he endeavours to 
prove, that indisposition, unfitness, or contrariety 
of mind, proceeding from any unchangeable cause 
m nature, hindering and ever likely to hinder the 



main benefits of conjugal society, which arerso^ 
lace and peace, are greater reasons of divorce than 
adultery or natural frigidity, especially if there be 
no children, and there be mutual consent for se- 
paration. He published it at first without his 
name, but the style easily betrayed the author; 
and afterwards a second edition, much augment- 
ed, with his name; and he dedicated it to the Par- 
liament of England with the Assembly of Divines, 
that as they were then consulting about the gene- 
ral reformation of the kingdom, they might also 
take this particular case of domestic liberty into 
their consideration. And then, as it was objected, 
that his doctrine was a novel notion, and a paradox 
that no body had ever asserted before, he endea- 
voured to confirm his own opinion by the authority 
of others, and published in 1644 the Judgment of 
Martin Bucer, &c. : and as it was still objected, 
that his doctrine could not be reconciled to Scrip- 
ture, he published, in 1645, his Tetrachordon, or 
Expositions upon the four chief places in Scrip- 
ture, which treat of marriage, or nullities in mar- 
riage. At the first appearing of the Doctrine and 
Discipline of Divorce the clergy raised a heavy 
outcry against it, and daily solicited the Parlia- 
ment to pass some censure upon it ; and at last 
one of them, in a sermon preached before the 
Lords and Commons on a day of humiliation in 
August, 1644, roundly told them that there was a 
book abroad, which deserved to be burned, and 
that among their other sins they ought to repent, 
that they had not yet branded it with some mark 
of their displeasure. And Mr. Wood informs us, 
that upon Milton's publishing his three books of 
Divorce, the Assembly of Divines, that was then 
sitting at Westminster, took special notice of them; 
and notwithstanding his former services in writing 
against the bishops, caused him to be summoned 
before the House of Lords : but that House, whe- 
ther approving his doctrine, or not favouring his 
accusers, soon dismissed him. He was attacked 
too from the press as well as from the pulpit, in a 
pamphlet entitled Divorce at Pleasure, and in ano- 
ther entitled an Answer to the Doctrine and Dis- 
cipline of Divorce, which was licensed and recom- 
mended by Mr. Joseph Caryl, a famous Presby- 
terian divine, and author of a voluminous com- 
mentary on the book of Job : and Milton, in his 
Colasterion or Reply, published in 1645, expostu- 
lates smartly with the licenser, as well as hand lea 
very roughly the nameless author. And thesa 
provocations, I suppose, contributed not a little to 
make him such an enemy to the Presbyterians, to 
whom he had before distinguished himself a 
friend. He composed likewise two of his sonnets 
on the reception his book of Divorce met with, but 
the latter is much the better of the two. To this 
account it may be added from Antony Wood, that 
after the King's restoration, when the subject of 



xu 



LIFE OP JOHN MILTON. 



divorce was under consideration with the Lords 
upon the account of John Lord Ross, or Roos, his 
separation from his wife Anne Pierpoint, eldest 
daughter to Henry, Marquis of Dorchester, he 
was consulted by an eminent member of that 
House, and about the same time by a chief officer 
of state, as being the prime person who was know- 
ing in that affair. 

But while he was engaged in this controversy 
of divorce, he was not so totally engaged in it, but 
he attended to other things; and about this time 
published his Letter of Education to Mr. Samuel 
Hartlib, who wrote some things about husbandry, 
and was a man of considerable learning, as ap- 
pears from the letters which passed between him 
and the famous Mr. Mede, and from Sir William 
Petty's and Pell the mathematician's writing to 
him, the former his Treatise for the Advancement 
of some particular parts of Learning, and the lat- 
ter his Idea of the Mathematics, as well as from 
this letter of our author. This letter of our au- 
thor has usually been printed at the end of his 
poems, and is as I may say the theory of his own 
practice; and by the rules which he has laid down 
for education, we see in some measure the method 
that he pursued in educating his own pupils. 
And in 1644, he published his Areopagitica, or 
Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing to 
the Parliament of England. It was written at 
the desire of several learned men, and is perhaps 
the best vindication that has been published at 
any time or in any language, of that liberty which 
is the basis and support of all other liberties, the 
liberty of the press: but alas, it had not the de- 
sired effect; for the Presbyterians were as fond of 
exercising the licensing power, when they got it 
into their own hands, as they had been clamor- 
ous before in inveighing against it, while it was in 
the hands of the prelates. And Mr. Toland is 
mistaken in saying, " that such was the effect of 
this piece, that the following year Mabol, a li- 
censer, offered reasons against licensing; and at 
his own request was discharged that office." For 
neither was the licenser's name Mabol, but Gil- 
bert Mabbot; neither was he discharged from his 
office till May, 1649, about five years afterwards, 
though probably he might be swayed by Milton's 
arguments, as every ingenuous person must, who 
peruses and considers them. And in 164.5, was 
published a collection of his poems, Latin and 
English, the principal of which are on the Morn- 
ing of Christ's Nativity, L'Allegro, II Penseroso, 
Lycidas, the Mask, &c. &c.: and if he had left 
no other monuments of his poetical genius behind 
him, these would have been sufficient to have ren- 
dered his name immortal. 

But without doubt his Doctrine of Divorce and 
the maintenance of it principally engaged his 
tlioughts at this period; and whether others were 



convinced or not at his arguments, he was certain- 
ly convinced himself that he was in the right ; and 
as aproof of it he determined to marry again, and 
made his addresses to a young lady of great wit 
and beauty, one of the daughters of Dr. Davis. 
But intelligence of this coming to his wife, and 
the then declining state of the King's cause, and 
consequently of the circumstances of Justice Pow- 
ell's family, caused them to set all engines on work 
to restore the wife again to her husband. And 
his friends too for different reasons seem to have 
been as desirous of bringing about a reconciliation 
as her's, and this method of effecting it was con- 
certed between them. He had a relation, one 
Blackborough, living in the lane of St. Martin's 
Le Grand, whom he often visited; and one day 
when he was visiting there, it was contrived that 
the wife should be ready in another room ; and as 
he was thinking of nothing less, he was surprised 
to see her, whom he had expected never to have 
seen any more, faUing down upon her knees at his 
feet, and imploring his forgiveness with tears. At 
first he showed some signs of aversion, but he con- 
tinued not long inexorable; his wife's intreaties, 
and the intercession of friends on both sides, soon 
wrought upon his generous nature, and procured 
a happy reconciliation with an act of oblivion of 
all that was past. But he did not take his wife 
home immediately; it was agreed that she should 
remain at a friend's, till the house that he had 
newly taken was fitted for their reception; for 
some other gentlemen of his acquaintance, having 
observed the great success of his method of educa- 
tion, had recommended their sons to his care ; and 
his house in Aldersgate-street not being large 
enough, he had taken a larger in Barbican: and 
till this could be got ready, the place pitched upon 
for his wife's abode was the widow Webber's house 
in St. Clement's Churchyard, whose second daugh- 
ter had been married to the other brother many 
years before. The part that Milton acted in this 
whole affair, showed plainly that he had a spirit 
capable of the strongest resentment, but yet more 
inclinable to pity and forgiveness: and neither in 
this was any injury done to the other lady, whom 
he was courting, for she is said to have been al- 
ways averse from the motion, not daring I suppose 
to venture in marriage with a man who was known 
to have a wife still I'ving. He might not think 
himself too at liberty as before, while his wife con- 
tinued obstinate; for his most plausible argument 
for divorce proceeds upon a supposition, that the 
thing be done with mutual consent. 

After his wife's return his family was increased 
not only with children, but also with his wife's re- 
lations, her father and mother, her brothers and 
sisters, coming to live with him in the general dis- 
tress and ruui of the royal party: and he was so 
far from resenting their former ill treatment of him, 



LIFE OP JOHN MILTON. 



XUI 



that he generously protected them, and entertained 
them very hospitably, till their affairs were accom- 
modated through his interest with the prevailing 
faction. And then upon their removal, and the 
death of his own father, his house looked again 
'ike the house of the Muses ; but his studies had 
like to have been interrupted by a call to public 
business ; for about this time there was a design 
of constituting him Adjutant General in tlie army 
under Sir WiUiam Waller ; but the new modelling 
of the army soon following, that design was laid 
aside. And not long after, his great house in Bar- 
bican being now too large for his family, he quit- 
ted it for a smaller in High Holborn, which open- 
ed backward into Lincoln's Inn Fields, where he 
prosecuted his studies till the King's trial and 
death, when the Presbyterians declaiming tragi- 
cally against the King's execution, and asserting 
that his person was sacred and inviolable, provoked 
him to write the Tenure of Kings and Magistrates, 
proving that it is lawful to call a tyrant to account 
and to depose and put him to death, and that they 
who of late so much blame deposing are the men 
who did it themselves : and he published it at the 
beginning of the year 1649, to satisfy and com- 
pose the minds of the people. Not long after this 
he wrote his Observat.io.ns on the Articles of Peace 
between the Earl of Ormond and the Irish Rebels. 
A nd in these and all his writings, whatever others 
of different parties may think, he thought himself 
an advocate for true liberty, for ecclesiastical liber- 
ty in his treatises against the bishops, for domestic 
liberty in his books of divorce, and for civil liberty 
in his writings against the king in defence of the 
parliament and people of England. | 

After this he retired again to his private studies; ; 
and thinking that he had leisure enough for sucli \ 
a work, he applied himself to the writing of a His- ! 
tory of England, which he intended to deduce, 
from the earliest accounts down to his own times: 
and he had finished four books of it, when neither 
courting nor expecting any such preferment, he 
was invited by the Council of State to be their 
Latin Secretary for foreign affairs. And he served 
in the same capacity under Oliver, and Richard, [ 
and the Rump, till the Restoration ; and without 
doubt a better Latin pen could not have been found 
in the kingdom. For the Republic and Cromwell 
scorned to pay that tribute to any foreign Prince, 
which is usually paid to the French king, of ma-; 
naging their affairs in his language ; they thought 
it an indignity and meanness to which this or any 
free nation ought not to submit ; and took a noble 
resolution neither to write any letters to any foreign 
states, nor to receive any answers from them, but 
in the Latin tongue, which was common to them ' 
all. 

But it was not only in foreign dispatches that 
the government made use of his pen. He had dis- ' 
B 



charged the business of his office a very little time, 
before he was called to a work of another kind. 
For soon after the king's death was published a 
book under his name, entitled 'Eiiteev Bsia-i\iiiii, or the 
Royal Image: and this book, like Csesar's last 
will, making a deeper impression, and exciting 
greater commiseration in the minds of the people, 
than the king himself did while alive, Milton was 
ordered to prepare an answer to it, which was 
published by authority, and entitled E/xowxxao-Jif, 
or the Image-breaker, the famous surname of many 
Greek emperors, who, in their zeal against idola- 
try, broke all superstitious images to pieces. This 
piece was translated into French ; and two replies 
to it were published, one in 1651, and the other in 
1692, upon the reprinting of Milton's book at 
Amsterdam. In this controversy a heavy charge 
has been alleged against Milton. Some editions 
of the king's book have certain prayers added at 
the end, and among them a prayer in time of cap- 
tivity, which is taken from that of Pamela in Sir 
Philip Sidney's Arcadia : and it is said, that this 
prayer was added by the contrivance and artifice 
of Milton, who, together with Bradshaw, prevail- 
ed upon the printer to insert it, that from thence 
he might take occasion to bring a scandal upon 
the king, and to blast the reputation of his book, 
as he has attempted to do in the first section of his 
answer. This fact is related chiefly upon the au- 
thority of Henry Hills the printer, wiio had fre- 
quently affirmed it to Dr. Gill and Dr. Bernard, 
his physicians, as they themselves have testified. 
But Hills was not himself the printer, who was 
dealt with in this manner, and consequently he 
could have the story only from hearsay: and 
though he was Cromwell's printer, yet afterwards 
he turned papist in the reign of James II, in order 
to be that King's printer, and it was at that time 
that he used to relate this story ; so that I think, little 
credit is due to his testimony. And indeed I can 
not but hope, and believe, that Milton had a soul 
above being guilty of so mean an action, to serve 
so mean a purpose ; and there is as little reason for 
fixing it upon him, as he had to traduce the king 
for profaning the duty of prayer " with the pollut- 
ed trash of Romances." For there arc not many 
finer prayers in the best books of devotion; and 
the king might as lawfully borrow and apply it to 
his own occasions, as the Apostle miglit make 
quotations from Heathen poems and plays : and it 
became Milton the least of all men to bring such 
an accusation against the king, as he was himself 
particularly fond of reading romances, and has 
made use of them in some of the best and latest 
of his writings. 

But his most celebrated work in prose is his De- 
fence of the people of England against Salmasius, 
Defensio pro populo Anglicano contra Claudii 
Anonymi, alias Salmasia, Defensionem Regiam. 



XIV 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



Salniasius, by birth a Frenchman, succeeded the 
famous Scaliger as honorary Professor of the uni- 
versity of Lcyden, and had gained great reputa- 
tion by his Piinian Excrcitations on Solinus, and 
by his critical remarks on several Latin and Greek 
authors, and was generally esteemed one of the 
greatest and most consummate scholars of that 
age : and is commended by Milton himself in his 
Reason of Church Government, and called the 
learned Salniasius. And besides his great learn- 
ing he had extraordinary talents in railing. " This 
prince of scholars, as somebody said of him, seemed 
to have erected his throne upon a heap of stones, 
that he might have them at hand to throw at every 
one's head who passed by," He was, therefore, 
courted by Charles II, as the most able man to 
write a defence of the late king, his father, and to 
traduce his adversaries, and a hundred Jacobuses 
were given him for that purpose, and the book was 
published in 1619, with this title, Defensio Regia 
pro Carolo I. ad Carolum II. No sooner did this 
book appear in England, but the Council of State 
unanimously appointed Milton, who was then pre- 
sent, to answer it : and he performed the task with 
amazing spirit and vigour, though his health at 
that time was such, that he could hardly endure 
the fiitigue of writing, and being weak in body he 
was forced to write by piece-meal, and to break ofl' 
almost every hour, as he says himself in the intro- 
duction. This necessarily occasioned some delay, 
60 that his Defence of the people of England was 
not made public till the beginning of the year 
IG.'jl : and they who can not read the original, may 
yet have the pleasure of reading the English trans- 
lation by Mr. Washington, of the Temple, which 
was printed in 1G9'2, and is inserted among Mil- 
ton's works in the two last editions. It was some- 
what extraordinary, that Salniasius, a pensioner 
to a republic, should pretend to write a defence of 
monarchy, but the States showed their disappro- 
bation by publicly condemning his book, and or- 
dering it to be suppressed. And, on the other 
hand, Milton's book was burnt at Paris, and at 
Toulouse, by the hands of the common hangman; 
but this served only to procure it the more readers : 
it was read and talked of every where, and even 
they who were of diflcrent principles, yet could 
not but acknowledge that he was a good defender 
of a bad cause ; and Salmasius's book underwent 
only one impression, while this of Milton passed 
through several editions. On the first appearance 
of it, he was visited or invited by all the foreign 
ministers at London, not excepting even those of 
crowned heads; and was particularly honoured 
and esteemed by Adrian Paaw, ambasssador from 
the States of Holland. He was likewise highly 
complimented by letters from the most learned and 
ingenious persons in France and Germany ; and 
Leonard Philaras, an Athenian born, and ambas- 



sador from the Duke of Parma to the French kin*, 
wrote a fine encomium of his Defence, and sent 
him his picture, as appears from Milton's Letter 
to Philaras, dated at London, in June, 1653. And 
what gave hun the greatest satisfaction, the work 
was highly applauded by those, who had desired 
liim to undertake it ; and they made him a present 
of a thousand pounds, which, in those days of fru- 
gality, was reckoned no inconsiderable reward for 
his performance. But the case was far otherwise 
with Salniasius. He was then in high favour at 
the court of Christina, Clucen of Sweden, who 
had invited thither several of the most learned men 
of all countries : but when Milton's Defence of 
the People of England was brought to Sweden, 
and was read to the Glueen at her own desire, he 
sunk immediately in her esteem, and the opinion 
of every body ; and though he talked big at first, 
and vowed the destruction of Milton and the Par- 
liament, yet finding that he was looked upon with 
coldness, he thought proper to take leave of the 
court ; and he who came in honour, was dismissed 
with contempt. He died some time afterwards at 
Spa, in Germany, and, it is said, more of a broken 
heart than of any distemper, leaving a posthumous 
reply to Milton, which was not published till after 
the Restoration, and was dedicated to Charles II. 
by his son Claudius ; but it has done no great ho- 
nour to his memory, abounding with abuse much 
more than argument. 

Isaac Vossius was at Stockholm, when Milton's 
book was brought thither, and in some of his let- 
ters to Nicholas Heinsius, published by Professor 
Burnian in the third tome of his Sylloge Epistola- 
ruui, he says, that he had the only copy of Milton's 
book, that the Clueen borrowed it of him, and was 
very much pleased with it, and commended Mil- 
ton's wit and manner of writing in the presence 
of several persons, and that Salniasius was very 
angry, and very busy in preparing his answer, 
wherein he abused Milton as if he had been one 
of the vilest catamites in Italy, and also criticised 
his Latin poems. Heinsius writes again to Vos- 
sius from Holland, that he wondered that only one 
copy of INIilton's book was brought to Stockholm, 
when three were sent thither, one to the Clueen, 
another to Vossius which he had received, and the 
third to Salniasius ; that the book was in every 
body's hands, and there had been four editions in 
a few months besides the English one; that a 
Dutch translation was handed about, and a French 
one was expected. And afterwards he writes from 
Venice, that Holstenius had lent him Milton's 
Latin poems; that they were nothing, compared 
with the elegance of his Apology ; that ho had 
oflended frequently against prosody, and here was 
a great opening for Salmasius' criticism : but as to 
Milton's having been a catamite in Italy, he says, 
that it was a mere calumny ; on the contrary, he 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



XV 



was disliked by the Italians, for the severity of his 
manners, and for the freedom of his discourses 
against popery. And in others of his letters to 
Vosssius and to J. Fr. Gronovius from Holland, 
Heinsius mentions how anjjry Sahnasius was with 
him for commending Milton's book, and says that 
GraswinkcUus had written something against Mil- 
ton, which was to have been printed by Elzever, 
but it was su[)pressed by public authority. 

The first reply that appeared was published in 
1651, and entitled an Apology for the king and 
people, &c. Apologia pro rcge et populo Angli- 
cano contra Johannis Polipragmatici (alias Mil- 
toni Angli) Defensionem dcstructivam regis et 
populi Anglicani. It is not known, who was the 
author of this piece. Some attribute it to one Ja- 
nus, a lawyer of Gray's Inn, and others to Dr. 
John Bramhall, who was then Bishop of Dcrry, 
and was made Primate of Ireland after the restora- 
tion: but it is utterly improbable, that so mean a 
performance, written in such barbarous Latin, and 
BO full of solecisms, should come from the hands 
of a prelate of such distinguished abilities and 
learning. But whoever was the author of it, Mil- 
ton did not think it worth his while to animadvert 
upon it himself, but employed the younger of his 
nephews to answer it; but he supervised and cor- 
rected the answer so much before it went to the 
press, that it may in a manner be called his own. 
It came forth in 1652 under this title, Johannis 
Philippi Angli Responsio ad Apologiam anony- 
mi cujusdam tcncbrionis pro rege et populo An- 
glicano infantissimam ; and it is printed with 
Milton's works; and throughout the whole Mr. 
Philips treats Bishop Bramhall with great severity 
as the author of the Ajwlogy, thinking probably 
that so considerable an adversary would make the 
answer more considerable. 

Sir Robert Filmer likewise published some ani- 
madversions upon Milton's Defence of the peo[)lc, 
in a piece printed in 1652, and entitled Observa- 
tions concerning the original of government, upon 
Mr. Hobbes' Leviathan, Mr. Milton against Sal- 
masius, and Hugo Grotius de Jure belli: but I do 
not find that Milton or any of his friends took any 
notice of it; but Milton's quarrel was afterwards 
sufficiently avenged by Mr. Locke, who wrote 
against Sir Robert Filmer's princi[)lc8 of govern- 
ment, more I suppose in condescension to the pre- 
judices of the age, than out of any regard to the 
weight or importance of Filmer's arguments. 

It is probable that Milton, when he was first 
made Latin Secretary, removed from his house in 
High Holborn to be nearer Whitehall: and for 
some time he had lodgings at one Thomson's, next 
door to the Bull-head tavern at Charing Cross. 
opening into Spring-garden, till the apartment, 
appointed for him in Scotland-Yard, could be got 
ready for hia reception. He then removed thither; 



and there his third child, a son was born, and 
named John, who through the ill usage or bad 
constitution of the nurse died an infant. His own 
health was too greatly impaired; and for the be- 
nefit of the air, he removed from his apartment ia 
Scotland-Yard to a house in Petty-France West- 
minster, which was next door to Lord Scuda- 
more's, and 0[)ened into St. James' Park; and 
there he remained eight years, from the year 1652 
till within a few weeks of the King's restoration. 
In this house he had not been settled long, before 
his first wife died in child-bed ; and his condition 
requiring some care and attendance, he was easily 
induced after a proper interval of time to marry a 
second, who was Catharine, daughter of Captain 
Woodcock, of Hackney : and she too died in child- 
bed within a year after their marriage, and her 
child, who was a daughter, died in a month after 
her; and her husband has done honour to her 
memory in one of his sonnets. 

Two or three years before this second marriage 
he had totally lost his sight. And his enemies 
triumphed in his blindness, and imputed it as a 
judgment upon him for writing against the King: 
but his sight had been decaying several years be- 
fore, through his close ap{)lication to study, and 
the frequent headaches to which he had been 
subject from his childhood, and his continual tam- 
pering with physic, which perhaps was more per- 
nicious than all the rest: and he himself has in- 
formed us in his second Defence, that when he 
was appointed by authority to write his Defence 
of the people against Sahnasius, he had almost 
lost the sight of one eye, and the physicians de- 
clared to him, that if he undertook that work, ho 
would also lose the sight of the other: but he was 
nothing discouraged, and chose rather to lose both 
his eyes than desert what he thought his duty. It 
was the sight of his left eye that he lost first: and 
at the desire of his friend Leonard Philaras, the 
Duke of Parma's minister at Paris, he sent him a 
particular account of his case, and of the manner 
of his growing blind, for him to consult Thevenot 
the physician, who was reckoned famous in cases 
of the eyes. The letter is the fifteenth of his fami- 
liar epistles, is dated September 28th, 1654; and 
is thus translated by Mr. Richardson. 

" Since you advise me not to fling away all 
hopes of recovering my sight, for that you have a 
friend at Paris, Thevenot the physician, particu- 
larly famous for the eyes, whom you ofler to con- 
sult in my behalf if you receive from me an account 
by which he may judge of the causes and symp- 
toms of my disease, I will do what you advice me 
to, that I may not seem to refuse any assistance 
that is ollcred, perhaps from God. 

" 1 think it is about ten years, more or loss, since 
I began to perceive that my eye-sight grew weak 



XVI 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



and dim, and at the same time my spleen and 
bowels to be oppressed and troubled with ilatus ; 
and in the morning when I began to read, accord- 
ing to custom, my eyes grew painful immediately, 
and to ref'usf^ reading, but were refreslied after a 
moderate exercise of tlic Ijody. A certain iris be- 
gan to surround the light of the candle if I looked 
at it; soon after which, on the left part of the left; 
e^'e (for tliat was some years sooner clouded) a 
mist arose which hid every thing on that side ; and 
looking forward if I shut my right eye, objects ap- 
peared smaller. My other eye also, for these last 
three years, failing by degrees, some montlis before 
all sight was abolished, things which I looked upon 
eceined to swim to tlie right and left; certain in- 
vcratc vapours seem to possess my forehead and 
temples, which after meat especially, quite to eve- 
ning, generally, urge and depress my eyes with a 
sleepy heaviness. Nor would I omit that whilst 
there was as yet some remainder of sight, I no 
Booner lay down in my bed, and turned on my 
side, but a copious light dazzled out of my shut 
eyes; and as my sight diminished every day, co- 
lours gradually more obscure flashed out with ve- 
liemcncc; but now that the lucid is in a manner 
wholly extinct, a direct blackness, or else spotted, 
and, as it were, woven with ash-colour, is used to 
piiur itself in. Nevertheless the constant and 
settled darkness that is before me as well by night 
as by day, seems nearer to the whitish than the 
blackish ; and the eye rolling itself a little, seems 
to admit I know not what httle smallness of light 
as through a chink." 

But it does not appear what answer he received; 
we may presume, none that administered any re- 
lief. His bhndness however did not disable him 
entirely from performing the business of his office. 
An assistant was allowed him, anti his salary as 
secretary stUl continued to him. 

And there was farther occasion for his service 
besides dictating of letters. For the controversy 
with Salinasius did not die with him, and there 
was published at the Hague, in IG52, a book en- 
titled the Cry of the King's Blood, &c., Rcgii san- 
guinis Clamor ad coelum advcrsus Parricidas An- 
glicanos. 'I'hc true author of this book was Peter 
du Moulin, the younger, who was afterwards pre- 
bendary of Canterbury: and he transmitted his 
papers to Salmasius; and Salinasius intrusted 
them to the care of Alexander Morus, a French 
minister; and Morus published them with a dedi- 
cation to King Charles 11. in the name of Adrian 
Ulac, the printer, from whence he came to be re- 
puted the author of the whole. This Morus was 
tiie son of a learned Scotsman, who was president 
of the college, which the Protestants had formerly 
at Castres in Languedoc; and he is said to have 
been a man of a most haughty disposition, and 



immoderately addicted to women, hasty, ambi- 
tious, full of himself and his own performances, 
and satirical upon all others. He was however 
esteemed one of the most eminent preachers of tiiat 
age among the Protestants; but as Monsieur 
Bayle observes, his chief talent must have consist- 
ed in the gracefulness of his delivery, or in those 
sallies of imagination and quaint turns and allu- 
sions, whereof his sermons are full ; for they retain 
not those charms in reading, which they were said 
to have formerly in the pulpit. Against this man, 
tlierefore, as the reputed author of Regii sanguinis 
Clamor, &c., Milton published by authority his 
Second Defence of the people of England, Defen- 
sio Secunda pro populo Anglicano, in 1G54, and 
treats Morus with such severity as nothing could 
!have excused, if he had not been provoked to it 
!by so much abuse poured upon himself. There 
is one piece of his wit, which had been published 
I before in the newspapers at London, a distich 
.upon Morus for getting Pontia the maid-servant 
of his friend Salmasius with child. 

Galli ex concubilu gravidani te, Pontia, Mori 
Quis bene moratam morigeramque neget 1 

Upon this Morus published his Fides Publica in 
'answer to Milton, in which he inserted several 
[testimonies of his orthodoxy and morals, signed by 
the consistories, academies, synods, and niagis- 
'trates of the places where he had hved ; and disown- 
jed his being the author of the book imputed to 
him, and appealed to two gentlemen of great credit 
with the Parliament party, who knew the real 
author. This brought Du Moulin, who was then 
in England, into great danger; but the govern- 
ment suflercd him to escape with impunity, rather 
than they would publicly contradict the great pa- 
tron of their cause. For he still persisted in his 
accusation, and endeavoured to make it good in 
his Defence of himself, Autoris pro se Defensio, 
whicli was published in 1G55, wherein he opposed 
to the testimonies in favour of Morus other testi- 
monies against him ; and Morus replied no more. 
Alter this controversy was ended, he was at 
leisure again to pursue his own private studies, 
which were the History of England before men- 
tioned, and a new Thesaurus of the Latin tongue, 
intended as an imiirovcment upon that by Robert 
Stephens; a work which he had been long col- 
lecting from the best and purest Latin authors, 
and continued at times almost to his dying day: 
but his papers were left so confused and imper- 
fect, that they could not be fitted for the press, 
though great use was made of them by the com- 
pilers of the Cambridge Dictionary, printed in 
1693. These papers are said to have consisted 
of three large volumes in folio; and it is a great 
pity that they are lost, and no account is given 
what is become of the manuscript. It is commonly 
said too that at this tune he began his famous 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON 



xvu 



poem of Paradise Lost; and it is certain, that he 
was glad to be released from those controversies, 
which detained him so lon^ from following things 
more agreeable to his natural genius and inclina- 
tion, though he was far from ever repenting of his 
writings in defence of liberty, but gloried in them 
to the last. 

The only interruption now of his private stu- 
dies was the business of his olficc. In 1655, there 
was published in Latin a writing in the name of 
the Lord Protector, setting forth the reasons of the 
war with S[)ain: and this piece is rightly ad- 
judged to our author, both on account of the pe- 
culiar elegance of the style, and because it was his 
province to write such things as Latin secretary; 
and it is printed among his other prose works in 
the last edition. And for the same reasons I am 
inclined to think, that the famous Latin verses to 
Christina, Q.ueen of Sweden, in the name of 
Cromwell, were made by our author rather than 
Andrew Marvel. In those days they had admi- 
rable intelligence in the secretary's office; and 
Mr. Philips relates a memorable instance or two 
upon his own knowledge. The Dutch were send- 
ing a plenipotentiary to England to treat of peace; 
but the emissaries of the government had the art 
to procure a copy of his instructions in Holland, 
which were delivered by Milton to his kinsman, 
who was then with him, to translate them lor the 
use of the Council, before the said plenipotentiary 
had taken shipping for England; and an answer 
to all that he had in charge was prepared, and lay 
ready for him before he made his public entry into 
London. Another time a person came to London 
with a very sumptuous train, pretending himself 
an agent from the Prince of Conde, who wa-s then 
in arms against Cardinal Mazarine: but the go- 
vernment suspecting him, set their instruments to 
work so successfully, that in a few days they re- 
ceived intelligence from Paris, that he was a spy 
employed by Charles II.: whereupon the very 
next morning Milton's kinsman was sent to him 
with an order of Council, commanding him to de- 
part the kingdom within three days, or expect the 
punishment of a spy. This kinsman was in all 
probability Mr. Philips or his brother, who were 
Milton's nephews, and lived very much with him, 
and one or both of them were assistant to him in 
his office. His blindness no doubt was a great 
hindrance and inconvenience to him in his busi- 
ness, though sometimes a political use might be 
made of it; as men's natural infirmities are often 
pleaded in excuse for not doing what they have 
no great inclination to do. Thus when Crom- 
well, as we may collect from Whitlock, for some 
reasons delayed artfully to sign the treaty con- 
cluded with Sweden, and the Swedish ambassa- 
dor made frequent complaints of it, it was ex- 
cused to him, because Mr. Milton, on account of 
2 2b 



his blindness, proceeded slower in business, and 
had not yet put the articles of the treaty into Latin. 
Upon which the ambassador was greatly surprised, 
that things of such consequence should be en- 
trusted to a blind man, for he must necessarily 
employ an amanuensis, and that amanuensis 
might divulge the articles; and said that it was 
very wonderful, that there should be only one man 
in England who could write Latin, and he a 
blind one. But his blindness had not diminished, 
but rather increased the vigour of his mind; and 
his state-letters will remain as authentic memo- 
rials of those times, to be admired equally by 
critics and politicians; and those particularly about 
the sufl'erings of the poor Protestants in Piedmont, 
who can read without sensible emotion'? This 
was a subject he had very much at heart, as he 
was an utter enemy to all sorts of persecution; 
and among his sonnets there is a most excellent 
one upon the same occasion. 

But Oliver Cromwell being dead, and the go- 
vernment weak and unsettled in the hands of Ri- 
chard and the Parliament, he thought it a season- 
able time to offer his advice again to the public ; 
and in 1659 published a Treatise of Civil Power 
in Ecclesiastical causes ; and another tract entitled 
Considerations touching the likeliest Means to re- 
move Hirelings out of the Church; both addressed 
to the Parliament of the commonwealth of Eng- 
land. And after the parhament was dissolved, he 
wrote a letter to some statesman, with whom he 
had a serious discourse the night before, concern- 
ing the ruptures of the commonwealth ; and ano- 
ther, as it is supposed, to General Monk, being a 
brief delineation of a free commonwealth, easy to 
be put in practice, and without delay. These two 
pieces were communicated in manuscript to Mr, 
Toland by a friend who a little after Milton's 
death had them from his nephew; and Mr. To- 
land gave them to be printed in the edition of our 
author's prose-works in 1698. But Milton, still 
finding that afl^airs were every day tending more 
and more to the subversion of the commonwealth, 
and the restoration of the royal family, published 
his Ready and Easy Way to establish a Free Com- 
monwealth, and the excellence thereof, compared 
with the inconveniences and dang-ers of readmit- 
ting kingship in this nation. We are informed by 
Mr. Wood that he published this piece in Febru- 
ary 1659-60; and after this he published Brief 
Notes upon a late Sermon, entitled. The Fear of 
God and the King, preached by Dr. Matthew 
Griffith at Mercer's Chapel, March 25, 1660: so 
bold and resolute was he in declaring his senti- 
ments to the last, thinking that his voice was the 
voice of expiring Uberty. 

A little before the King's landing, he was dis- 
charged from his office of Latin Secretary, and was 
forced to leave his house in Petty France, where 



XVIU 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



ho had lived eight years with great reputation, and 
liad been visited by all foreigners of note, who 
could not go out of the country without seeing a 
man who did so much honour to it by his writings, 
and wliose name was as well known and as famous 
obroad as in his own nation ; and by several per- 
sons of quality of both sexes, particularly the pious 
and virtuous Lady Ranelagh, whose son for some 
time he instructed, the same who was paymaster 
of the forces in King William's time ; and by many 
learned and ingenious friends and acquaintance, 
. particularly Andrew Marvel, and young Laurence, 
ipSon to the President of Oliver's Council, to whom 
' lio has inscribed one of his sonnets, and Marcha- 
niont Needham, the writer of Politicus, and above 
all, Cyriac Skinner, whom he has honoured with 
two sonnets. But now it was not safe for him to 
api)ear any longer in jiublic, so that by the advice 
of some who wished him well and were concerned 
for his preservation, he (led for shelter to a friend's 
house in Bartholomew Close, near West Smith- 
field, where he lay concealed till the worst of tiic 
Ktorm was blown over. The first notice that we 
find taken of him was on Saturday the Kith of 
June, IGOO, when it was ordered by the House of 
Commons, that his Majesty should be humbly 
moved to issue his jjroclamation for the calling in 
of Milton's two books, his Defence of the People, 
and Iconoclastes, and also Goodwyn's book entitled 
tiic Obstructors of Justice, written in justification 
of t'ne murder of the late king, and to order tliem 
to be liurnt by the hands of the common hangman. 
At the same time it was ordered that the Attorney 
General should proceed by way of indictment or 
information against Milton and Goodwyn in re- 
spect of their books, and that they tiiemselves 
siiould be sent for in custody of the Serjoant-at- 
.nrms attending the House. On Wednesday, June 
'i7th, an order of Council was made agreeable to 
the order of the House of Connnons for a procla- 
mation against Milton's and Goodwyn's books; 
and the proc-Uunation was issued the 13th of Au- 
gust following, wherein it was said that the au- 
thors had lletl or did abscond; and on Monday, 
August H'ith, ]\Iilton's and Goodwyn's books were 
burnt, according to the proclamation, at the Old 
Bailey, by the hands of the common hangman. 
On Wednesday, August '2Pth, the act of indem- 
nity was passed, wliich jiroved more favourable 
to Milton than could well have been expected ; for 
though John Goodwyn Clerk was excepted among 
the twenty persons who were to have penalties in- 
flicted uiwn them, not extending to life, yet Mil- 
ton was not excepted at all, and consequently was 
included in the general pardon. We lind indeed 
tliat afterwards he was in custody of the Serjeant- 
at-arms; but tlue time when ho was taken into 
custody is not certain. He was not in custody on 
the 12th of September, for that day a list of the 



prisoners in custody of the Serjt\ant-at-anns was 
read in the House, and Milton is not among them ; 
and on the 13th of September the House adjourn- 
ed to the C)th of November. It is most probable, 
therefore, that after the act or indcnmity was pass- 
ed, and after the House had adjourned, he came 
out of his concealment, and was afterwards taken 
into custody of the Serjeant-at-arms by virtue of 
the former order of the House of Commons, but 
we can not find that he was prosecuted by the At- 
torney General, nor was he continued in custody 
very long: for on Saturday the 15th of December, 
16G0, it was ordered by the House of Commons, 
that Mr. Milton now in custody of the Serjeant- 
at-arms, should be Ibrtliwith released, paying liia 
fees; and on Monday the 17th of December, a 
complaint being made that the Serjeant-at-arms 
had demanded excessive fees for his imprisonment, 
it was referred to the committee of privileges and 
elections to examine this business, and to call Mr. 
Milton and the Serjeant before thein, and to de- 
termine what was fit to be given to the Serjeant 
for his fees in this case; so courageous was he at 
all times in defence of liberty against all tiie en- 
croachments of power, and though a prisoner, 
would yet be treated like a freeborn Englishman. 
This appears to be the matter of fact, as it may bo 
collected partly froui the Journals of the House of 
Commons, and partly from Rennet's Historical 
Register: and tho clemency of the government was 
surely very great towards him, considering the 
nature of his ollences; for tliongii he was not one 
of the King's judges and murderers, yet he contri- 
buted more to nuirder his cliaracter and reputation 
than any of them all: and to what tiierefore could 
it l)e owing, that he was treated with sucii lenity, 
and was so easily pardoned? It is certain, there 
was not wanting powerful intercession for him 
both in Council and in Parliament. It is said 
that Seci-etary Morricc and Sir Thomas Clargia 
greatly favoured him, and exerted their interest 
in his behalf; and his old iViend Andrew Marvel, 
member of Parliament for Hull, formed a consi- 
derable party for him in the House of Commons; 
and n(>ither was Charles the Second (as Toiand 
says) such an enemy to the Muses, as to require 
his destruction. But the principal instrument in 
obtaining Milton's pardon was Sir William Da- 
venant, out of gratitude for Milton's having pro- 
cured his release, when he was taken prisoner in 
1G50. It was life for life. Davenant had been 
saved by Milton's interest, and in return IMilton 
was saved at Davenant's intercession. This story 
Mr. Richardson relates upon the authority of Mr. 
Pope; and Mr. Pope had it from Bettcrton the 
famous actor, who was first brought upon tho 
stage and patronised by Sir William Davcmant, 
and might therefore derive the knowledge of this 
transaction from the fountain. 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



Xlt 



Milton liaving thus obtained hia pardon, and 
being set at liberty again, took a house in Holborn, 
near Red Lion Fields ; but he removed soon into 
Jewen street, near Aldersgate street, and while he 
lived there, being in his 5od or 54th year, and blind 
and inlirin, and wanting somebody better than 
servants to attend and look after him, he employ- 
ed his friend Dr. Paget to choose a jiroper consort 
for him; and at his recommendation married his 
tiCird wife, Elizabeth Minshul, of a gentleman's 
family in Cheshire, and related to Dr. Paget. It 
is said that an ofl'er was made to Milton, as well 
as to Thurloe, of holding the same place of Secre- 
tary under the king, which he had discharged with 
so much integrity and ability under Cromwell ; but 
he persisted in refusing it, though the wife pressed 
his compliance. "Thou art in the right," said 
he; "j'ou, as other women, would ride in your 
coach ; for me, my aim is to live and die an honest 
man." What is more certain is, that in IGGl he 
published his Accedence commenced Grammar, 
and a tract of Sir Walter Ralrigii, entitled. Apho- 
risms of State; as in 1G58 he had published ano- 
ther piece of Sir Walter Raleigh, entitled. The 
Cabinet Council discabinated, which he printed 
from a manuscript, that had lain many years in 
his hands, and was given him for a true copy by 
a learned man at his death, who had collected se- 
veral such pieces : an evident sign, that he tliought 
it no mean employment, nor unwortliy of a man 
of genius, to be an editor of the works of great 
authors. It was while he lived in Jewen street, 
that Elwood, the quaker, (as we learn from the 
liistory of liis life written by his own hand) was 
first introduced to read to him ; for having wholly 
lost his sight, he kept always somebody or other to 
perform that office, and usually the son of some 
gentleman of his acquaintance, whom he took in 
kindness, that he might at tiie same time improve 
him in his learning. Elwood was recommended 
to him by Dr. Paget, and went to his house every 
afternoon, except Sunday, and reail to him such 
books in the Latin tongue, as Milton thought pro- 
per. And Milton told him, that if he would have 
the benefit of the Latin tongue, not only to read 
and understand Latin authors, but to converse with 
foreigners either abroad or at home, he must learn 
the foreign pronunciation ; and he instructed him 
how to read accordingly. And having a curious 
ear, he understood by my tone, says Elwood, when 
I understood what I read, and when I did not ; 
and he would stop me, and examine me, and open 
the most difficult passages to me. But it was not 
long after his third marriage, that he left Jewen 
street, and removed to a house in the Artillery 
Walk, leading to Bunhill Fields: and this was 
his last stage in this world ; he continued longer 
in this house than he had done in any other, and 
lived here to his dying day : oiJy when the plague 



began to rage in London in 1005, he removed to 
a small house at St. Giler. Chalfont, in Bucking- 
hamshire, wliich Elwood had taken for him and 
his family; and there he remained during that 
dreadful calamity ; but after the sickness was over, 
and the city was cleansed and made safely habita- 
ble again, he returned to his house in London. 

His great work of Paradise Lost, had princi- 
pally engaged his thoughts for some years past, 
and was now completed. It is probable, that his 
first design of writing an epic jwcm was owing to 
his conversations at Naples with the Marqiais of 
Villa, about Tasso, and his famous poem of the 
Delivery of Jerusalem ; and in a copy of verses 
presented to that nobleman before he left Naples, 
he intimated his intention of fixing upon king Ar- 
thur for his hero. And in an eclogue, made soon 
after his return to England, upon the death of his 
friend and school-fellow Deodati, he proposed the 
same design and the same subject, and declared 
his ambition of writing something in his native 
language, which might render his name illustrious 
in these islands, though he should be obscure and 
inglorious to the rest of the world. And in other 
parts of his works, after he had cng;igcd in I he 
controversies of the times, he still promised to pro- 
duce some noble poem or other at a fitter season; 
but it docs not appear tiiat he had then determined 
upon the subject, and king Arthur had another 
fate, being reserved for the pen of Sir Richard 
Blackmore. The first hint of Parailise Lost is 
said to have been taken from an Italian tragedy ; 
and it is certain, that he first designed it a tragedy 
himself, and there are several plans of it in the 
form of a tragedy still to be seen in the author's 
own manuscript preserved in the library of Tri- 
nity College, Cambridge. And it is probable, that 
he did not barely sketch out the plans, but also 
wrote some parts of the drama itself. His ne- 
phew, Philips, informs us, that some of the verses 
at the beginning of Satan's speech, addressed to 
the sun, in the fourth book, were shown to him 
and some others as designed for the beginning of 
the tragedy, several years before tlie poem was be- 
gun : and many other passages might be produced, 
which plainly appear to have been originally in- 
tended for the scene, and are not so properly of 
the epic, as of the tragic strain. It was not till 
after he was disengaged from the Salmasian con- 
troversy, which ended in 1G55, that he began to 
mould the Paradise Lost in its present form ; but 
after the Restoration, when he was dismissed from 
public business, and freed from controversy of 
every kind, he prosecuted the work with closer 
application. Mr. Philips relates a very remarka- 
ble circumstance in the composure of this poem, 
which he says he had reason to remember, as it 
was told him by Milton himself, that his vein ne- 
ver happily flowed but from the autumnal equinox 



XX 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON, 



to the vorniil, niul that wliiit \w nttnnptt'tl at otlicr 
tiiiu'S Wll^< not to his Sii'isractiiiii, thouijh ho court- 
0(1 his fiuicy lu'vrr so nuich. Mr. 'roiiiiul iiiia- 
giiu's tluit IMiilips miijiit hi> mistaiviMi as to tiio 
tinio, ht'caiiso our nutlior, in his Latin elegy, writ- 
tfii ill his twfiiticlh vi-ur, upon tln> apiiroai-li of 
till' spriujj, siu'nis to sav Just the coiitraiv, as if lie 
could not make nny vei-si-s to his satisfaction till 
tlie sprinif lu";fuii: and he says farther, that a ju- 
<li(ious iVieiiil of Milton's inlonned him, that he 
coultl never eoinpose well but in spring and au- 
tunin. r>ut Mr. Hiehaiiison ean not eoniprehend, 
tliat eiti\er ii( these aeeouiits is exuetly trui>, or that 
n man \<itl» sueh a work in his head ean suspend 
it for six months together, or only tor one ; it may 
go on more slowly, hut it must goon; and this 
laving it aside is eonlrary to tliat eagerness to 
liiiisU what was hegun, which he says was his tem- 
per, in his epistle to IVodati, dated 8cpt. '2, lt>o7. 
Atler all Mr. Philips, who had the perusal of the 
poem from the l>eginnitig, by twenty or tinrly 
verses at n time, as it was composed, and having 
not hi'cn s!n>wn any for a considerahle while as the 
fiununer came o'.\ impiired of the author the reason 
of it, could hanlly be niistakcn with regard to the 
time : and it is easy tociuu'eive.that the poem might 
goon n\uch more sKnvly in summer than in other 
parts of the year; for, notwithstamling all that ix>et^ 
may say of the pleasures of that season, 1 imagine 
most persons fmd liy experienc(\ that they can com- 
pose better at any otiier time, with more facility and 
more spirit, than during the heat and languor of 
summer. Whenever the jHiein was written, it was 
iinished in Kit!'), and, as l^lwood says, was shown 
to hini that same year at St. Giles Chalfont, whi- 
ther Milton had retinnl to avoid the plague, and it 
was lent to him to peruse it, and give his judg- 
ment of it; and, consiilering the dillicultics which 
the author lay luidor, his uneasiness on acronnt of 
the iniMic alVairs and his own, his age and iulirm- 
itics, his gout and blindness, his not being in cir- 
cumstances to maintain an anianuonsis, but obliged 
to make use c^l' any hand that came next to write 
liis vci'ses as he maile them, it is really wonderful, 
tlint ho should have the spirit to undertake such a 
work, and much inor<\ that he shouKl ever bring it 
to pevtlvlion. And atU'r the jviem was tinishcHl, 
still new dillicultics n^arilcd the publication of it. 
It was in ilangcr of Wing suppress»H.l thrciugh the 
malice or ignorance of the liccnccr, who took ex- 
ception at some passages, ami particularly at that 
noble simile, in the tirst bix>k, of the sun in an 
«clipsi\ in which he fancied that he had disi-overiHl 
trt>ason. It was with ditVicnlty too that the author 
could sell the copy ; and he sold it at last only tor 
five jx>unds, but was to receive live ixmuds more 
»(\er the sale of thirteen hundn\l of the lirst im- 
pit'ssion, aiul five pounds more atlcr the sale of as 
many of the second impres&ion, anil live more utter 



the sale of as ninny of the tliird, and tlie number 
was not to exceed liilcen hundred. And whirt a 
poorconipiMisation was this for such an incstimablo 
perlbrmaiice! and how much more ilo others get 
by the works of great authors, than the authors 
themselves! This original contract with Samuel 
Simmons, the printer, is dated Aj'ril 'J7, ll>(>7, and 
is in the hands of Mr. Tonson, the bookseller, as 
is likewise tlie manuscript of the (Irst book copied 
t'air liirthe press, with the Imprimatur, by Thomas 
Tomkyns, chai)lain to the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury: so that, though Milton was ibrced to make 
use of dilVcrcnt hands to write his verses from time 
to lime as he had occasion, yet we may suppose 
ti\at the cojiy for the press was written all, or at 
least each lHH)k by the same hand. The first edi- 
tion, in ten luKiks, was printed in a small quarto; 
and before it could be disposed of, had three or 
more dillerent title pages of the years 1()G7, 1GG8, 
and Itilil). The lirst sort was without the name 
of Symmons, the printer, and began with the poem 
iinnuxliately following the title page, without any 
argument, or preface, or table of errata : to others 
was prefixed a short atlvcrtisement of the i)rinter 
to the reader conci-niing the argument, and the 
reason why the poem rhymes not; and then fol- 
lowed the ariiumciit of the several books, and tho 
lireface concerning the kindof vei-se, and thetablo 
of errata : othei-s aijaiu luul the argument, anil tho 
I pivtace, and the table of errata, without that short 
[ advcrlisiMui'ut of the printer to the reader : and this 
j was all the dillcrcucc between them, except now 
and then of a point or a letter, which were altered 
as the sheds were printing oil'. So that, notwith- 
staniling thc>se variations, there was still only ono 
iinpri'ssion in quarto; and two years almost elaps- 
ed, before thirteen hundred copies could be soKl, 
or before the author was entitled to his second livo 
pounds, for which his receipt is still in being, and 
is dated April "Jtl, Kiti;). And this was probably 
I all that he received; for he lived not to enjoy the 
benefits of the siH-ond edition, which was not pub- 
lished till the year ll)7l, and that same year he 
ulied. The second edition was jiriiitcd in a small 
octavo, and was corriH'ted by the autlior himself, 
[and the number of books was avigmentcd fiximteu 
to twelve, with the addition of some few verses: 
and this alteration was made with gn\»t judgment, 
not for the sake of sudi a fanciful beauty as re- 
sembling the number of Inxiks in tho iEneid, but 
for the more regular disposition vi' the jvcm, be- 
cause the seventh and tenth books weiv K-forc too 
long, and are more fitly dividwl each into two. 
The thinl edition was published in 1(>7!^; and it 
apiH-ars that Milton had letl his remaining right 
in tho copy to his widow, and she agreed with 
Simmons, the printer, to accept eight jxninds in 
full of all demands, and her rtvcipt for the money 
is dated Decemlvr -21, 1G60. But a little Iniltfre 



LIFE OP JOHN MILTON. 



XXI 



this Simmions had covenanted to assign the whole 
ri^'ht (if coiiy to Braliazon A3 liner, the hooloicller, 
for twenty-live puuiuls; and Alynicr aftorvvards 
sold it to old Jacolt Tonson at two ditli;rcnt times, 
one half on the 17th of Aujjuat, 1GS3, and the 
oliur iiaifon the iillh of March, Ui'JO, with a con- 
hiderahie advance of the price: and except one 
fourth of it which has heen assiirncd to several 
]icrsonK, liis family have enjoyed the rijrht of copy 
ev(!r since. By the last assignment it appears that 
the hook was growing into repute and rising in 
valuation ; and to what j)erverseness could it he 
owing that it was not liettcr received at first'.' We 
conceive tiiere were })riiici[)ally two reasons ; the 
prejudices against the author on account of his 
jirineiples and party ; and many, no douht, were 
otl'endod with tlic novelty of a poem that was not 
in rhyme. Rymcr, who was a redoubted critic in 
those days, would not so much as allow it to be a 
jioeni on this account; and declared war against 
Milton as well as against Shakspeare ; and threat- 
ened that he would write reflections ujjon the Pa- 
radise Lost, which some (says he*) are pleased to 
call a poem, and would assert against the slender 
Sophistry wherewith the author attacks it. And 
such a man as Bishop Burnet makes it a sort of 
objection to Milton, that he aflected to write in 
blank verse without rhyme. And the same rea- 
son induced Dryden to turn the principal parts of 
Paradise Lost into rhyme in his Opera calU^d the 
State of Innocence and Fall of Man; to tag his 
lines, as Milton himself expressed it, alluding to 
the fasliion then of wearing tags of metal at the 
end of their ribbons. 

We arc told indeed by Mr. Richardson, that Sir 
George Hungerford, an ancient nuMiiber of Parlia- 
ment, told him, that Sir .John Di.'nham came into 
the House one morning with a sheet of Paradise 
Lost wet from the ])ress in his hand ; and being 
asked what Ik; had there, said that he haxl part of 
the notilest poem that ever was written in any 
language or in any age. However it is certain 
that th<' book was unknown till about two years 
alter, when the Earl of Dorset produced it, as Mr. 
Richardson was informed by Dr. Tancred Robin- 
son, the physician, who had hoard the story often 
from Fleetwood Shepherd hiniself, that the Earl, 
in company with Mr. Shejjhcrd, looking about for 
books m Little Britain, accidentally met with Pa- 
radise Lost ; and being surprised at some passages 
in dipping here and then;, he bought it. The 
bookseller begged his Lordshij) to speak in its fa- 
vour if he liked it, for the impression lay on his 
Iiands as waste pa[)er. The Earl having read it 
sent it to Dryden, who in a short time returned it 
with this answer, " This man cuts us all out and 
the ancients too." Dryden's epigram upon Milton j 

j 

* Bee Ilyirier'8 "Tragoliesof the last sge consid<;r'jd." p. 113, 



is too well known to be repeated ; and those Latin 
verses ])y Dr. Barrow the jihysieian, and the Eng- 
lish ones by Andrew Marvel, Esq. usually ])re- 
fixed to the I'aradise Lost, were written before the 
second edition, and were published with il. But 
still the [loem was not generally known and (Esteem- 
ed, nor met with the deserved applause, till after 
the edition in folio, which was published in 1G88 
by suliscripllon. The I3uke of Buckingham in 
his Essay on poetry prefers Tasso and Spencer to 
Milton: and it is related in the life of the witty 
Earl of Rochester, that he had no Jiotion of a Ix^t- 
ter poet than Cowley. In KJHG or thereabout Sir 
William Temple published the second part of his 
Miscellanies, and it may surjirise any reader, that 
in his Essay on Poetry he takes no notice at all 
of Milton ; nay he says ex[>ressly that after Arios- 
to, Tasso, and Sfjenser, he knows none of the 
Moderns who have made any achievements in 
heroic poetry worth recording. And what can we 
think, that he had not read or heard of the Para- 
dise Lost, or that the author's politics had preju- 
dic(>d him against his poetry? It was ha[)[)y that 
all great men were not of his mind. The book- 
seller was advised and encouraged to undertake 
the folio edition by Mr. Sommers, afterwards Lord 
Sornmcrs, who not oidy subscribed him.self, but 
was zealous in promoting the subscription : and in 
the list of subscribers we find some of the most 
eminent names of that thue, as the Earl of Dorset, 
Waller, Dryden, Dr. Aldricli, Mr. Atterbury, and 
among the rest Sir Roger Lcstrange, though he 
had formerly written a piece entitled No blind 
guides, (fcc. against Milton's Notes upon Dr. Grif- 
fith's sermon. There were two editions more in 
folio, one I think in 1G92, the other in l(i!)5, which 
was the sixth edition ; for the j)oem was now so 
well received, that notwithstanding the price of it 
was four times greater than before, the sale in- 
creased double the number every year; as the 
bookseller, who should best know, has informed 
us in his dedication of the smaller editions to Lord 
Soiiuners. Since that time not only various edi- 
tions have been printed, but also various n(jtes and 
translations. The first person who wrote armota- 
tions upon Paradise Lost was P. H. or Patrick 
Hume, of whom we know nothing, unle.ss his 
name may lead us to some knowlei|g(! of his coun- 
try, but he has the merit of being the first (as I say) 
who wrote notes upon Paradise Lost, and his notes 
were printed at the end of the folio edition in 1G'J5. 
Mr. Addison's S[)Cctators upon the subject con- 
tributed not a little to establishing the character, 
and illustrating the beauties of the poem. In 1732 
api)eared Dr. Bcntley's new edition with notes: 
and the year following Dr. Pearcc published hia 
Review of the text, in which the chief of Dr. Bent- 
ley's emendations arc considenjd, and several other 
emendations and obscrvationu are ollcred to tli« 



XXll 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



public. And the year after that Messieurs Rich- 
ardson, father and son, published their Exi)lana- 
tory notes and remarks. The poem has also been 
translated into several languages, Latin, Italian, 
French, and Dutch; and proposals have been made 
for translating it into Greek. The Dutcli trans- 
lation is in blank verse, and printed at Harlem. 
The French have a translation by Mons. Dupre 
de St. Maur; but nothing shows the weakness 
and imperfection of their language more, than that 
they have few or no good poetical versions of the 
greatest poets; they are forced to translate Homer, 
Virgil, and Milton into prose : and blank verse 
their language has not harmony and dignity enough 
to support ; their tragedies, and many of their 
comedies are in rhyme. Rolli, the famous Italian 
master here in England, made an Italian transla- 
tion ; and Mr. Richardson the son, saw anotlier at 
Florence in manuscript by the learned Abbe Sal- 
vini, the same who translated Addison's Cato into 
Italian. ' One Wilham Hog or Hogsus translated 
Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, and Samson 
Agonistes into Latin verse in 1690; but this ver- 
sion is very unworthy of the originals. There is 
a better translation of the Paradise Lost by Mr. 
Thomas Power, Fellow of Trinity College, in 
Cambridge, the first book of which was printed 
in 1691, and the rest in manuscript is in the hbra- 
ry of that College. The learned Dr. Trap has 
also published a translation into Latin verse ; and 
the world is in expectation of another, that will 
surpass all the rest, by Mr. William Dobson, of 
New College, in Oxford. So that by one means 
or other Milton is now considered as an English 
classic; and the Paradise Lost is generally esteem- 
ed the noblest and most sublime of modern poems, 
and equal at least to the best of the ancient ; the 
honour of this country, and the envy and admira- 
tion of all others ! 

In 1670 he published his History of Britain, that 
part especially now called England. He began it 
above twenty years before, but was frequently in- 
terrupted by other avocations; and he designed to 
have brought it down to his own times, but stopped 
at the Norman conquest ; for indeed he was not 
well able to pursue it any farther by reason of his 
blindness, and he was engaged in other more de- 
lightful studies; having a genius turned for poetry 
rather than history. When his History was print- 
ed, it was not printed perfect and entire ; for the 
licenser expunged several passages, which reflect- 
inf upon the pride and superstition of the Monks 
in the Saxon times, were understood as a con- 
cealed satire upon the Bishops in Charles the se- 
cond's reign. But the author himself gave a copy 
of his unlicensed papers to the Earl of Anglesea, 
who, as well as several of the nobility and gentry, 
constantly visited him : and in 1681 a considera- 
ble passage, which had been suppressed at the be- 



ginning of the third book, was publi.slied, con- 
taining a character of the Long Parliament and 
Assembly of Divines in 1641, whicli was inserted 
in its projjor place in the last edition of ITiS. 
Bishop Kennet begins his Complete History of 
England with this work of Milton, as being the 
best draught, the clearest and most authentic ac- 
count of those early times: and his style is freer 
and easier than in most of his other works, more 
plain and simple, less figurative and metajihorical, 
and better suited to the nature of history, has 
enough of the Latin turn and idiom to give it an 
air of antiquity, and sometimes rises to a surprising 
dignity and nVtijesty. 

In 1670 hkewise his Paradise Regained and 
Samson Agonistes were licensed together, but were 
not published till the year following. It is some- 
what remarkable, that these two poems were not 
printed by Simmons, the same who printed the 
Paradise Lost, but by J. M. for one Starkey, in 
Fleet street: and what could induce Milton to 
have recourse to another printer] was it because 
the former was not enough encouraged by the sale 
of Paradise Lost to become a purchaser of the 
other copies 1 The first thought of Paradise Re- 
gained was owing to Elwood the Q.uaker, as be 
himself relates the occasion in the history of his 
life. When Milton had lent him the manuscript 
of Paradise Lost at St. Giles Chalfont, as we said 
before, and he returned it, Milton asked him how 
he liked it, and what he thought of it : " Which I 
modestly, but freely told him, says Elwood; and 
after some further discourse about it, I pleasantly 
said to him, Thou hast said much of Paradise 
Lost, but what hast thou to say of Paradise 
Found 1 He made me no answer, but sat some 
time in a muse; then broke oflf that discourse, and 
fell upon another subject." When Ehvood after- 
wards waited upon him in London, Milton showed 
him his Paradise Regained, and in a pleasant tone 
said to him, "This is owing to you, for you put it 
in my head by the question you put nie at Chal- 
font, which before I had not thought of" 

It is commonly reported, that Milton himself 
preferred this poem to the Paradise Lust ; but all 
that we can assert upon good authority is, that he 
could not endure to hear this poem cried down so 
much as it was, in comparison with the other. 
For certainly it is very worthy of the author, and 
contrary to what Mr. Toland relates, Milton may 
be seen in Paradise Regained as well as in Para- 
dise Lost; if it is inferior in poetry, I know not 
whether it is not superior in sentiment; if it is less 
descriptive, it is more argumentative; if it does 
not sometimes rise so high, neither docs it ever 
sink so low; and it has not met with the appro- 
bation it deserves, only because it has not been 
more read and considered. His subject indeed is 
confined, and he has a narrow foundation to build 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



XXltl 



Upon ; but he has raised as noble a superstructure 
as such little room and such scanty materials 
would allow. The great beauty of it is the con- 
trast between the two characters of the Tempter 
and our Saviour, the artful sophistry and specious 
insinuations of the one refuted by the strong sense 
and manly eloquence of the other. This poem 
has also been translated into French, together 
with some other pieces of Milton, Lycidas, L'Al- 
legro, II Penseroso, and the Ode on Christ's Na- 
tivity: and in 1732, was printed a Critical Dis- 
sertation, with Notes upon Paradise Regained, 
pointing out the beauties of it, and written by 
Mr. Mcadawcourt, Canon of Worcester : and the 
very learned and ingenious Mr. Jortin has added 
some observations upon this work at the end of 
his excellent Remarks upon Spenser, published in 
1734; and indeed this poem of Milton, to be more 
admired, needs only to be better known. His 
Samson Agonistcs is the only tragedy that he has 
finished, though he has sketched out the plans of 
several, and proposed the subjects of more, in his 
manuscript preserved in Trinity College library: 
and we may suppose that he was determined to 
the choice of this particular subject by the simili- 
tude of his own circumstances to those of Samson 
blind and among the Philistines. This I conceive 
to be the last of his poetical pieces; and it is written 
in the very spirit of the ancients, and equals, if not 
exceeds, any of the most perfect tragedies, which 
were-ever exhibited on the Athenian stage, when 
Greece was in its glory. As this work was never in- 
tended for the stage, the division into acts and scenes 
is omitted. Bishop Atterbury had an intention 
of getting Mr. Pope to divide it into acts and 
scenes, and of having it acted by the king's scho- 
lars at Westminster: but his commitment to the 
tower put an end to that design. It has since 
been brought upon the stage in the form of an 
oratorio; and Mr. Handel's music is never em- 
ployed to greater advantage, than when it is 
adapted to Milton's words. The great artist has 
done equal justice to our author's L'AUegro and 
11 Penseroso, as if the same spirit possessed both 
masters, and as if the god of music and of verse 
Was still one and the same. 

There are also some other pieces of Milton, for 
he continued publishing to the last. In 1672, he 
published Artis Logicaj plenior Institutio ad Petri 
Rami mcthodum concinnata, an Institution of 
Logic after the method of Petrus Ramus ; and 
the year following, a Treatise of True Religion and 
the best means to Prevent the Growth of Popery, 
which had greatly increased through the conni- 
vance of the King, and the more open encourage- 
ment of the Duke of York; and the same year his 
poems, which had been printed in 1G15, were re- 
printed with the addition of several others. His 
Famihar Epistles and some Academical Exercises, 



Epistolarum Familiarium, Lib. I., et Prolusiones 
quaidam Oratorise in CoUegio Christi habitae, were 
printed in 1G74; as was also his translation out 
of Latin into English of the Poles Declaration 
concerning the election of their King John III., 
setting forth the virtues and merits of that prince. 
He wrote also a brief History of Muscovy, col- 
lected from the relations of several travellers; but 
it was not printed till aller his death in 1082. He 
had likewise his state-letters transcribed at the 
request of the Danish resident, but neither were 
they printed till after his death in 1676, and were 
translated into English in 1694; and to that trans- 
lation a life of Milton was prefixed by his nephew 
Mr. Edward Philips, and at the end of that life his 
excellent sonnets to Fairfax, Cromwell, Sir Henry 
Vane, and Cyriac Skinner, on his blindness, w*re 
first printed. Besides these works which were 
published, he wrote his System of Divinity, which 
Mr. Toiand says was in the hands of his friend 
Cyriac Skinner, but where at present is uncertain. 
And Mr. Philips says, that he had prepared for 
the press an answer to some little scribbling quack 
in London, who had written a scurrilous libel 
against him; but whether by the dissuasion of 
friends, as thinking him a fellow not worth his 
notice, or for what other cause, Mr. Philips knew 
not, this answer was never published. And in- 
deed the best vindicator of him and his writings 
has been time; posterity has universally paid that 
honour to his merits, which was denied him by 
great part of his contemporaries. 

After a life thus spent in study and labours for 
the public, he died of the gout at his house in 
Bunhill Row, on or about the lOtli of November, 
1674, when he had within a month completed the 
sixty-sixth year of his age. It is not known when 
he was first attacked by the gout, but he was 
grievously afllicted with it several of the last years 
of his life, and was weakened to such a degree, 
tliat he died without a groan, and tiiose in the 
room perceived not when he exjiired. His body 
was decently interred near that of his father, (who 
had died very aged about the year 1647,) in the 
chancel of the church of St. Giles's, Cripplegate; 
and all his great and learned friends in London, 
not without a friendly concourse of the common 
people, paid their last respects in attending it to 
the grave. Mr. Fenton, in his short but elegant 
account of the Life of Milton, speaking of our 
author's having no monument, says that " he de- 
sired a friend to inquire at St. Giles's church; 
where the sexton showed him a small monument, 
which he said was supposed to be Milton's; but 
the inscription had never been legible since he 
was employed in that office, which he has pos- 
sessed about forty years. This sure could never 
have happened in so short a space of time, unless 
the epitaph had been industriously erased: and 



XXIV 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



that supposition, says Mr. Fenton, carries with it 
so much inhumanity, that I think we ought to 
believe it was not erected to his memory." It is 
evident that it was not erected to his memory, 
and that tlie sexton was mistaken. For Mr. To- 
land, in his account of the Life of Milton, says, 
that he was buried in the chancel of St. Giles's 
church, " where the piety of his admirers will 
shortly erect a monument becoming his worth and 
the encouratrcment of letters in King William's 
reign." This plainly implies that no monument 
was erected to him at that time, and this was writ- 
ten in 1698: and Mr. Fenton's account was first 
published, I think, in 1725; so that not above 
twenty-seven years intervened from the one ac- 
count to the other; and consequently the sexton, 
who it is said had been possessed of his office 
about forty years, must have been mistaken, and 
the monument must have been designed for some 
other person, and not for Milton. A monument 
indeed has been erected to his memory in West- 
minster Abbey by Auditor Benson, in the year 
1737; but the best monument of him is his 
writings. 

In his youth he was esteemed extremely hand- 
some, so that while he was a student at Cambridge, 
he was called the Lady of Christ's College. He 
had a very fine skin and fresh complexion; his 
hair was of a light brown, and parted on the fore- 
top hung down in curls waving upon his shoulders ; 
his features were exact and regular; his voice 
agreeable and musical; his habit clean and neat; 
his deportment erect and manly. He was middle- 
sized and well proportioned, neither tall nor short, 
neither too lean nor too corpulent, strong and ac- 
tive in his younger years, and though afflicted with 
ftequent hcadachs, blindness, and gout, was yet a 
comely and well-looking man to the last. His eyes 
were of a light blue colour, and from the first arc 
said to have been none of the brightest; but after 
he lost the sight of them (wiiich happened about 
the 43d year of his age) they still appeared with- 
out spot or blemish, and at first view and a little 
distance it was not easy to know that he was blind. 
Mr. Richardson had an account of him from an 
ancient clergyman in Dorsetshire, Dr. Wright, 
who found him in a small house, which had (he 
thinks) but one room on a floor ; in that, up one 
pair of stairs, which was hung with a rusty green, 
he saw John Milton sitting in an elbow chair, with 
black clothes, and neat enough, pale but not cada- 
verous, his hands and fingers gouty, and with 
chalk stones; among other discourse he expressed 
liimsclf to tl)is purpose, that was lie free from the 
pain of the gout, his blindness would be tolerable. 
But there is the less need to be particular in the 
description of his person, as the idea of his fivce 
and countenance is pretty well known from the 
numerous prints, pictures, busts, medals, and other 



representations which have been made of him. 
There are two pictures of greater value than the 
rest, as they are undoubted originals, and were in 
the possession of Milton's widow: the first was 
drawn when he was about twenty-one, and is at 
present in the collection of the Right Honourable 
Arthur Onslow, Esq , Speaker of the House of 
Commons; the other in crayons was drawn when 
he was about sixty-two, and was in the collection 
of Mr. Richardson, but has since been purchased 
by Mr. Tonson. Several prints have been made 
from both these pictures; and there is a print, done 
when he was about sixty-two or sixty-three, after 
the life by Faithorn, which though not so hand- 
some, may yet perhaps be as true a resemblance 
as any of them. It is prefixed to some of our au- 
thor's pieces, and to the folio edition of his prose 
works in three volumes, printed in 1698. 

In his way of living he was an example of so- 
briety and temperance. He was very sparing in 
the use of wine or strong liquors of any kin<l. Let 
meaner poets make use of such expedients to raise 
their fancy and kindle their imagination ; he want- 
ed not any artificial spirits; he had a natural fire, 
and poetic warmth enough of his own. He was 
likewise very abstemious in his diet, not fastidious- 
ly nice or delicate in the choice of his dislies, but 
content with any thing that was most in season, 
or easiest to be procured, eating and drinking (ac- 
cording to the distinction of the philosopher) that 
he might live, and not living that he might eat a:id 
drink. So that probably his gout descended by 
inheritance from one or other of his parents ; or if 
it was of his own acquiring, it must have been 
owing to his studious and sedentary life. And yet 
he delighted sometimes in walking and using ex- 
ercise, but we hear nothing of his riding or hunt- 
ing; and having early learned to fence, he was 
such a master of his sword, that he was not afraid 
of resenting an affront from any man; and before 
he lost his sight, his principal recreation was the 
exercise of his arms; but after he was confined by 
age and blindness, he had a machine to swing in 
for the prcservatiqn of his health. In his youth 
he was accustomed to sit up late at his studies, and 
seldom went to bed before midnight; but afterwards, 
finding it to be the ruin of his eyes, and looking 
on this custom as very pernicious to health at any 
time, he used to go to rest early, seldom later than 
nine, and would be stirring in the summer at four, 
and in the winter at five in the morning; but if 
he was not disposed to rise at his usual hours, he 
still did not lie sleeping, but had some body or 
other by liis bed side to read to him. At his first 
rising he had usually a chapter read to him out of 
the Hebrew Bible, and he commonly studied all 
the morning till twelve, then used some exercise 
for an hour, afterwards dined, and after dinner 
played on the organ, and either sung hiuiself or 



LIFE OP JOHN MILTON. 



XXV 



made his wife sing, who (he saiil) had a good voice 
but no ear ; and then he went up to study again 
till six, when his friends came to visit him and sat 
•with him perhaps till eight ; then he went down to 
supper, which was usually olives or some light 
thing; and after supper he smoked his pipe, and 
drank a glass of water, and went to bed. He loved 
the country, and commends it, as poets usually do ; 
but after his return from his travels, he was very 
little there, except during the time of the plague 
in London. The civil war might at first detain 
him in town; and the pleasures of the country 
were in a great measure lost to him, as they de- 
pend mostly upon sight, whereas a blind man 
wants company and conversation, which is to be 
had better in populous cities. But he was led out 
sometimes for the benefit of the fresh air, and in 
warm sunny weather he used to sit at the door 
of his house near Bunhill Fields, and there as well 
as in the house received the visits of persons of 
quality and distinction; for he was no less visited 
to the last both by his own countrymen and fo- 
reigners, than he had been in his flourishing con- 
dition before the Restoration. 

Some objections, indeed, have been made to his 
temper ; and I remember there was a tradition in 
the university of Cambridge, that he and Mr. King 
(whose death he laments in his Lycidas) were com- 
I)etitors for a fellowship, and when they were both 
equal in point of learning, Mr. King was prefer- 
red by the college for his character of good nature, 
which was wanting in the other ; and this was by 
Milton grievously resent«^l. But the difference of 
their ages, Milton being at least four years older, 
renders this story not very probable ; and besides, 
Mr. King was not elected by the college, but was 
made fellow by a royal mandate, so that there can 
be no truth in the tradition ; but if there was any, 
it is no sign of Milton's resentment, but a proof 
of his generosity, that he could live in such friend- 
ship with a successful rival, and afterwards so pas- 
sionately lament his decease. His method of writ- 
ing controversy is urged as another argument of 
his want of temper : but some allowance must be 
made for the customs and manners of the times. 
Controversy, as well as war, was rougher and more 
barbarous in those days, than it is in these. And 
it is to be considered, too, that his adversaries first 
began the attack ; they loaded him with much 
more personal abuse, only they had not the ad- 
vantage of so much wit to season it. If he had 
engaged with more candid and ingenuous dispu- 
tants, he would have preferred civility and fair ar- 
gument to wit and satire : " to do so was my choice, 
and to have done thus was my chance," as he ex- 
presses himself in the conclusion of one of his 
controversial pieces. All who have written any 
accounts of his life agree, that he was afTable and 
instructive in conversation, of an equal and checr- 

C 



ful temper; and ycl I can easily believe, that he 
had a sufficient sense of his own merits, and con- 
tempt enough for his adversaries. 

His merits indeed were singular ; for he was a 
man not only of wonderful genius, but of immense 
learning and erudition ; not only an incomparable 
poet, but a great mathematician, logician, histori- 
an, and divine. He was a master not only of the 
Greek and Latin, but likewise of the Hebrew, 
Chaldoe, and Syriac, as well as of the modern lan- 
guages, Italian, French, and Spanish. He was 
particularly skilled in the Italian, which he always 
preferred to the French language, as all the men 
of letters did at that time in England ; and he not 
only wrote elegantly in it, but is highly commend- 
ed for his writings by the most learned of the Ita- 
lians themselves, and especially by the members of 
that celebrated academy called della Crusca, which 
was established at Florence, for the refining and 
perfecting of the Tuscan language. He had read 
almost all authors, and improved by all, even by 
romances, of which he had been fond in his young- 
er years ; and as the bee can extract honey out of 
weeds, so (to use his own words in his Apology 
for Smectymnuus) " those books, which to many 
others have been the fuel of wantonness and loose 
living, proved to him so many incitements to the 
love and observation of virtue." His favourite au- 
thor after the Holy Scriptures, was Homer. Ho- 
mer he could repeat almost all without book ; and 
he was advi.sed to undertake a translation of his 
works, which no doubt he would have executed to 
admiration. But (as he says of himself in his 
postscript to the Judgment of Martin Bucer) " he 
never could delight in long citations, much less in 
whole traductions." And accordingly there are 
few things, and those of no great length, which he 
has ever translated. He was possessed too much 
of an original genius to be a mere copyer. " Whe- 
ther it be natural disposition," says he, " or educa- 
tion in me, or that my mother bore me a speaker 
of what God made my own, and not a translator." 
And it is somewhat remarkable, that there is scarce 
any author, who has written so much, and upon 
such various subjects, and yet quotes so little from 
his contemporary authors, or so seldom mentions 
any of them. He praises Scldcn, indeed, in more 
places than one, but for the rest he appears dispos- 
ed to censure rather tKan commend. After his 
severer studies, and affer dinner, as we observed 
before, he used to divert and unbend his mind with 
playing upon the organ or bass-viol, which was a 
great relief to him after he had lost his sight ; for 
he was a master of music, as was his father, and 
he could perform both vocally and instrumentally, 
and it is said that he composed very well, though 
nothing of this kind is handed down to us. It is 
also said, that he had some skill in painting as well 
as in music, and that somewhere or other there 'a 



XXVi 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



a head of Milton drawn by himself: but he was 
blessed with so many real excellences, that there 
is no want of fictitious ones to raise and adorn his 
character. He had a quick apprehension, a sub- 
lime imagination, a strong memory, a piercing 
judgment, a wit always ready, and facetious or 
grave as the occasion required : and I know not 
whether the loss of his sight did not add vigour to 
the faculties of his mind. He at least thought so, 
and often comforted himself with that reflection. 

But his great parts and learning have scarcely 
gained him more admirers, than his political prin- 
ciples have raised him enemies. And yet the dar- 
ling passion of his soul was the love of liberty ; 
this was his constant aim and end, however he 
might be mistaken in the means. He was indeed 
very zealous in what was called the good old cause, 
and with his spirit and his resolution, it is some- 
what wonderful, that he never ventured his person 
in the civil war ; but though he was not in arms, 
he was not inactive, and thought, I suppose, that 
he could be of more service to the cause by his pen 
than by his sword. He was a thorough republi- 
can, and in this he thought like a Greek or Ro- 
man, as he was very conversant with their writ- 
ings. And one day Sir Robert Howard, who was 
a friend to Milton, as well as to the liberties of his 
country, and was one of his constant visiters to 
the last, inquired of him how he came to side with 
the republicans. Milton answered, among other 
reasons, because their's was the most frugal go- 
vernment, for the trappings of a monarchy might 
set up an ordinary commonwealth. But then his 
attachment to Cromwell must be condemned, as 
being neither consistent with his republican prin- 
ciples, nor with his love of liberty. And I know 
no other way of accounting for his conduct, but 
by presuming (as I tlunk we may reasonably pre- 
sume) that he was far from entirely approving of 
Cromwell's proceedings, but considered him as the 
only person who could rescue the nation from the 
tyranny of the Presbyterians, who he saw were 
erecting a worse dominion of their own upon the 
ruins of prelatical episcopacy ; and of all things 
he dreaded spiritual slavery, and therefore closed 
with Cromwell and the Independents, as he ex- 
pected under them greater liberty of conscience. 
And though he served Cromwell, yet it must be 
said for him, that he served a great master, and 
served him ably, and was not wanting from tune 
to time in giving him excellent good advice, espe- 
cially in his second Defence : and so little being 
said of him in all Secretary Thurloe's state-papers, 
it appears that he had no great share in the secrets 
and intrigues of government : what he despatched 
was little more than matters of necessary form, 
letters and answers to foreign states ; and he may 
be justified for acting in such a station, upon the 
some principle as Sir Matthew Hale, for holding 



a judge's commission under the usurper : and ia 
the latter part of his life he frequently expressed 
to his friends his entire satisfaction of mind, that 
he had constantly employed his strength and fa- 
culties in the defence of liberty, and in opposition 
to slavery. 

In matters of religion too he has given as great 
ofl!ence, or even greater, than by his political prin- 
ciples. But still let not the infidel glory: no such 
man was ever of that party. He had the advan- 
tage of a pious education, and ever expressed the 
profoundest reverence of the Deity in his words 
and actions, was both a Christian and a Protestant, 
and studied and admired the Holy Scriptures above 
all other books whatsoever ; and in all his writings 
he plainly shows a religious turn of mind, as 
well in verse as in prose, as well in his works of an 
earlier date as in those of later composition. When 
he wrote the Doctrine and Discipline of Divorce, 
he appears to have been a Calvinist; but after- 
wards he entertained a more favourable opinion 
of Arminius. Some have inclined to believe, that 
he was an Arian; but there are more express pas- 
sages in his works to overthrow this opinion, than 
any there are to confirm it. For in the conclusion 
of his Treatise of Reformation he thus solemnly 
invokes the Trinity; " Thou therefore that sittest 
in light and glory unapproachable, parent of an- 
gels and men! next thee I implore Omnipotent 
King, Redeemer of that lost renmant whose nature 
thou didst assume, ineffable and everlasting love ! 
And thou the third subsistence of divine infinitude 
illumining Spirit, the joy and solace of created 
tilings I one tri-personal Godhead ! look upon this 
thy poor, and almost spent and expiring Church, 
&c." And in his tract of Prelatical Episcopacy 
he endeavours to prove the spuriousncss of some 
epistles attributed to Ignatius, because they con- 
tained in them heresies, one of which heresies is. 
that " he condemns them for ministers of Satan, 
who say that Christ is God above all." And a 
little af\er in the same tract he objects to the au- 
thority of Tertulhan, because he went about to 
" prove an imparity between God the Father, and 
God the Son." And in the Paradise Lost we shall 
find nothing upon this head, that is not perfectly 
agreeable to Scripture. The learned Dr. Trap, 
who was as Ukely to cry out upon heresy as any 
man, asserts that the poem is orthodox in every 
part of it; o" otherwise he would not have been at 
the pains of translating it. Ncque alicnum videtur 
a studiis viri theologi ■pocma magna ex parte theo- 
logicum; omni ex parte{rideant,perme lkct,atque 
ringantur alhei ct infidcles) orthodoxum. Milton 
was indeed a dissenter from the Church of Eng- 
land, in which he had been educated, and was by 
his parents designed for holy orders, as we related 
before; but he was led away by early prejudices 
against the doctrine and discipline of the Church •, 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



XXVll 



and in his younger years was a favourer of the 
Presbyterians; in his middle age he was best 
pleased with the Independents and Anabaptists, as 
allowing greater liberty of conscience than others, 
and coming nearest in his opinion to the primitive 
practice ; and in the latter part of his life he was 
not a protessed member of any particular sect of 
Christians, he frequented no public worship, nor 
used any religious rite in his family. Whether so 
many diiierent forms of worship as he had seen, 
had made hiin indilfercnt to all forms; or whether 
he thought that all Christians had in some things 
corrupted the purity and simplicity of the Gospel; 
or whether he disliked their endless and uncharita- 
ble disputes, and that love of dominion and inclina- 
tion to persecution, which he said was a piece of 
popery inseparable from all churches ; or whether 
he believed, that a man might be a good Christian 
without joining in any communion ; or whether he 
did not look upon himself as inspired, as wrapt up 
in God, and above all forms and ceremonies, it is 
not easy to determine : to his own master he stand- 
etu or falleth: but if he was of any denomination, 
he was a sort of a Ciuietist, and was full of the in- 
terior of religion though he so little regarded the 
exterior; and it is certain was to the last an enthu- 
siast rather than an infidel. As enthusiasm made 
Norris a poet, so poetry might make Milton an 
enthusiast. 

His circumstances were never very mean, nor 
very great; for he lived above want, and was not 
intent upon accumulating wealth; his ambition 
was more to enrich and adorn his mind. His fa- 
ther supported him in his travels, and for some 
time after. Then his pupils must have been of 
some advantage to him, and brought him either a 
certain stipend, or considerable presents at least; 
and he had scarcely any other method of improv- 
ing his fortune, as he was of no profession. When 
his father died, he inherited an elder son's share of 
his estate, the principal part of which, I believe, 
was his house in Bread-street : And not long after, 
he was appointed Latin Secretary, with a salary 
of two hundred pounds a year ; so that he was now 
in opulent circumstances for a man who had al- 
ways led a frugal and temperate life, and was at 
little unnecessary expense besides buying of books. 
Though he was of the victorious party, yet he was 
far from sharing in the spoils of his country. On 
the contrary, (as we learn from his second De- 
fence) he sustained greater losses during the civil 
war, and was not at all favoured in the imposition 
of taxes, but sometimes paid beyond his due pro- 
portion. And upon a turn of affairs he was not 
only deprived of his place, but also lost two thou- 
sand pounds, which he had, for security and im- 
provement, put into the Excise Office. He lost, 
likewise, another considerable sum for want of 
proper care and management, as persons of Mil- 



ton's genius are seldom expert in money matters. 
And in the fire of London his house in Bread- 
street was burnt, before which accident, foreigners 
have gone, out of devotion, (says Wood) to see the 
house and chamber where he was born. His gains 
were inconsiderable in proportion to his losses; for 
excepting the thousand pounds, which were given 
him by the government for writing his Defence of 
the people against Salmasius, we may conclude 
that he got very little by the copies of his works, 
when it does not appear that he received any more 
than ten pounds for Paradise Lost. Some time 
before he died he sold the greatest part of his li- 
brary, as his heirs were not qualified to make a 
proper use of it, and as he thought that he could 
dispose of it to greater advantage than they could 
after his decease. And finally, by one means or 
other, he died worth one thousand five hundred 
pounds, besides his household goods, which was 
no incompetent substance for him, who was as 
great a philosopher as a poet. 

To this account of Milton it may be proper to 
add something concerning his family. We said 
before, that he had a younger brother and a sister. 
His brother, Christopher Milton, was a man of 
totally opposite principles; was a strong royalist, 
and after the civil war made his composition 
through his brother's interest ; had been entered 
young a student in the Inner Temple, of which 
house he lived to be an ancient bencher; and be- 
ing a professed papist, was, in the reign of James 
II, made a judge, and knighted ; but soon obtained 
his quietus by reason of his age and infirmities, 
and retired to Ipswich, where he lived all the lat- 
ter part of his life. His sister, Anne Milton, had 
a considerable fortune given her by her father in 
marriage with Mr. Edward Philips, (son of Mr. 
Edward Philips, of Shrewsbury,) who, coming 
young to London, was bred up in the Crown Of- 
fice in Chancery, and at length became secondary 
of the office under Mr. Bembo. By him she had, 
besides other children who died infants, two sons, 
Edward and John, whom we have had frequent 
ocx;asion to mention before. Among our author's 
j u venile poems there is a copy of verses on the death 
of a fair infant, a nephew, or rather niece of his, 
dying of a cough ; and this being written in his 
seventeenth year, as it is said in the title, it may 
naturally be inferred that Mrs. Philips was elder 
than either of her brothers. She had likewise two 
laughters, Mary, who died very young, and Anne, 
who was living in 1694, by a second husband, Mr. 
Thomas Agar, who succeeded his intimate friend 
Mr. Philips in his place in the Crown Office, which 
he enjoyed many years, and left to Mr. Thomas 
Milton, son of Sir Christopher before mentioned. 
As for Milton himself he appears to have been no 
enemy to the fair sex by having had three wives. 
What fortune he had with any of them is no whew 



XXVIU 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



said, but they were gentlemen's daughters ; and it 
is remarkable that he married them all maidens, 
for (as he says in his Apology for Smectymnuus, 
which was written before he married at all) he 
" thought with them, who both in prudence and 
elegance of spirit would choose a virgin of mean 
fortunes, honestly bred, before the wealthiest 
widow." But yet he seemeth not to have been 
very happy in any of his marriages ; for his first 
wife had justly oflended him by her long absence 
and separation from him; the second, whose love, 
sweetness, and goodness he commends, lived not a 
twelvemonth with him ; and his third wife is said 
to have been a woman of a most violent spirit, and 
a hard mother-in-law to his children. She died 
very old, at Nantwich, in Cheshire : and from the 
accounts of those who had seen her, I have learn- 
ed, that she confirmed several things which have 
been related before ; and particularly that her hus- 
band used to compose poetry chiefly in winter, and 
on his waking in a morning would make her write 
down sometimes twenty or thirty verses ; and be- 
ing asked whether he did not often read Homer 
and Virgil, she understood it as an imputation 
upon him for stealing from those authors, and an- 
swered with eagerness, that he stole from no body 
but the Muse who inspired him ; and being asked 
by a lady present who the Muse was, replied, it 
was God's grace, and the Holy Spirit that visited 
him nightly. She was likewise asked whom he 
approved most of our English poets, and answered, 
Spenser, Shakspeare, and Cowley: and being 
asked what he thought of Dryden, she said Dry- 
den used sometimes to visit him, but he thought 
him no poet, but a good rhymist : but this was be- 
fore Dryden had composed his best poems, which 
made his name so famous afterwards. She was 
wont, moreover, to say, that her husband was ap- 
plied to by message from the King, and invited to 
write for the Court, but his answer was, that such 
a behaviour would be very inconsistent with his 
former conduct, for he had never yet employed his 
pen against his conscience. By his first wife he 
had four children, a son, who died an infant, and 
three daughters, who survived him; by his second 
wife he had only one daughter, who died soon after 
her mother, who died in childbed ; and by his last 
wife he had no children at all. His daughters were 
not sent to school, but were instructed by a mis- 
tress kept at home for that purpose : and he him- 
self, excusing the eldest on account of an impedi- 
ment in her speech, taught the two others to read 
and pronounce Greek and Latin, and several other 
languages, without understanding any but Eng- 
lish, for he used to say that one tongue was enough 
for a woman : but this employment was very irk- 
some to them, and this, together with the sharp- 
ness and severity of their mother-in-law, made them 
very uneasy at iiome ; and therefore they were all 



sent abroad to learn things more proper for them, 
and particularly embroidery in gold and silver, 
As Milton at his death left his aftairs very much 
in the power of his widow, though she acknow- 
ledged that he died worth one thousand five hun- 
dred pounds, yet she allowed but one hundred 
pounds to each of his three daughters. Anne, 
the eldest, was decrepit and deformed, but had a 
very handsome face ; she married a master-builder, 
and died in childbed of her first child, who died 
with her. Mary, the second, lived and died single. 
Deborah, the youngest, in her father's life time 
went over to Ireland with a lady, and afterwards 
was married to Mr. Abraham Clarke, a weaver in 
Spittle Fields, and died in August, 1727, in the 
seventy sixth year of her age. She is said to have 
been a woman of good understanding, and genteel 
behaviour, though in low circumstances. As she 
had been often called upon to read Homer and 
Ovid's Metamorphoses to her father, she could 
have repeated a considerable number of verses from 
the beginning of both those poets, as Mr. Ward, 
Professor of Rhetoric in Gresham College, relates 
upon his own knowledge ; and another gentleman 
has informed me, that be has heard her repeat se- 
veral verses hkewise out of Euripides. Mr. Ad- 
dison, and the other gentlemen, who had oppor- 
tunities of seeing her, knew her immediately to be 
Milton's daughter, by the similitude of her coun- 
tenance to her father's picture : and Mr. Addison 
made her a handsome present of a purse of guineas 
with a promise of procuring for her some annual 
provision for her life ; but his death happening 
soon after, she lost the benefit of this generous de- 
sign. She received presents likewise from several 
other gentlemen, and Clueen Caroline sent her 
fifty pounds by the hands of Dr. Friend, the phy- 
sician. She had ten children, seven sons and three 
daughters ; but none of them had any children, 
except one of her sons named Caleb, and one of 
her daughters named Elizabeth. Caleb went to 
Fort St. George, in the East Indies, where he mar- 
ried, and had two sons, Abraham and Isaac ; the 
elder of whom came to England with the late gov- 
ernor Harrison, but returned upon advice of liis 
father's death, and whether he or his brother be 
now living is uncertain. Elizabeth, the youngest 
child of Mrs. Clarke, was married to Mr. Thomas 
Foster, a weaver in Spittle Fields, and had seven 
children who are all dead ; and she herself is aged 
about sixty, and weak and infirm. She seems to 
be a good, plain, sensible woman, and has con- 
firmed several particulars related above, and in- 
formed me of some others, wiiich she had often 
heard from her mother : and her granfather lost 
two thousand pounds by a money-scrivener, whom 
he had intrusted with that sum, and likewise 
an estate at Westminster of sixty pounds a year, 
wluch belonged to the Dean and Chapter, and 



LIFE OF JOHN MILTON. 



XXIX 



■was restored to them at the Restoration : that he 
was very temperate in his eating and drinking, but 
what he had he always loved to have of the best : 
that he seldom went abroad in the latter part of his 
life, but was visited even then by persons of distinc- 
tion, both foreigners and others : that he kept his 
daughters at a great distance, and would not allow 
them to learn to write, which he thought unnecessary 
for a woman : that her mother was his greatest fa- 
vourite, and could read in seven or eight languages, 
though she understood none but English : that her 
mother inherited his headachs and disorders, and 
had such a weakness in her eyes, that she was 
forced to make use of spectacles from the age of 
eighteen ; and she herself, she says, has not been 
able to read a chapter in the Bible these twenty 
years: that she was mistaken in informing Mr. 
Birch, which he had printed upon her authority, 
that Milton's father was born in France ; and a 
brother of hers who was then living was very angry 
with her for it, and, like a true born Englishman, 
resented it highly, that the family should be thought 
to bear any relation to France : that Milton's se- 
cond wife did not die in childbed, as Mr. Philips 
and Toland relate, but above three months after 
of a consumption ; and this too Mr. Birch relates 
up<jn her authority; but in this particular she 
must be mistaken, as well as in the other, for our 
author's sonnet on his deceased wife plainly implies 
that she did die in childbed. She knows nothing 
of her aunt PhiHps or Agar's descendants, but be- 
lieves that they are all extinct : as is likewise Sir 
Christopher Milton's family, the last of which, she 
says, were two maiden sisters, Mrs. Mary and Mrs. 
Catharine Milton, who lived and died at Highgate ; 
but unknown to her there is a Mrs. Milton hving 
in Grosvenor-street, the grand-daughter of Sir 
Christopher, and the daughter of Mr. Thomas 
Milton before mentioned : and she herself is the 
only survivor of Milton's own family, unless there 
be some in the East Indies, which she very much 
questions, for she used to hear from them some- 
times, but has heard nothing now for several years; 
so that, in all probability, Milton's whole family 
will be extinct with her, and he can live only in 
his writings. And such is the caprice of fortune, 
this grand-daughter of a man, who will be an ever- 
lasting glory to the nation, has now for some years 
with her husband kept a httle chandler's or gro- 
cer's shop for their subsistence, lately at the lower 
Holloway, in the road between Highgate and 
London, and at present in Cock Lane, not far 
from Shoreditch Church. Another thing let me ; 
mention, that is equally to the honour of the pre- 1 
sent age. Though Milton received not above ten ^ 
pounds, at two different payments, for the copy of [ 
Paradise Lost, yet Mr. Hoyle, author of the trea- i 



tise on the Game of Whist, after having disposed 
of all the first impression, sold the copy to the 
bookseller, as I have been informed, for two hun- 
dred guineas. 

As we have had occasion to mention more than 
once Milton's manuscripts preserved in the library 
of Trinity College in Cambridge, it may not be 
ungrateful to the reader, if we give a more parti- 
cular account of them, before we conclude. There 
are, as we said, two draughts of a letter to a friend 
who had importuned him to take orders, together 
with a sonnet on his being arrived to the age of 
twenty-three; and by there being two draughts of 
this letter with several alterations and additions, 
it appears to have been written with great care 
and deliberation; and both the draughts have been 
published by Mr. Birch in his Historical and Cri- 
tical Account of the life and writings of Milton. 
There are also several of his poems, Arcades, At 
a solemn music, On time. Upon the circumcision, 
the Mask, Lycidas, with five or six of his sonnets, 
all in his own hand writing : and there are some 
others of his sonnets written by diflerent hands, 
being most of them composed after he had lost his 
sight. It is curious to see the first thoughts and 
subsequent corrections of so great a poet as Mil- 
ton : but it is remarkable in these manuscript poems, 
that he does not often make his stops, or begin 
his lines with great letters. There are likewise 
in his own hand-writing different plans of Para- 
dise Lost in the form of a tragedy: and it is an 
agreeable amusement to trace the gradual progress 
and improvement of such a work from its first 
dawnings in the plan of a tragedy to its full lustre 
in an epic poem. And together with the plans 
of Paradise Lost there are the plans or subjects of 
several other intended tragedies, some taken from 
the Scripture, others from the British or Scottish 
histories: and of the latter the last mentioned is 
Macbeth, as if is he had an inclination to try his 
strength with Shakspeare ; and to reduce the play 
more to the unities he proposes, " beginning at the 
arrival of Malcolm at Macduff; the matter of 
Duncan may be expressed by the appearing of his 
ghost." These manuscripts of Milton were found 
by the learned Mr. Professor Mason among some 
other old papers, which, he says, belonged to Sir 
Henry Newton Puckering, who was a considera- 
ble benefactor to the library : and for the better 
preservation of such truly valuable relics, they were 
collected together, and handsomely bound in a thin 
folio by the care and at the charge of a person, 
who is now very eminent in his profession, and 
was always a lover of the Muses, and at that time 
a fellow of Trinity College, Mr. Clarke, one of his 
Majesty's council. 



c2 



XXX 



ENCOMIUMS UPON MILTON. 



^ntontinm^ u»on Wilton^ 



IN PARADISUM AMISSAM SUMMI 
POET^ JOHANNIS MILTONI. 

SAMUELE BARROW, M. D. AUCTORE. 

Clni Icgis Amissam Paradisum, grandia magni 

Carmina Miltoni, quid nisicuncta legist 
Res cunctas, ct cunctarum primordia rerum, 

Et fata, ct fines, continet iste liber. 
Intima panduntur magni penetralia mundi, 

Scribitur ct toto quicquid in orbe latet : 
Terrffique, tractiisque maris, coclumque profun- 
dum, 
Sulphurcuniquc Erebi, flammivomumque spe- 
cus: 
Ctuscque colunt terras, pontumque, ct Tartara 
cffica, 
Cluaique colunt summi lucida rcgna poli : 
Et quodcunque ullis conclusuin est finibus usquam, 

Et sine fine Chaos, et sine fine Deus; 
Et sine fine magis, si quid magis est sine fine, 

In Christo erga homines conciliatus amor. 
HfEc quisperarct quis crcderetesse futurum? 

Et tamcn ha^c hodie terra Britanna legit. 
O quantosin bella duces! quie protulit arma! 

Q,ua3canit, et quanta prjeliadira tuba! 
Coelcstcs acies ! atquc in certamine coelum ! 

Etqure coelcstcs pugna dcccrct agros! 
duantus in a;thercis tollit so Lucifer armis ! 
Atque ipso graditur vix Michacle minor! 
duantis, et quixm funestis concurritur iris, 
Dum fcrushic stcUas protegit, ille rapit! 
Duni vulsos montcs ecu tela reciproca torqucnt, 

Et non mortali desuper igne pluunt: 
Stat dubius cui se parti concedat Olympus, 

Et mctuit piignx non supercsse sua;. 
At simul in codUs Messioe insignia fulgent, 
Et currus animcs, armAquc digna Deo, 
Horrendum([uo rota^ strident, ct sa3va rotarum 

Erumpuut torvis fulgura luminibus, 
Et flanunai vibrant, et vera tonitrua rauco 

Admistis llannuis insonucre polo: 
Excidit attonitis mens omnis, ct impetus omnis, 

Et cassis dextris irrita tela cadunt; 
Ad poenas fugiunt ; ct, ecu forct Orcus asylum, 

Infcrnis ccrtant eondere se tcnebris. 
Cedite, Ilomani Scriptores; cedite, Graii; 
Et quos fama recens vcl celebravit anus. 
Hajc quicunque legct tantum cccinisse putabit 
Moionidem ranas, Virgilium culices. 



ON PARADISE LOST. 

BY ANDREW MARVELL. 

When I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold, 
In slender book his vast design unfold, 



Messiah crowned, God's reconciled decree. 
Rebelling angels, the forbidden tree, 
Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, all; the argument 
Held me awhile misdoubting his intent. 
That he would ruin (for I saw him strong) 
The sacred truths to fable and old song; 
(So Samson groped the temple's post in spight,) 
The world o'erwhelming, to revenge his sight. 

Yet, as I read, still growing less severe, 
I liked his project, the success did fear; 
Through that wide field how he liis way should 

find, 
O'er which lame Faith leads Understanding blind; 
Lest he'd perplex the things he would explain, 
And what was easy he siiould render vain. 

Or if a work so infinite he spann'd, 
Jealous I was, that some less skilful hand 
(Such as disquiet always what is well, 
And, by illhnitating would excel) 
Might hence presume the whole creation's day 
To change in scenes, and show it in a play 

Pardon me, migiity poet, nor despise 
My causeless, yet not impious surmise: 
But I am now convinced; and none will dare 
Within thy labours to pretend a share. 
Thou hast not missed one thought that could be fit, 
And all that was improper dost omit; 
So that no room is here for writers left. 
But to detect their ignorance or theft. 

That majesty, which through tliy work doth 
reign. 
Draws the devout, deterring the profane: 
And things divine thou treat'st of in such state 
As them preserves, and thee, inviolate. 
At once delight and horror on us seize. 
Thou sing'st with so much gravity and ease; 
And above human liight dost soar aloft 
With plume so strong, so equal, and so soft: 
The bird, named from that Paradise you sing. 
So never fiags, but always keeps on wing. 

Where could'st thou words of such a compass 
find? 
Whence furnish such a vast expense of mind'? 
Just Heaven thee, like Tiresias, to requite. 
Rewards with prophecy thy loss of sight. 
Well might'st thou scorn thy readers to allure 
With tinkling rhyme, of thy own sense secure; 
While the Town-Bays writes all the while and 

spells. 
And, like a pack-horse, tires without his bells: 
Their fancies like our busliy points appear; 
The poets tag them, we for fashion wear. 
I too, transported by the mode, olVend, 
And, while I meant to praise thee, must com- 
mend: 



ENCOMIUMS UPON MILTON. 



XXlit 



Thy verse created, like thy theme, sublime, 

In number, weight, and meaBure, needs not rhyme. 



EPIGRAM ON MILTON. 

BY DRYDEN. 

TiinEE Poets, in three distant ages born, 
Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn: 
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; 
The next, in majesty; in both the last. 
The force of Nature could no farther go: 
To make a third she joined the former two. 



FROM AN ACCOUNT OF 

THE GREATEST ENGLISH POETS. 

BY ADDISON. 

But Mir.TON next, with high and haughty stalks, 

Unfcttcr'd, in majestic numbers, walks: 

No vulgar iiero can his Muse engage, 

Nor earth's wide scene confine his hallow'd rage. 

See! sec! he upward springs, and, towering high, 

Spurns the dull province of mortality; 

Shakes Heaven's eternal throne with dire alarms. 

And sets til' Almighty Thunderer in arms! 

Whate'cr his pen describes I more than see, 

Whilst every verse array'd in majesty, 

Bold and sublime, my whole attention draws, 

And seems above the critic's nicer laws. 

How are you struck with terror and delight. 

When angel with archangel copes in fight ! 

When great Messiah's outspread banner shines, 

How does the chariot rattle in his lines! 

What sound of brazen wheels, with thunder, scare 

And stun the reader with the; din of war! 

With fear my sfiirits and my blood retire. 

To see the seraphs sunk in clouds of fire: 

But when, with eager steps, from hence I rise. 

And view the first gay scene of Paradise; 

What tongue, what words of rapture, can express 

A vision so profuse of pleasantness ! 



ADDRESS TO GREAT BRITAIN. 



FROM THOMSON S SUMMER. 



-For lofty sense, 



Creative fancy, and inspection keen 

Through the deep windings of the human heart. 

Is not wild Shaks[)eare thine and Nature's boastl 

Is not each great, each amiable. Muse 

Of classic ages in thy Mif.TON metl 

A genius universal as his theme ; 

Astonisiiing as chaos; as the bloom 

Of blowing Eden fair; as Heaven sublime ! 



DR. JOHNSON'S PROLOGUE 

TO THE 

MASK OF COMUS. 

Acted at the Drury-Lane Theatre, April 5, 1750, 
for the benefit of Milton's grand-daughter. 

Ye patriot crowds, who burn for Englarrd's fame, 
Yc nymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name, 
Whose generous zeal, unbought by flattering 

rhymes. 
Shames the mean pensions of Augustan tinaes; 
Immortal patrons of succeeding days. 
Attend this prelude of perpetual praise ! 
Let Wit, condemn'd the feeble war to wage 
With close malevolence, or public rage ; 
Let Study, worn with virtue's fruitless lore, 
Behold this Theatre, and grieve no more. 
This night, distinguished by your smiles, shall tell, 
That never Britain can in vain excel; 
The slighted arts futurity shall trust, 
And rising ages hasten to be just. 

At length our mighty Bard's victorious lays 
Fill the loud voice of universal [iruise^. 
And baflled Spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, 
Yields to renown the centuries to come ; 
With ard(!nt haste each candidate of fame. 
Ambitious, catches at his towering name: 
He sees, and pitying sees, vain wealth bestow 
Those pageant honours wiiich he scorned below, 
While crowds aloft the laureat bust behold, 
Or trace his form on circulating gold. 
Unknown, — unheeded, long his offspring lay. 
And want hung threatening o'er her slow decay. 
What though she shine with no Miltonian firo, 
No favouring Muse her moniing-dreams inspire; 
Yet softer claims the melting heart engage. 
Her youth laborious, and her blameless age; 
Hers the mild merits of domestic life. 
The patient sufll'erer, and the faithful wife. 
Thus graced with humble Virtue's native charms^ 
Her grandsirc leaves her in Britannia's arms; 
Secure with peace, with competence, to dwell. 
While tutelary nations guard her cell. 
Yours is the charge, ye fair, ye wise, ye brave! 
'Tis yours to crown desert — beyond the grave. 



PROM 

GRAY'S PROGRESS OF POESY, 

Nor second he that rode sublime 

Upon the serai)h-wings of ecstasy; 

I'he secrets of th' abyss to spy, 

He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time: 

The living throne, the 8api)liire blaze, 

Where angels tremble while they gaze, 

He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, 

Closed Ills eyes in endless night. 



XXX II 



ENCOMIUMS UPON MILTON. 



FROM 

COLLINS'S ODE ON THE POETICAL 
CHARACTER. 

High on some clifT, to Heaven up-piled, 

Of nule access, of prospect wild, 

Where, tangled round the jealous steep, 

Strange shades o'erbrow the vallies deep, 

And holy Genii guard the rock, 

Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, 

While on its rich ambitious head 

An Eden, like his own, lies spread; 

I view that oak the fancied glades among. 

By which as Milton lay, his evening ear, 

From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew, 

Nigh sphered in Heaven, its native strains could 

hear. 
On which that ancient trump he reached was 

hung ; 
Thither oft his glory greeting, 
From Waller's myrtle-shades retreating. 
With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue. 
My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue; 

In vain: Such bliss to one alone 

Of all the sons of Soul was known ; 
And Heaven and Fancy, kindred powers, 
Have now o'erturn'd th' inspiring bowers, 
Or curtain'd close such scene from every future 

view. 



FROM 

MASON'S ODE TO MEMORY. 

Rise, hallow'd Milton! rise, and say. 

How, at thy gloomy close of day ; 
How, when ' depress'd by age, beset with wrongs;' 
When ' fall'n on evil days and evil tongues:' 

When Darkness, brooding on thy sight, 

Exil'd the sovereign lamp of light: 
Say, what could then one cheering hope diffuse 1 
What friends were thine, save Memory and the 
Muse'? 

Hence the rich spoils thy studious youth 

Caught from the stores of ancient Truth; 
Hence all thy busy eye could pleas'd explore, 
When Rapture led thee to the Latian shore; 

Each scene that Tiber's bank supplied; 

Each grace, that play'd on Arno's side; 
The tepid gales, through Tuscan glades that fly ; 
The blue serene, that spreads Hesperia's sky; 

Were still thine own: thy ample mind 

Each charm receiv'd, retain'd, combin'd. 
And thence the nightly visitant that came 
To touch thy bosom with her sacred flame, 

Recall'd the. long-lost beams of grace ; 

That whilom shot from Nature's face, 



When God in Eden, o'er her youthful breast 
Spread with his own right hand Perfection's gor- 
geous vest. 



DR. 



FROM 

ROBERTS' EPISTLE ON THE 
ENGLISH POETS. 



ADDRESSED TO CHRISTOPHER ANSTEY, ESft. 

Poet of other times ! to thee I bow 

With lowliest reverence. Oft: thou tak'st my soul, 

And waft'st it by thy potent harmony 

To that empyreal mansion, where thine ear 

Caught the soft warblings of a seraph's harp, 

What time the nightly visitant unlock'd 

The gates of Heaven, and to thy mental sight 

Display'd celestial scenes. She from thy lyre 

With indignation tore the tinkling bells, 

And turn'd it to sublimest argument. 



FROM 

COWPER'S TABLE TALK. 

Ages elaps'd ere Homer's lamp appear'd. 
And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard: 
To carry Nature lengths unknown before, 
And give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more. 
Thus Genius rose and set at order'd times, 
And shot a day-spring into distant climes. 
Ennobling every region that he chose; 
He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose; 
And tedious years of gothic darkness pass'd, 
Emerg'd all splendour in our isle at last. 
Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, 
Then show far oil" their shining plumes again. 



FROM 



THE SAME AUTHOR'S TASK, B. IIL 



-Philosophy, baptized 



In the i>ure fountain of eternal love. 

Has eyes indeed ; and, viewing all she sees 

As meant to indicate a God to man. 

Gives Him his praise, and forfeits not her own. 

Learning has borne such fruit in other days 

On all her branches: Piety has found 

Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer 

Has flovv'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. 

Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-hke sage 

Sagacious reader of the works of God, 

And in his word sagacious. Such too, thine, 

Milton, whose genius had angelic wings, 

And fed on manna. 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



3r®MH mm 



<i 



31)arjitJl!0ie 1.0!5t, 



BOOK I. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Tliis first book proposes, firat in brief, the whole subject, 
man's disobedience, and tlie lossthereuponof Paradise where- 
in tie was placed : then touches the prime cause of his fall, the 
serpent, or rather Satan in the serpent'^ who, revolting from 
(■"od, and drawing to bis side many k';,'iun3 of Angels, was, by 
the conmiand of Cod, driven out of Heaven, with all his crew, 
into the great deep. Which action pa.ssed over, the poem 
hiu-'tens into tlie midst of ihinL'H, presenting Satan with his 
angi'Ls nsw fallen into Hell, di'scribed here, not in the centre, 
(for lieavcn and earth may he sup|)osed as yet not made, cer- 
tainly not yet accursed,) but in a place of utter darkness, fit- 
licBt called Chaos. Here Siitan, with bis angels, lying on the 
burning lake, thunderstruck and a-stonisbed, after a certain 
Biiace recovers, as from confusion, calls up him who next in 
order and dignity lay by him: they confer of their nnserahle 
fall. tSatan awakens all bis ligions, who lay till then in the 
same manner confounded. Tliey rise; tlieir numbers; array 
of battle ; their chief leaders named, according to the idols 
known alicrwanls in Canaan and the countries adjoining. To 
these S.ilan directs his speech, comforts thcin with hope yet 
of regaining heaven ; but tells tlicm lastly of a new world and 
a new kind of creature to be cieated, according to an ancient 
prophecy or report in heaven; for that angels were long before 
this visible creation, was tlw; ojjinion of many ancient fathers. 
To find out the truth of this prophecy, arid what to determine 
thereon, be refers to a full council. What bis a.ssociate,s 
Ibenre attempt. Pandemonium, the palace of Satan, rises, 
Biiddeidy built out of the deep: the infernal peers there hIi 
in council 



Or man's first disobedience, and the fruit 

Of tliiit forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 

I!r()ii(rlit death into the world, and all our wo, 

With loss of Eden, till one greater Man 

Ilr.store us, and regain the blissful seat, 

Sing, lieav'nly Muse, tliat on the secret top 

Of Orel), or of Sinai, didst iasjure 

That shepherd, who first tauglit the chosen seed, 

In the beginning how the Ileijv'ns and Earth 

Rose out of Chaos: or if Sion hill 

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook, that flowed 

Fast by the oracle of God ; I thence 

Invoke thy aid to my advent'rnus song, 

That with no middle flight intends to soar 

Above the Aoriian mount, wlyle it pursiics 





Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. 
And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost jirefer 
Before all temples the upright heart and pure, 
Instruct me, for thou knowest; Thou from the first 
Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread, 
Dove-like, sat'st brooding on the vast abysa. 
And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark 
Illumine; what is low raise and su{)port; 
That to the height of this great argument 
I may assert eternal Providence, 
And justify the ways of God to men. 

Say first, for ileav'n hides nothing from thy view, 
Nor the deep tract of Hell; say first, what cause 
Moved our grand parents, in that hajipy state, 
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off 
From their Creator, and transgre.ss liis will 
For one restraint, lords of the world besides 1 
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt 1 
Th' infernal serpent; he it was, whose guile 
Stirr'd up with envy and revenge, deceived 
The mother of mankind, what time liis pride 
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his ho.st 
Of rebel angels; by whost! aid aspiring 
To set himself in glory above his peers, 
He trusted to have equall'd the Most High 
If he opposed; and, with ambitious aim 
Against the throne and monarchy of God, 
Raised imiiious war in Ileav'n, and battle proud, 
With vain attempt. Him the almighty power 
Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky, 
With hideous ruin and combustion, down 
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell 
In adamantine chains and penal fire, 
Who durst defy th' Omnipotent to arms. 
Nine times the space that measures day and night 
To mortal men, he with his horrid crew 
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, 
Confounded, though immortal: but his doom 
Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought 
Both of lost happiness, and lasting pain, 
Torments him; round be throws his balefid eyes, 
That witnessed huge afiliction and dismay, 
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hute; 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book i 



At iiiicc, as Car as aiifjols ken, he views 

Tlic (liBiiial situation waste and wild ; 

A iluiifieoii horrible on all sides round, 

As one <j;reat Curnaee llanied; yet from those llaJiies 

No liijhtjhut rather darkness visible 

Served only to diseover sijjhts of wo, 

Rei:;ions of sorrow, doleful shades, where jieaco 

And restean never dwell, hope never eoines 

That conies to all; but torture without end 

Still urges, luid a fiery deluge, fed 

With ever-burninir sulphur unconsumed; 

Sueh plaee eternal Justice had i)rei)ared 

For those rebellious ; hero their prison ordained 

In utter (lavkiiess, and tlieir jiortion st^t 

As far removed from God and lij^ht of lieav'n, 

As from the centre thrice to th' utmost pole. 

O how unlike the j)lace froni whence they fell ! 

There the com|ianions of his fall, o'erwhelmed 

With floods and vv'liirlwinds of tempestuous fire, 

He soon discerns; and welt'rinij by his side 

One next himself in power, and next in crime, 

Lcng aller known in Palestine, and named 

Beelzebub. To whom th' arch enemy, 

And thence in Ileav'n called Satan, with bold words 

Breakinji the horrid silence thus bejjan. 

"If thou beest he; but O how fall'u! how 
cliani;ed 
From him, who, in the happy realms of lifjht, 
Clothed with transcendent brightness, ilidst out- 
shine 
Myriads though briglit ! If he whom mutual league, 
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope 
And hazard in the glorious enterprise, 
Joined with me once, now misery hath joined 
In equal ruin! into what pit tliou seest. 
From what height fall'n; so much the stronger 

proved 
He with liis thunder : and till then who knew 
The force of those dire arms1 yet not for those, 
Nor what the jKitent victor in his rage 
Can else inflict, do I rejient or change, 
Though changed in outward lustre, that fixed 

mind, 
And higli disdain from sense of injured merit. 
That with the mightiest raised me to contend, 
And to the fierce contention brought along 
tff Innumerable force of spirits armed, 
•■ - That durst dislike his reign, and, mo preferring. 
His utmost power with adverse power oppi)scd 
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven, 
And shook his throne. What tho' the field be lost"? 
All is not lost ; th' uncoiujuerablo will, 
And study of revenge, immortal hate. 
And courage never to submit or yield, 
And what is else not to be overcome ; 
That glory never shall his wrath or might 
Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace 
M With suppliant knee, and deify his power, 
Who from the terror of this oi'iu so lute 



Doubted his empire ; that were low indeed, 
'I'hat were an ignominy, and shame beneath 
This downfall; since, by fate, the strength of gods 
Anil this emjiyreal substance can not f;iil; 
Since, thiMugh experience of this great (?vent. 
In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced, 
We may with more successful hojic resolve 
To wage, by force or guile, eternal war, 
Irreconcileable to our grand foe. 
Who now triumphs, and, in th' excess of joy 
Sole reigning, holds the tyranny of Heaven." 

So spake th' apostate angel, though in })ain, 
Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep desjiair: 
And him thus answered soon his boldcoiii|Ker. 

" () prince, C) chief of many throned powers, 
That led th' embattled seraphim to war 
Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds 
Fearless, endangered Ileav'n's perpetual King, 
And put to ]iroof his high supremacy. 
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate; 
Too well I see and rue the dire event, 
That with sad overthrow and foul defeat 
Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host 
In horrible destruction laid thus low, 
As far as the gods and heavenly essences 
Can perish: for the mind and spirit remains 
Invincible, and vigour soon returns. 
Though nil our glory, extinct, and happy state 
Here swallowed up in endless misery. 
But what if he our Conqueror (whom T now 
Of force believe almighty, since no less 
Than such coulil lia\o o'erpowered such force as 

ours) 
Have lcf\ us in this our sjiirit and strength entire 
Strongly to suffer and sujiport our pains, 
That we may so suflice his vengeful ire. 
Or do him mightier service as his thralls 
By right of war, whatc'er his business be, 
Here in the heart of hell to work in tire. 
Or do his errands in tiie gloomy deep; 
What can it then avail, though yet we feel 
Strength undiminished, or eternal l>eing. 
To undergo eternal punishment !' 
Whereto with speedy words th' arch fiend replied 

" Fall'n Cherub! to be weak is mi.serablo 
Doing or sull'ering; but of this be sure, 
To do aught good never will be our task, 
But ever to do ill our sole delight. 
As being the contrary to his high will 
Whom we resist. If then his jirovidence 
Out of our evil seek to bring forth good. 
Our labour must be to pervert that end. 
And out of good still to find means of evil; 
Which ofttimes may succeed, so as [lerhaps 
Shall grieve him, if 1 fail not, and disturb 
His inmost counsels from their destined aim. 
But see! the angry victor hath reciUletl 
His ministers of vengeance and pursuit 
Back to the gates of Heaven : the sulphurous hail, 



Book r. 



PARADISE LOST. 



Shot after us in storm, o'erl)lown, hath laid 

Th(! fiery surj^e, that from thn prcci[)icG 

Of Heaven received uh fallinj;; and the thunder, 

Wing'd with red Hghtnlng and impetuous rage, 

Perhaps hath S[)cnt iiia shafts, and ceases now 

To l)ellow through tlic vast and houndless deep. 

Let us not slip th' occasion, whether scorn, 

Or satiate fury, yield it from our foe. 

Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, 

The seat of desolation, void of light. 

Save what the glimmering of these livid flames 

Costs pale and dreadful 1 Thither let us tent 

From ofT the tossing of these fiery waves ; 

There rest, if any rest can harbour there : 

And, reassembling our alllictcd powers. 

Consult how we may henceforth most offend 

Our enemy, our own loss how repair; 

How overcome this dire calamity ; 

What reinforcement we may gain from hope; 

If not, what resolution from despair." 

Thus Satan talking to his nearest mate 
With head uplift above the wave, and eyes 
That sparkling blazed, his other parts I)csidc 
Prone on the flood, extending long and large, 
Lay floating many a rood ; in bulk as huge 
As whom the fables name of monstrous size, 
Titanian, or Earth-born, that warred on Jove, 
Bnareos or Typhon, whom the den 
By ancient Tarsus held ; or that sea beast 
Leviathan, which God of ail his works 
Created hugcst that swim th' ocean stream : 
Him, haply, slumb'ring on the Norway foam, 
The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff 
Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, 
With fixed anchor in his scaly rind 
Moors by the side under the lee, while night 
Invests the sea, and wished morn delays : 
So stretched out huge in length the arch fiend lay, 
Chained on the burning lake: nor ever thence 
Had risen or hcavcid his head, but that the will 
And high permission of all-ruling Heaven 
Left him at large to his own dark designs; 
That with reiterated crime she might 
Heap on himself damnation, while he sought 
p'vil toothers; and, enraged, might see 
How all his malice served but to bring forth 
Infinite gootlness, grace, and mercy, shown 
On man by him seduced, but on himself 
Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured. 
Forthwith upright he rears from off the jwol 
His mighty stature; on each hand the flames. 
Driven backward, slope their jwinting spires, and 

rolled 
In billows, leave i' th' midst a horrid vale. 
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight 
Aloft, incumlx!nt on the dusky air 
That felt unusual weight; till on dry land 
He hghts, if it were land that ever burned 
With solid, as the lake with liquid fire ; 



And such appeared in hue, as when the forco 

Of subterranean wind transports a hill 

Torn from Pelorus, or the; slialtcred side 

Of thundering ^tna, whose combustible 

And fuelled entrails thence conceiving firo, 

Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds, 

And leave a singed bottom all involved 

With stench and smoke : such resting found the 

sole 
Of unblcst feet. Him followed his next mate. 
Both glorying to have 'scaped the Stygian flood 
As gods, and by their own recovered strength, 
Not by the suflerance of sui)crnal power. 

" Is this the region, this the soil, the clime," 
Said then the lost archangel, " this the seat 
That we must change for Heaven ; this mournful 

gloom 
For that celestial light? Be it so! since ho 
Who now is sovereign can dispose and bid 
What shall bo right : farthest from him is best. 
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made su- 

jiremc 
Abov* his equals! Farewell, happy fields. 
Where joy for ever dwi^lls. Hail, horrorsl hail. 
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest hell. 
Receive thy new f)osHessor ! one who brings 
A mind not to be changed by [)lace or time: 
The mind is its own place, and in itself 
Can make a Heaven of hell, a hell of Heaven. 
What matter where if I be still the same. 
And what I should be, all but less than he 
Whom thunder hath made greater 1 Here at least 
We shall be free : the Almighty hath not built 
Here for his envy; will not drive us hence : 
Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice 
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell: 
Better to reign in hell, than serve in Heaven ! 
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, 
Th' associates and cojjartners of our loss, 
Lie thus astonished on th' oblivious pool 
And call them not to share with usthijir part 
In this unhappy mansion; or once more 
With rallied arms to try what may be yet 
Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in hell ?" 

So Satan spake, and him Beelezebub 
Thus answered. " Leader of those armies bright, 
Which butth' Omnipotent none could have foiled! 
If once they hear tliat voice, their liveliest pledge 
Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft 
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge 
Of battle when it raged, in all assaults 
Their surest signal, they will soon resume 
New courage and revive, though now they lie 
Groveling and prostrate on yon lake of fire. 
As we ercwhile, ast^junded and amazf;d ; 
No wonder, fallen such a pernicious h(;ight." 

He scarce had ceased, when the su[)erior fiend 
Was moving toward the shore: his pond'rous 
shiekl, .^, 



MILTON'S WORKS, 



Book t. 



EthdWal teiniHT, innasy, lar^o, and round, 
Behind him cast ; the broad circunitoroiico 
KuniT on hlrtrthouldorH like tlicnioon, whoaoorb 
'J'hronghoplic jrlnss the 'I'liscuii artist views 
At evoninij from Ihc top of Fcsoh), 
Or in Valdiinu), to descry new lands, 
Rivors or mount iiins iu l\or spotty jjlobe. 
His sprar, to ('(puil wliicli the taliost pino 
Hewn in Norwoijian hills to bo the nmst 
Of some fjreat admiral, were but a wnnd, 
He walked with, to support uneasy steps 
Over the burning; nuirle, not like those stops 
On Heaven's azure; nnd the torrid clime 
Fmoto on him sore beside, vaulted with lire : 
iNathless he so endured, till on the beach, 
Of that intlamed sea ho stood, and called 
His le;;ions, an<iel forms, who lay entranced 
Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks 
In Vallondirosa, where th' Etrurian shades, 
Hi>;h over-arch'd, embower; or scattered sedfje 
Afloat, when with lieree winds Orion armed 
Hath vexed the Red Sea coast, whoso waves 

o'erthrew 
Busiris and his Memphian chivalry, 
While with perfidious hatred they pursued 
The sojourtuMS of C.Joshcn, who beheld 
From the safe shore their floating carcasses 
Anil broken chariot wheels: so thick bcstrown. 
Abject and lost lay these, coverinir the Hood, 
Under amn/.ement of their hideous chnn<];e. 
He called so loud, that all the hollow deep 
Of hell resounded. " Princes, potentates, 
Warriors, the flower of Heaven ! once yours, now 

lost! 
If such astonishment as this can seize 
Kfernal spirits; or have yo chosen this place 
A tier the toil of battle to repose 
Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 
To slumber here, as in the vales of heaven'? 
Or in this abject jiosture have ye sworn 
T' adore tliecontiueror'? who now behoKls 
Cherub and seraph rolliui;; in the tlood. 
With scatter'd arms and ensigns, till anon 
His switV pursuers from heaven gates discern 
Th' ailvantafje, and descending, trend us down 
Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 
Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf 
Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen !" 

They heard, and were abashctl, and up they 
sprung 
Upon the wing; ns when men wont to watch 
On duty, sleeping fovmd, by whom they dread. 
Rouse, and bestir themselves ere well awake. 
]Nor did they not perceive the evil plight 
Jn which they were, or the fierce pains not fwM ; 
Vet to their general's voice they soon obeyed, 
Innumerable^ As when the potent rod 
Of Anirnin's son, in Egypt's evil day, 
Waved round the coast, up called a pitchy cloud 



Of locusts, warjiing on the eastern wind. 

That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung 

Like night, and darkened all the land of Nile: 

So numberless were those bad angels seen. 

Hovering on wing ui\der the cope of hell, 

'Twixt ui)per, nether, nnd surrounding fires; 

Till, ns a signal given, th' uplifted spear 

Of their great sultan waving to direct 

Their course, in even balance down they light 

On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain ; 

A multitude, like which the populous nortli 

Poured nevc^r from her frozen loins, to pass 

Rhone or the Danaw, when her barb'rous sons 

Came like a deluge on the south, and spread 

Heneath G ibraltar to the Lybian sands, * 

Forthwith from every squadron nnd each band 

The heads and leaders thither haste where stood 

Their great conunander; godlike shapes, and forms 

Excelling human ; princely dignities, 

And powers thot erst in Heaven sat on thrones; 

Though of their names in heavenly records now 

Be no memorial, blotted out and razed 

By their rebellion from the boc)k» of life. 

Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve 

Got them new names, till, wand'ritigo'er the earth, 

Through God's high sulfrance for the trial of maj), 

By fidsities and lies the greatest port 

Of mankind they corrupted to forsake 

God their Creator, and th' invisible 

Glory of him that made them to transform 

Oft to the image of a brute, adorned 

With gay religions full of pomp and gold, 

And devils to adore for deities: 

Then were they known to men by various names, 

And various idols through the heathen world. 

Say, Muse, their names then known; who first, 

who last. 
Roused from the slumber, on that fiery coucli, 
At their great emperor's call, as next in worth 
Came singly where he stoi>d on the bare strand. 
While the promiscuous crowd stood yet aloi>f 
The chief were those, who, from the pit of hell 
Roaming to seek their prey on earth, durst fix 
Their seats long after next the sent of God, 
Their altars by his altars; gods adored 
Among the nations round; and durst abide 
Jehovah thund'ring out of Sion, throneil 
Between the Cherubim, yea, often placed 
Within his sanctuary itself their shrines, 
Abominations ; and with cursed things 
His hi>ly rites nnd solenm leasts profaned. 
And with their darkness durst alVronthis light. 
First. Moloch, horrid king, besmeared with blood 
Of human sacritice, and jiaronls' tears, 
Though for the noise of drums nndtimbrels loud 
Their children's cries unheard, tJiat passed through 

firo 
To his grim idol. Him the Ammonite 
Worshipped in Rabba and her watery plain, 



Book i. 



PARADISE LOST. 



in Artjol) and in Basan, to the stream 

or utmost Arnon ; nor content with such 

Audarinus nei(;hhourh(X)(l, the wisest lieart 

Of Solomon he led hy fraud to build 

His temple rijfht ai^ainst the tem|)le of God 

On that ()|)[)rol)rious liill ; and made his grove 

The ])leai<aiit valley of liinnom, Tophet thence 

And Mack Gehenna called, the type of hell. 

Next, Chemos, the obscene drcail of Moab's sons, 

From Aroer to Nebo, and the wild 

Of southmost Abarim: in llesebon 

And iloronann, Scon's reahn, beyond 

The flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines, 

And I'Zlcale to th' Asphaltic pool. 

Pcor his other name, when he enticed 

Israel in Sittim, on their march from Nile, 

To do him wanton rites, which cost them wo. 

Yet thence his lustful ori^ies he enlarged 

E'en to that hill of scandal, by the grove 

Of Moloch homicide; lust hard by hato; 

Till good Josiah drove them thence to hell. 

Willi these came they, wJio, from the bord'ring 

flood 
Of old Bvuphrates to the brook that parts 
Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names 
Of Baalim and Ashtaroth, those male, 
These feminine: for spirits, when they please. 
Can either sex assume, or both ; so soft 
And uncompoundnd is their essence pure. 
Not tied or manacled with joint or liml), 
Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones. 
Like cumbrous flesh ; but, in what shajjc tliey 

choose. 
Dilated or (condensed, bright or obscure. 
Can execute their airy purposes, 
And works of love or enmity fulfil. 
For those the race of Israel oil forsook 
Their living strength, and unfrequented left 
His righteous altar, bowing lowly down 
To bestial gods; for which their heads as low 
Bowed down in battle, sunk before the spear 
Of desj)icable foes. With these in troop 
Came Astoreth, whom the Phoenicians called 
Astarte, qaecn of Heav'n, with crescent horns : 
To whose bright image niglitly by the moon 
Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs ; 
In Sion also not unsung, where stood 
Her temple on the ofllensive mountain, built 
By that uxorious king, whoso heart, though large, 
Beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell 
To idols foul. Thainmuz came next behind. 
Whoso annual wound in Lebanon allured 
The Syrian damsels to lament his fate 
In amorous ditties all a summer's day, 
While smooth Adonis from his native rock 
Ran pur[ile to the sea, su[)posc(l with blood 
Of Thammuz yearly wounded: the love-talc 
Infected Sion's daughters with like heat, 
Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch 



Kzekiel saw, when, by the vision led, 

1 lis eye surveyed the dark idolatries 

< >f alienated Judah. Next came one * 

Who mourned in earnest, when the captive ark 

JVlaiuicd his brute image, head and hands lopt off 

In his own temple, on the grunsel edge. 

Where he fell fiat, and shamed his worshippers. 

Dagoii his name?, sea monster, upward man 

And ilownward fish: yet had his temple high 

Reared in Azotus, dreaded through the coast 

Of Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon, 

And Accaron, and Gaza's fronti(^r bounds. 

ITim followed Rimmon, whose delightful seat 

Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks 

Of Abhanaand Pliarphar, lucid streams. 

He also against the house of God was bold: 

A leper once he lost, and gainerl a king, 

Aha/,, his sottish contju'ror, whom he drew 

God's altar to disjiarage, and displace 

L'or one of Syrian mode, whereon to burn 

His odious ofl'erings, and adon; the gods 

Whom he had vanquished. After these appeared 

A crew, who, under names of old renown, 

Osiris, Isis, Orus, and their train. 

With monstrous shapes and sorceries abused 

Fanatic Egypt and her jjriests, to seek 

Their wandering gods disguised in brutish forms 

Rather than human. Nor did Israel 'scape 

Th' infection, when their borrowed gold composed 

The calf in Oreb ; and the rebel king 

Doul)Ied that sin in Bethel and in Dan, 

Likening his Maker to the grazed ox, 

Jehovah, who in one night, when he passed 

From Egypt marching, equalled with one stroke 

Both her first-l)orn and all her bleating gods. 

Belial came last, than whom a Spirit more lewd 

Fell not from Heaven, or more gross to love 

Vice for itself; to him no temple stood. 

Or altar smoked : yet who more oil than ho i^ 

In temples and at altars, when the priest 

Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who filled 

With lust and vioKmce the house of Godl 

In courts and ])ulaces he also reigns, 

And in luxurious cities, where the noise 

Of riot ascends above their lofljest towers, 

And injury, and outrage: and when night 

Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons 

Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine. 

Witness the streets of Sodom, and that )iiglit 

In Gibeah, when the hosititable door 

Exposed a matron to avoid worse rape. 

These were the prime in order and in might; 
The rest were long to tell, though far renowned, 
Th' Ionian Gods, of Javan's issue; held 
Gods, yet confessed later than Heaven and Earth, 
Their boasted panmts : Titan, Heaven's first-born, 
With his enormous brood, and birthright seized 
By younger Saturn ; he from mightier Jove, 
His own and Rhea's son, like measure found; 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book i. 



So Jove usurping reigned : these first in Crete 
And Ida known, thence on tlie snowy top 
Of eold Olympus, ruled the middle air, 
Their highest Heaven ; or on tlie Delphian cliff, 
Or in Dodouii, and tlirougli all the bounds 
Of Doric land ; or who with Saturn old 
Fled over Adra to th' Hesperian fields, 
And o'er the Celtic roamed the utmost isles. 
All these and more came flocking; but with 

looks 
Downcast and damp ; yet such wherein appeared 
Obscure some glimpse of joy, to liavc found their 

chief 
Not in despair, to have found themselves not lost 
In loss itself; whieh on his couiit'nance cast 
Like doubtful luie : but he, his wonted pride 
Soon recollecting, with high words, thatlxire 
Semblance of worth, not substance, gently raised 
Their fainting courage, and dispelled their fears. 
Then straight conunauds that at the warlike sound 
Of trumpets loud and clarions be upreared 
His mighty standard : that proud honour claimed 
Azazel as his right, a cherub tall; 
"Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurled 
Th' imperial ensign, which, full high advanced, 
Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind, 
With gems and golden lustre rich emblazed, 
Seraphic arms and trophies ; all the while 
Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds: 
At which the universal host upsent 
A slunit, that tore hell's concave, and beyond 
Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. 
All in a moment through the gloom wej-e seen 
Ten thousand banners rise into the air. 
With orient colours waving: with them rose 
A forest huge of spears ; and thronging helms 
Appeared, and serried shields in tliiek array, 
Of depth immeasurable: anon they move 
In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood 
Of flutes and soft recorders; such as raised 
To height of noblest temper heroes old 
Arming to battle; and, instead of rage, 
Deliberate valour breathed, firm and unmoved 
With dread of death to flight or foul retreat; 
Nor wanting power to mitigate and 'swage 
With solenui touches troubled thoughts, and chase 
Anguish, and doubt, and fear, and sorrow, and 

pain. 
From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they, 
Breathing united force, with fixed thought. 
Moved on in silence to soft pipes, that charmed 
Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil : and now 
Advanced in view they stand, a horrid front 
Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise 
Of warriors old with ordered spear and shield, 
Awaiting what connuand their mighty chief 
Had to impose: he through the armed files 
Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse 
The whole battaUon views, their order due, 



Their visages and stature as of gods; 

Their number last ho sums. And now his heart 

Distends with pride, and, hard'ning, in his 

strength 
Glories: for never since created man. 
Met such embodied force, as, named with these, 
Could merit more than that small infantry 
Warred on by cranes; though all the giant brood 
Of Phlegra with th' heroic race were joined 
That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side 
Mix'd with auxiliar gods; and what resounds 
In fable or romance ol' Uther's son. 
licgirtwith British and Arnioric knights; 
And all who since, baptized or infidel. 
Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, 
Damasco, or Morocco, or Trebisond, 
Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore. 
When Charlemagne with all his peerage fell 
By Fontarabia. Thus for these beyond 
Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed 
Their dread commander: he, above the rest 
In shape and gesture proudly eminent. 
Stood like a tower: his form had not yet lost 
All her original brightness, nor ajjpeared 
Less than archangel ruined, and the excess 
Of glory obscured: as when the sun, new risen. 
Looks through the horizontal misty air 
Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon, 
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight siieds 
On half the nations, and with fear of change 
Perplexes monarch. Darkened so, yet shone 
Above them all th' archangel: but his face 
Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and caie 
Sat on his faded cheeks, but under brows 
Of dauntl(>ss courage, and considerate pride 
Waiting revenge : cruel liis eye, but cast 
Signs of remorse and passion to behold 
The fellows of his crime, the followers rather 
(Far other once beheld in bliss,) condemned 
For ever now to have their lot in pain, 
Millions of spirits for his fault amerced 
Of Heaven, and from eternal sjjlendours flung 
For his revolt, yet faithful how they stood. 
Their glory withered: as when Heaven's fire 
Hath scathed the forest oaks, or mountiiin pines, 
With singed top their stately growth, though bare, 
Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared 
To speak ; whereat their doubled ranks they bend 
From wing to wing, and half enclose him round 
With all his peers: attention held them mute. 
Thrice he assayed, and thrice, in spite of scorn, 
Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth ! at last 
Words, interwove with sigiis, found out their way 

" O myriads of immoi'tal spirits! O powers 
Matchless, but with th' Almighty ! and that strife 
Was not inglorious, though th' event was dire, 
As this place testifies, and this dire change. 
Hateful to utter! but what power of mind, 
Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth 



i 



Book i. 



PARADISE LOST. 



Of knowledge past or present, could have feared 

How sueh united force of gods, how such 

As stood like these, could ever know repulse'? 

For who can yet believe, though aflcr loss, 

That all these i)uis8ant legions, whose exile 

Hath emptied heaven, shall fail to reascend. 

Self-raised, and repossess their native seaf? 

For me, be witness all the host of heaven, 

If counsels diflerent, or dangers shunned 

By me, have lost our hopes. But he, who reigns 

Monarch in heaven, till then as one secure 

Sat on liis throne, upheld by old rei)ule, 

Consent or custom, and his regal state 

Put forth at full, hut still ids strength concealed, 

Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our 

fall. 
Henceforth his might wc know, and know our 

own, 
So as not either to provoke, or dread 
Kew war, provoked I our better part remains 
To work in close design, by fraud or guile, 
What force efiected not ! that he no less 
At length from us may find, wlio overcomes 
By force, hath overcome but half his foe. 
Space may produce new worlds; whereof so rife 
There went a fame in heaven that he ere long 
Intended to create, and therein plant 
A generation, whom his choice regard 
Should favour equal to the sons of Heaven; 
Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhajis 
Our fust eruption, thither or elsewhere; 
Fortius infernal pit shall never hold 
Celestial spirits in bondage, nor th' al)ys.<? 
Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts 
Full counsel must mature: peace is despaired; 
For who can think submission'? War then, war 
Open or understood, must be resolved." 

He spake: and, to confirm his words, out flew 
Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs 
Of mighty cherubim; the suddcMi blaze 
Far round illumined hell: higlily they raged 
Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms 
Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war. 
Hurling defiance toward the vaults of heaven. 

There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top 
Belched tire and rolling smoke ; the rest entire 
Shone with a glossy scurf, undoubted sign 
That in his womb was hid metallic ore, 
Tlie work of sulphur. Thither, winged with speed, 
A num'rous brigade hastened: as when bands 
Of pioneers, with spade and j)iek-axo armed 
Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field, 
Or cast a rampart. Mammon led tiieni; 
Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell 
From heaven; for e'en in heaven his looks and 

thoughts 
Were always downward bent, admiring more 
The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, 
Than ought divine or holy else enjoyed 



In vision beatific; by him first 

Men also, and by his suggestion taught, 

Ransacked the centre, and with imjuous hands 

Rilled the bowels of their mother earth 

For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew 

Opened into the hill a spacious wound, 

And digged out ribs of gold. Let none admire 

That riches grow in hell; that soil may best 

Deserve the precious bane. And here let those. 

Who boast in mortal things, and, wond'ring, tell 

Of Babel, and the works of Memphian king.s. 

Learn how their greatest monuments of fame, 

And strength, and art, arc easily outdone 

By spirits reprobate, and in an hour 

What in an age they, with incessant toil 

And hands innumerable, scarce; |)er(brm. 

Nigh on the i)lain, in many cells prepared, 

That underneath had veins of liquid fire 

Sluiced from the lake, a second niultitudo 

With wondrous art founded the massy ore. 

Severing each kind, and scummed the bullion 

dross: 
A third as soon had formed within the ground 
A various mould, and from the boiling cells 
By strange conveyance filled ea(;Ii hollow nook: 
As in an organ, from one blast of wind. 
To many a row of pipes the soundboard breathes. 
Anon out of the earth a fabric hu£re 
Rose like an exhalation, with the sound 
Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet, 
Built like a ttsniple, where pilasters round 
Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid 
With golden architrave; nor did they want 
Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven; 
The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon, 
Nor great Alcairo, such magnificence 
Equalled in all their glories, to enshrine 
Belus or Serapis, their gods, or seat 
Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove 
In wealth and luxury. Th' ascending i)ile 
Stood fixed her stately height; and straight the 

doors. 
Opening their brazen folds, discover wide 
Within, her ample spaces, o'er the smooth 
And level pavement; from the arched roof, 
Pendent by subtle magic, many a row 
Of starry lanijjs and blazing cressets, fed 
With naphtha and asphaltus, yielded light 
As from a sky. The hasty multitude 
Admiring entered ; and the work some praise, 
And some the architect: his hand was known 
In Heaven by many a towered structure high, 
Where sceptered angels held their residence, 
And sat as princes, whom the supreme King 
Exalted to such power, and gave to rule, 
Each in liis bi<'rarehy, the orders bright. 
Nor was his name unlie;ird or unadored 
In ancient Greece ; and in Ausonian land 
Men called him Mulcibcr; and how he fell 



8 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book ir. 



From Iloiivni, they i'aliUd, tlirown by angry Jove 
Sheer oVr tliccrysttvl battltinents: from morn 
To noon \\c fell, from noon to tk-wy ovo, 
A smumor's ilay; inul with tlio scttiiifr sun 
Dropt from tho ziMiilh liko [ifallin"! wtar, 
On Lomnos tli'ii?,<;can itiU-: tl\us tlioy relate, 
Krritifi; for ho with this rehollious rout 
Foil lonij holoro; nor au<iht avaiioil him now 
T' linvo built in hoavon high towers; nor did ho 

'son])o 
By ;dl his onjjinos, but was headlong sent 
"With his iiidustioiisorow to build in boll. 

Meanwhile the winjrotl heralds, by connnand 
Of sovoroi!j;n |>o\vor, wilii awful eoromony 
And luiuiiot's sound, thro\iL;iiout tho host })roelaim 
A solemn oounoil, t'orthwith to be held 
At randemouiuni, tlio high oapitnl 
C^f Satan and his poors: their summons called 
Froni every bnnil and squared regiment 
V?y plaoo or ehoioo the worthiest; they anon 
AVith i\uu(lreds and with thousaiuls trooping oame 
Attended: all access was thronged; the gates 
And porches wide, but chief the spacious hall 
(Though like a covered field, where cluun[>ions 

bold 
Wont ride in armed, and at tho soldon's chiiir 
Defied the best of Panim chivalry 
To mortal combat, or career willi lance) 
Thick swarmed, both on the ground and in the 

air, 
Brushed with the hiss of rustling wings. As bees 
In spring time, when the sun witii Taurus rides, 
Pour forth their jiopulous youth about the hivo 
Inoluslors; thoy among fresh dews and flowers 
Flv to and fro, or on tho smoothed plank, 
The suburb of their straw-built citadel 
Kow rnbl>ed with balm. expnti;ito and confer 
Their state allairs. So thick the airy crowd 
{j!wi^-med ami were straitened; till tho signal given, 
Behold a wonder! They but now who seemed 
In bigness to surpass earth's giant sons, 
.Now less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room 
Thronged numberless; liko that pygmean race 
Beyond the Indian mount; or fairy elves, 
"Whoso niidtiight rcvels. by a forest side 
Ot fountain, some bt^latod peasant sees, 
Or dreams ho sees, while over-head tho luoon 
Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth 
AV heels her pale course ; they, on their mirth and 

dance 
Intent, with jivund music charm his ear; 
At once with joy and tear his heart rebounds. 
Thus incorporeal sjurits to smallest tbrms 
Reduced their shapes immense, and wore at large, 
Though without number still, amidst the hall 
Of that internal court. But far witliin. 
And in their own dimensions, like thomsolvcs, 
The great seraphic lords and cherubim 
In Close recess and secret conclave sat; 



A thousand domi-gods on golden scats. 
Frequent and full. After short silence then, 
And suunnons read, the groat consult began. 

BOOK II. 



Till? AIUiUMENT. 

'I'lio consultation bosun, Satan ilobates wliellier another 
batilo be to be hazanioil tor ilu- recovery of heaven ; sonro ad. 
vi.se il, others ilissuaiie ; a itiiitl proposal is prcl'erreil, men- 
tiuiieil licforo by Sntni), to soareli the irutliof thai iirophecyor 
iriulition in heaven concerning another ^ orlil, niul another 
liiml of creature, eqiuil, or not nruch inferior to iheniselvea, 
about this linio to be created ; tlieir doubt wlio sliull be senl 
on iliisiiilliiull searcli; Allan tlieir eliiifunilertalu';; alone llio 
voyaiie, is luuKnuvd and applauded. Tlie council ihus ended, 
ilie rest betake tlieni .several \v,iys, and to smeral enmloy- 
meuLs as their ineliniilion;' lead llieui, to enlerlain the liino 
till Satan reliini. He passeson his joiirney to liell jiates, finds 
them .sluit, anti who sat there to gunrd ilieni ; by whom at 
lenillh they are opened, and discover to liiiu the great ;;ulf be- 
tween hell ai\d Heaven ; with wliat dillicully lie pas.<es through, 
diiecled liy Chaivs, the jKuverof thai place, to the siglit of this 
new world which he sought 



TIiGn on a throne of royal state, which far 

t."»ut.shone the weiUtli of Orinus and of Ind, 

Or where the goi-geous east with richest hand 

Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, 

Satan exalted sat, by merit raised 

To that bad eminence: and, from despair 

Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires 

l^oyoud thus high, insatiate to pursue 

Vain war with Heaven; and, by success untaught, 

His proud imaginations thus displayed. 

" Towers and dominions, deities of Heaven! 
For since no deep within her gulf can hold 
Immortal vigour, though oppressed and fallen, 
1 oive not Heaven for lost. Frojn this descent 
Celestial virtues rising, will appear 
IMoro glorious and more dread than from no fall, 
And trust themselves to fear no second fate. 
j\le, tho' just right, and the fixed laws of Heaven, 
Did lu-st create your leader, ne.\t, free choice, 
AVith what besides, in counsel or in fight, 
Hath boon achieved of merit; yet this loss, 
Thus far at least recovered, hath much more 
Established in a safe unenvied throne, 
A'ioldod with full consent. The happier state 
In Hoavon, which follows dignity, might draw 
Fnvy from each inftuior; but who hero 
AVill envy whom the highest place exposes 
Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aitn 
A'our bulwark, and condemns to greatest shai-e 
t^f endless pain ? AVhere there is then no gooil 
For which to strive, no strife can grow up thera 
From faction; for noiu^ sure will claim in hell 
rrocodeuce ; none, whose portion is so small 
Of present pain, that with ninbitious mitul 
i AVill covet more. AVith this advtuitage then 



Book n. 



PARADISE LOST. 



To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, 

More than can he in Heavcm, wo now return 

To claim our just inhoritanco of old, 

Surer to [)ros|)cr than prosperity 

Could have assured us ; and by what best way, 

Wlictlu-r of open war or covert guile, 

Wc now debate : who can advise, may speak." 

He ceased; and next him Moloch, sceptered 
king. 
Stood uj), the strongest and the fiercest spirit 
That fought in Heaven, now fiercer l)y despair : 
His trust was witli tlie l^'ternal to be doeni'd 
Equal in streiigtli, and ratlier than be less 
Cared not to be at all : with that care lost 
Went all his fear: of God, or hell, or worse. 
He recked not, and these words thereafter spake. 

"My sentence is for ojien war: of wiles, 
More unex[)ert, I boast not: them let those 
Contrive who need, or when they need, not now, 
For, while tiiey sit contriving, shall the rest. 
Millions that stand in arms, and, longinf, wait 
The signal to ascend, sit lingering here 
Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-i)lacc 
Accept this dark O[)[)robrious den of shame, 
The ])rison of his tyrrany who reigns 
By our delay? No! let us rather choose. 
Armed with hell-flames and fury, aJl at once 
O'er Heaven's high towers to force resistless way. 
Turning our tortures into horrid arms 
Against the Torturer ; when to meet the noise 
Of his almighty engine he shall hear 
Infernal thunder, and for lightning see 
Black fire and horror shot with equal rage 
Among his angels, and his throne itself 
Mixed with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire. 
His own invented torments. But perhaps 
The way seems diflicult and stc'ej) to scale 
With uprigiit wing against a hii^her foe. 
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench 
Of that forgetful lakclienumb not still, 
That in our propc^r motion wc ascend 
Up to our native seat: descent and fall 
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late. 
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear 
Insulting, and pursued us through the dcej), 
With what compulsion and laborious flight 
We sunk thus low? The ascent is easy then; 
The event is feared; should wc again provoke 
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath my find 
To our destruction; if there be in hell 
Fear to be worse destroyed : what can he. worse 
Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, con- 
demned 
In this abhorred deep to utter wo, 
Where pain of unextinguishable fire 
Must exercise us without hope of end, 
The vassals of his anger, when the scourfo 
Inexorably, and the torturing hour 
Calls U8 to penance 1 More destroyed than thus, 

1)2 



Wc should be quite abolished, and exi)ire. 
What fear wc then ? what dou])t we to incense 
His utmost ire? which to the height enraged, 
Will cither quite consume us, and reduce 
To nothing this essential, happier far 
Than, miserable, to have eternal being; 
Or, if our substance bo indeed divine, 
And can not cease to be, we are at worst 
On this pide nothing; and by proof we feel 
Our [lower suflicicnt to disturb his Heaven, 
And with periietual inroads to alarm, 
Though inacccssii)Ic, his fatal throne: 
Which, if not victory, is yet revenire." 

He cruht], frowning, and his look denounced 
Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous 
To less than gods. On the othc^r side up rose 
Belial, in act more gracefid and humane; 
A fairer person lost not Heaven ; he seemed 
For dignity composed and high exploit: 
But all was false and hollow ; though his tongue 
Dro{)t manna, and could make the worse appear 
The better reason, to perplex and dash 
Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low; 
To vice industrious, but to nobler dt^eds 
Timorous and slothful : yet he pleased the ear, 
And with persuasive accent thus began. 

" 1 should 1)0 much foropi^n war, O peers 
As not behind in hate ; if what was urged 
Main reason to persuade immt^diate war. 
Did not dissuade rnc most, and s(!(;m to cast 
Ominous conjecture on the whole success : 
When he, who most excels in fiict of arms, 
In what he counsels and in what excels 
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair, 
And utter dissolution, as the scope 
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. 
L'irst, what revenge ? The towers of Heaven aro 

filled 
With armed watch, that render all access 
Impregnable: oft on the l/ordering deep 
Encamp their legions ; or, with obscure wing. 
Scout far and wide into the realm of night. 
Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our way, 
By force, and at our heels all hell should rise 
With blackest insurrection, to confound 
Heaven's purest light: yet our great Enemy, 
All incorrui)lil)le, would on his throne 
Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mould, 
Incapable of stain, would soon expel 
Her mischief, and purge ofli'the baser fire, 
Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope 
Is flat despair : wc must exa.sperato 
The almighty Victor to spend all his rage, 
And that must end us; that must be -)ur cure, 
To be no more: sad cure! for who would lose, 
Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 
Those thoughts that wander through eternity, 
To perish ratlwr, swallowed up and lost 
In the wide womb of uncreated night, 



10 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book ir. 



Devoid of sense and motion 1 and who knows, 
Let this he good, wiiclher our angry Foe 
Can give it, or wiJl everl how he can, 
Is doubtful ; tiiat he never will, is sure. 
Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, 
Belike through impotence, or unaware. 
To give his enemies their wish, and end 
Them in his anger, whom his anger saves 
To punish endless? Wherefore cease we then? 
Say they who counsel war, we are decreed, 
Reserved, and destined to eternal wo ; 
Whatever doing, what can we sufler more. 
What can we suller worse 1 Is this then worst. 
Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms 1 
What! when we fled amain, pursued and struck 
With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought 
The deep to shelter us 1 this hell then seemed 
A refuge from those wounds : or when we lay 
Chained on the burning lake? that sure was 

worse. 
What if the breath, that kindled those grim fires, 
Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage, 
And plunge us in the llames! or from above 
Should intermitted vengeance arm again 
His red right hand to plague us '! what if all 
Her stores were opened, and this firmament 
Of liell should spout her cataracts of fire, 
Lnpending horrors, threatening hideous fall 
One day ujjonour heads ; vvliile we perhaps, 
Designing or exhorting glorious war, 
Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled, 
Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey 
Of wracking whirlwinds; or for ever sunk 
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains; 
There to converse with everlasting groans, 
Unrespited, unpiticd, unreprieved, 
Ages of hoiiclcss end? This would be worse. 
War, therefore, open or concealed, alike 
My voice dissuades ; for what can force or guile 
With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye 
Views all things at one view ? He from Heaven's 

height 
All these our motions vain sees and derides; 
JSot more almighty to resist our might 
Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles. 
Shall we then live thus vile, the race of Heaven 
Thus trampled, thus expelled to sufler here 
Chains and these torments'? better these than 

worse, 
By my advice; since fate inevitable 
Subdues us, and omnipotent decree 
The victor's will. To sutler, as to do. 
Our strength is equal, nor the law unjust 
That so ordains: this was at first resolved. 
If we were wise, against so great a foe 
Contending, and so tkjubtful what might foil. 
I laugh, wben'tbose who at the sjiear are bold 
And vent'rous, if tbat tail them, shrink and fear 
What yet they know must follow, to endure 



Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain. 

The sentence of their Conqueror: this is now 

Our doom; which if wc can sustain and bear, 

Our supreme foe in time may much remit 

His anger, and perha()s, thus far removed. 

Not mind us, not ollending, satisfied 

With what is punished; whence these raging fires 

Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames. 

Our purer essence then will overcome 

Their noxious vapour, or, inured, not feel ; 

Or, changed at length, and to the placed conformed 

In temper and in nature, will receive 

Familiar the tierce heat, and void of pain ; 

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light; 

Besides what hope the never-ending flight 

Of future days may bring, what chance, what 

change 
Worth waiting, since our present lot appears 
For happy though but ill, for ill not worst. 
If we [irocure not to ourselves more wo." 

I'hus Belial, with words clothed in reason's 
garb. 
Counselled ignoble ease, and peaceful .sloth. 
Not peace: and after him thus Mammon spake. 
" Either to disenthrone the King of Heaven 
We war, if war be best, or to regain 
Our own right lost: him to unthrone we then 
May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yield 
To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife: 
The former, vain to hope, argues as vain 
The latter: for what place can be for us 
AVithin heaven's bound, unless heaven's Lord su- 
preme 
We overpower "? Suppose he should relent, 
And publish grace to all, on promise made 
Of new subjection : with what eyes could we 
Stand in his presence humble, and receive 
Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his throne 
With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing 
Forced hallelujahs, while he lordly sits 
Our envied Sovereign, and his altar breathes 
Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers, 
Our servile oflerings 1 This must be our task 
In Heaven, this our delight; how wearisome 
Eternity so spent, in worship paid 
To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue, 
By force impossible, by leave obtained 
Unacceptable, though in Heaven, our state 
Of splendid vassalage, but rather seek 
Our own good from ourselves, and from our own 
Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess, 
Free, and to none accountable, preferring 
Hard liberty before the easy yoke 
Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear 
Then most conspicuous, when great things ot 

small. 
Useful of hurtful, prosperous of ad\erse. 
We can create, and in what place soe'er 
Thrive under evil and work ease out of pain 



Book i. 



PARADISE LOST. 



11 



Through hibour and endurance. This deep world 
Of'darkncssdo we dread"? How oft ar;nidst 
Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven's all-ruling 

Sire 
Choose to reside, his glory unobscurcd, 
And with the majesty of darkness round 
Covers his throne; from whence deep thunders 

roar 
Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles helll 
As he our darkness, can not we his light 
Imitate when we please 1 This desert soil 
Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold; 
Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise 
Magnificence; and what can Heaven show morel 
Our torments also may in length of time 
Become our elements ; these piercing fires 
As soft as now severe, our temper changed 
Into their temper; which must needs remove 
The sensible of pain. All things invite 
To peaceful counsels, and the settled state 
Of order, how in safety best we may 
Compose our present evils, with regard 
Of what we are and were, dismissing quite 
All thoughts of war: ye have what 1 advise." 

He scarce had finished, when such murmur 
filled 
Th' assembly, as when hollow rocks retain 
The sound of blustering winds, which all night 

long 
Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence 

lull 
Seafaring men o'erwatched, whose bark by chance, 
Or pinnace, anchors in a craggy bay 
After the tempest : , such applause was heard 
As Mammon ended ; and his sentence pleased. 
Advising peace : for such another field 
Tlicy dreaded worse than hell: so much the fear 
Of thunder and the sword of Michael 
Wrought still within them ; and no less desire 
To found this nether empire, which might rise 
By policy, and long process of time, 
In emulation opposite to Heaven. 
Which when Beelzebub perceived, than whom 
Satan except, none higher sat, with grave 
Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed 
A pillar of state ; deep on his front engraven 
Deliberation sat, and public care; 
And princely counsel in his face yet shone, 
Majestic though in ruin: sage he stood. 
With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear 
The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look 
Drew audience and attention still as night 
Or summer's noontide air, while thus he spake. 

" Thrones and imperial powers, ofl'spring of 
Heaven, 
Ethereal virtues! or these titles now 
Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called 
Princes of helll for so the popular vote 
Inclines, here to continue, and build up here 



A growing empire; doubtless; while we dream, 
And know not that th^ King of Heaven hath 

doomed 
This place our dungeon, not our safe retreat 
Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt 
From Heaven's high jurisdiction, in new league 
Banded against his throne, but to remain 
In strictest bondage, though thus far removed, 
Under the inevitable curb, reserved 
His captive multitude: for he, be sure. 
In height or depth, still first and last will reign 
Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part 
By our revolt; but over hell extend 
His empire, and with iron sceptre rule 
Us here, as with his golden those in Heaven. 
What sit we then projecting peace and war ! 
War hath determined us, and foiled with loss 
Irreparable ; terms of peace yet none 
Vouchsafed or sought; for what peace will be given 
To us enslaved, but custody severe. 
And stripes, and arbitrary punishment 
Inflicted 1 and what peace can we return, 
But to our power hostility and hate. 
Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow, 
Yet ever plotting how the conqueror least 
May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice 
In doing what we most in suflering feel "? 
Nor will occasion want, nor siiall we need 
With dangerous expedition to invade 
Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault or siege, 
Or ambush from the deep. What if we find 
Some easier enterprise "? There is a place, 
(If ancient and prophetic fame in Heaven 
Err not,) another world, the happy seat 
Of some new race called Man, about this time 
To be created like to us, though less 
In power and excellence, but favoured more 
Of him who rules above; so was his will 
Pronounced among the Gods, and by an oath. 
That shook Heavens whole circumference, con- 

firm'd. 
Thither let us bend all our thoughts to learn 
What creatures there inhabit, of what mould. 
Or substance, how endued, and what their power. 
And where their weakness, how attempted best, 
By force or subtlety. Though Heaven be shut. 
And Heaven's high Arbitrator sit secure 
In his own strength, this place may lie exposed, 
The utmost border of his kingdom, left 
To their defence who hold it: here perhaps 
Some advantageous act may be achieved 
By sudden onset, either with hell fire 
To waste his whole creation, or possess 
All as our own, and drive, as we were driven. 
The puny habitants, or, if not drive. 
Seduce them to our party, that their God 
May prove their foe, and with repenting hand 
Abolish his own works. This would surpass 
Common revenge, and interrupt his joy 



12 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book ii. 



In our ctiiitusion, and our joy upraiso 

In his (listiirlianiv; when his darlinii; sons, 

• lluricd lioaiiionij Ui partukc with us, shall curso 

Thi'ir trail original, anil linli'd hliss, 

Fiidi'il so soon. Adviso if this be worth 

AttoinptiniT, or to sit in darkiioss hero 

Hatching vain iMii|iires." Thus Boolzebub 

Pleaded his devilish counsel, first devised 

By Satan, and in part proposed: for whence, 

But from the author of all ill could sprinj; 

So deep a malice, to confound the race 

Of mankind in one root, and earth with hell 

To mingle and involve, done all to spite 

The great Creator! But their spite still serves 

His glory to augment. The bold design 

Pleaseil highly tiiose infernal states, and joy 

Sparkled in all tiieir eyes; with full assent 

They vote: whereat his sixH-ch he thus renews: 

" Well have ye judged, well ended long debate, 
Synod of gods! and like to what ye are. 
Great things resolved, which from the lowest deep. 
Will once more lill us up, in spite of fate, 
Nearer onr ancient seat; i)eriuii)s in view 
Of those bright conlines, whence, with neighbour- 
ing arms 
And opportune excursion, we may chance 
Re-enter Heaven, or else in some mild zone 
Dwell, not unvisited of Heaven's fair light. 
Secure, and at the bright'ning orient beam 
Purge olf this gloom: the soil delicious air, 
To Leal the scar of these corrosive fires, 
Shall breathe her balm. But, first, whom shall 

we send 
In search of this new world? whom shall we find 
Sufficient ■? who shall tempt witii wandering feet 
The dark unbottomed inlhiite abyss. 
And tin-ougli the i)al|)able obscure fmd out 
His uncouth way, or spread his airy ilight, 
Upborne with indefatigable wings. 
Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive 
The ha[>pyisle .' what strength, what art can then 
Sulllce, or what evasion bear him safe 
Through the strict sentries and stations thick 
Of angels watching round ! Here he had need 
All circums^iection, and we now no less 
Choice in our sutlVage ; for, on whom we send, 
The weight of all, and our last hope relies." 

This said, ho sat; and expectation held 
His look susptMise, awaiting who appeared 
To second, or oppose, or undertake 
The perilous attempt: but all sat mute. 
Pondering the danger with deep thoughts: and each 
In other's countetiance read his own dismay. 
Astonished: none among the choice and prime 
Of those Heavcn-wurring champions could be 

found 
So hardy as to prolVer or accept 
Alone the dreadful voyage; till at last 
Baton, whom now tnuisceudiuit glory raised 



Above his fellows, with monarchal pride. 
Conscious of highest worth, uiwnoved, thus spake. 

"O progeny of Heaven, emjjyreal thrones! 
With reason hath deep silence and denuir 
Sei/.ed us, though undismayed : long is the way, 
And hard, that out of hell leads up to light; 
Our prison strong; this huge convex of fire. 
Outrageous to devour, immures us round 
Ninefold; and gates of burning adamant, 
Barred over us, prohibit all egress. 
These passed, if any pass, the void profound 
Of unessential Night receives him next. 
Wide gaping, and with utter loss of being 
I'hreatens him, plunged in that abortive gulf. 
If thence he 'scajie into whatever world. 
Or unkncnvn region, what remains him less 
Than unknown dangers, and as hard escape; 
But I should ill become this throne, O peers! 
And tills imperial sovereignty, adorned 
With splendour, arm'd with power, if aught pvo- 

posVl 
And judged of public moment, in the shape 
Of dilficulty or danger could deter 
Me from attempting. Wherefore do I assume 
These royalties and not refuse to reign, 
Refusing to accept as great a share 
Of hazarti as of honour, due alike 
To him who reigns, and so much to him due 
Of hazard more, as he above the rest 
High honoured sits ! Go, therefore, mighty powers, 
Terror of Heaven, though fallen! intend at home, 
While here shall be our home, what best may ease 
The present misery, and render hell 
More tolerable ; if there be cure or charm 
To respite, or deceive, or slack the pain 
Of this ill mansion: intermit no watch 
Against a wakeful foe, while I abroad, 
Through all the coasts of dark destruction, seek 
Deliverance for us all : this enterprise 
None shall partake with me." Thus saying, rose 
The monarch, and prevented all reply; 
Prudent, lest, from this resolution raised, 
Others among the chief might oiler now 
(Certain to be refused) what erst they feared; 
And, so refusetl, might in opinion stand 
His rivals, winning cheap the high repute 
Which he through hazard huge nuist earn. But 

they 
Dreaded not more th' adventure than his voice 
Forbidding; and at once with him they rose: 
Their rising all at once was as the sound 
Of thunder heard remote. Towards him they 

bend. 
With awful reverence prone: and as a God 
Extol him equal to the highest in heaven: 
Nor failed they to express how much they praised, 
That for the general safety he despised 
His own: for neither do the spirits damned 
Lose all their virtue- lest bad men shoidd boast 



Book ii. 



PARADISE LOST. 



13 



Their specious deeds on earth, which glory excites, 
Or close nrnhition, varnislicd o'er with zeal. 
Thus they their doubtful coiisultatioiis dark 
Ended, rejoi(;ing in their matchless eiiicf; 
As when Irom mountain to[)s the dusky elouds 
Ai=cen(linif, while thii northwind sleeps, o'erspruad 
Heaven's cheerful face, the; lowering element 
Scowls o'er the darkened landscape snow, or 

sliowcr; 
If clianee the radiant sun with farewell sweet 
Extend his evening beam, the fields revive, 
The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds 
Attest their joy, that hill and v»,l!(\v rings. 
O shame to men! devil with (h^vil damned 
Firm concord holds; men only disagree 
Of creatures rational, tliough under hopo 
Of heavenly grace: and, Ciod proelaiiiiing peace, 
Yet live in hatred, enmity, and strife 
Among themselves, and level cruel wars, 
Wasting the earth, each other to destroy: 
As if (which might iiuluce us to accord) 
Man had not hellish foes enow besides. 
That day and night for his destruction wait. 

The Stygian council thus dissolved; and forth 
In order came the grand infernal [)eers: 
Midst came their mighty Paramount, and seemed 
Alone the antagonist of heaven, nor less 
Than hell's dread emperor, with [)om{) supreme, 
And godlike imitated state : him round, 
A globe of fiery seraphim enclosed 
With bright emblazonry, and horrent arms. 
Then of their session ended they bid cry 
With trumpets regal sound the great result: 
Towards the four winds four speedy cherubim 
Put to their mouths the sounding alchemy. 
By herald's voice cxjilained; the hollow abyss 
Heard far and wide, and all the host of hell 
With deafening shout returned them loud acclaim. 
Thence more at ease their minds, and somewhat 

raised 
By false! presumptuous hope, the ranged powers 
Disband, and, wandering each liiss(!veral way 
Pursues, as inclination or sad choice 
Leads him perph^xed, where he may likeliest find 
Truce to his restless thoughts, and entertain 
Tiie irksome hours, till his great chief return. 
Part on the plain, or in the air sublime, 
U[ion the wing, or in swill race contend. 
As at the Olynij)ian games or Pythian fields: 
I'art curb their fiery steeds, or shun the goal 
With rapid whecils, or frontt^d brigades f()rm, 
As when, to warn j)roud cities, war appears 
Waged in the troubled sky, and armii's rush 
To battle in the clouds, before each van 
Prick forth the airy kniglits, and couch their 

spears 
Till thickest legions close ; with feats of arms 
From either end of Iieaven the welkin burns. 
Others, with vast Typhcean rage more Icll, 



Rend up both rocks and hills, and ride the air 

1m whirlwind, hell scarce holds the wilil uproar. 

As when Alcides, from(J>>,lialia crowued 

With conquest, felt th' envenomed robe, and tore ,^ 

'J'hrough i)ain up by the roots Thessalian pines, 

And Liehas from the toji of CEta threw 

Into th' Kuobic sea. Others, more mild, 

lletreated in a silent valley, sing 

With notes angelical to many a harp 

Their own heroic deed and hapless fall 

Hy doom of battle ; and complain that fate 

Free virtue should inthral to force or chance. 

I'heir song was partial, but the harmony 

(What could it less when si)irits inunortal sing !) 

Sus{)ended hell, and took with ravishment 

The thronging auilience. In discoursi! more sweet 

(For eIo(|uence the soul, song charms the sense) 

Others apart sat on a hill rtrtired. 

In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high 

Of providence, fon-knowU^dgc!, will, and fate; 

r'ixed fate, free will, foreUnowlcdgi; absolute; 

And found no end, in wandering mazes lost. 

Of good and evil much they argued then. 

Of ha|)piness and final misery. 

Passion and apathy, and glory and shame; 

Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy! 

Y(!t with a pleasing sorcery could charm 

Pain for a while or anguish, and excito 

Fallacious hopo, or arm the obdured breast 

With stubborn patience as with tri])Ic steel. 

Another part in squadrons and gross bands. 

On bold adventure to discover wide 

"^J'hat dismal world, if any clime perhaps 

Miglit yield them easier habitation, bend 

I<'our ways their flying march, along the banka 

Of four infernal rivers, that disgorge 

Into the burning lake their bah^ful streams: 

Abliorred Styx, the flood of dcailiy hate; 

Sad Acheron, of sorrow, black and deep; 

Cocytus, named of lamentation loud 

Heard on the ruiiful stream; fiisrce Phlegethon, 

Whose waves of torrent (ire mllame with rage. 

Far off frojj^, these, a slow and silent stream, 

Lethe, tlie river of oblivion, rolls i^^ir 

Her wat(!ry labyrinth, wluwcof who drinks, ^^Hr 

b'ortliwith his former state and being forgets, 

F()rg(!ts both joy and grief, iilcasure and pain. 

Beyond this flood a frozen continent 

Lies dark and wild, beat with ])erpetual storms 

Of whirlwind, and dire hail, which on firm land 

Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems 

Of ancient J'ile ; all else deep snow and ice, 

A gulf profound, as that Serbonian bog 

Betwixt Damiata and mount Casius old, 

When! armies whole have sunk : the parching air 

Hums froH!, and cold |K'ri<)rins the eliijct of fire. 

Thither, by harpy-footed furies haled, 

At certam revolutions, all the danmed 

Arc brought ; and feel by turns tlic bitter change 



14 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book h. 



Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce, 
From beds of raging fire, to starve in ice 
Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pine 
Immoveable, infixed, and frozen round, 
Periods of time, thence hurried back to fire. 
They ferry over this Lethean sound 
Both to and fro, their sorrow to augment, 
And wish and struggle, as they pass, to reach 
The tempting stream, with one small drop to lose 
In sweet forgttfulness all pain and wo, 
All in one moment, and so near the brink; 
But Fate withstands, and to oppose the attempt 
Medusa with Gorgonian terror guards 
The ford, and of itself the water flies 
All taste of living wight, as once it fled 
The hp of Tantalus. Thus roving on 
In confused march forlorn, the advent'rous bands, 
With shuddering horror pale, and eyes aghast. 
Viewed first their lamentable lot, and found 
No rest : through many a dark and dreary vale 
They passed, and many a region dolorous, 
O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, 
Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades 

of death, 
A universe of death, which God by curse 
Created evil, for evil only good. 
Where all life dies, death lives, and nature breeds. 
Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things, 
Abominable, inutterable, and worse 
Than fables yet have feigned, or fear conceived, 
Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimeras dire. 

Meanwhile the adversary of God and man, 
Satan, with thoughts inflamed of highest design. 
Puts on swift wings, and towards the gates of hell 
Explores his solitary flight : sometimes 
He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left. 
Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars 
Up to the fiery concave towering high. 
As when far oft' at sea a fleet descried 
Hangs in the clouds by equinoctial winds 
Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles 
Of Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring 
Their spicy drugs ; they, on the trading flood, 
«^ Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape, 

Ply stemming nightly towards the pole: so seemed 
Far off the flying fiend. At last appear 
Hell bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof. 
And thrice threefold the gates : three folds were 

brass, 
Three iron, three of adamantine rock 
Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire, 
Yet unconsumed. Before the gates there sat 
On either side a formidable shape; 
The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair, 
But ended foul in many a scaly fold 
Voluminous and vast, a serpent armed 
With mortal sting ; about her middle round 
A cry of hell-hounds, never ceasing, bjirked 
With wide Cerberean mouths ftill loud, and rung 



A hideous peal ; yet, when they list, would creep, 
If aught disturbed their noise, into her womb, 
And kennel there ; yet there still barked and 

howled, 
Witliin unseen. Far less abhorred than these 
Vexed Scylla, bathing in the sea that parts 
Calabria from the hoarse Trinacrian shore : 
Nor uglier follow the nighthag, wlicn, called 
In secret, riding through the air she comes, 
Lured with the smell of infant blood, to dance 
With Lapland witches, while the lab'ring moon 
Eclipses at their charms. The other shape, 
If shape it might be called that sliape had none 
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ; 
Or substance might be called that shadow seemed; 
For each seemed either ; black it stood as night. 
Fierce as ten furies, terrible as Hell, 
And shook a dreadful dart ; what seemed his head 
The hkeness of a kingly crown had on. 
Satan was now at hand ; and from his scat 
The monster, moving onward, came as fast 
With horrid strides; hell trembled as he strode. 
The undaunted fiend what this might be admired, 
Admired, not feared: God and his Son except, 
Created thing naught valued he, nor shunned; 
And with disdainful look thus first began. 

" Whence and what art thou, execrable shape! 
That dares, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart ray way 
To yonder gates'? through them I mean to pass, 
That be assured, without leave asked of tliee: 
Retire, or taste thy folly; and learn by proof. 
Hell-born! not to contend with spirits of Heaven." 

To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied, 
" Art thou that traitor angel, art thou he, 
Who first broke peace in heaven, and faith, till then 
Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 
Drew after him the third part of Heaven's sons 
Conj ured against the Highest, for which both thou 
And they, outcast from God, are here condemned 
To waste eternal days, in wo and pain] 
And reckonest thou thyself with spirits of heaven. 
Hell-doomed! and breathest defiance here and 

scorn, 
Where I reign king, and, to enrage tliee more. 
Thy king and lord] Back to thy punishment, 
False fugitive ! and to thy speed add wings. 
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
Thy hngering, or with one stroke of this dart 
Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before. ' 

So spake the grisly terror, and in shape, 
So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfold 
More dreadful and deformed: on the other side, 
Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
Unterrified, and like a comet burned, 
That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 
In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head 
Levelled his deadly aim; their fatal hands 



Book ii. 



PARADISE LOST. 



15 



No second stroke intend ; and such a frown 
Each cast at the other, as when two black clouds, 
"With heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on 
Over the Caspian, then stand front to front 
Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 
To join their dark encounter in mid air: 
So frowned the mighty combatants, that hell 
Grew darker at their frown ; so matched they stood ; 
For never but once more was either like 
To meet so great a foe : and now great deeds 
Had been achieved, whereof all hell had rung, 
Had not the snaky sorceress that sat 
Fast by hell gate, and kept the fatal key, 
Risen, and with hideous outcry rushed between. 

" O father! what intends thy hand," she cried, 
" Against thy only son! What fury, O son! 
Possesses thee to bend that mortal dart 
Against thy father's head ! and knowest for whom? 
For him who sits above and laughs the while 
At thee ordained his drudge, to execute 
Whate'er his wrath, which he calls justice, bids ; 
His wrath which will one day destroy ye both." 

She spake, and at her words the helhsh pest 
Fovebore ; then these to her Satan returned. 

" So strange thy outcry, and thy words so 
strange 
Thou interposest, that my sudden hand. 
Prevented, spares to tell thee yet by deeds 
What it intends ! till first I know of thee, 
What thing thou art, thus double-formed, and why. 
In this infernal vale first met, thou call'st 
Me father, and that phantasm call'st my son; 
I know thee not, nor ever saw till now 
Sight more detestable than him and thee.' 

To whom thus the portress of hell-gate replied: 
" Hast thou forgotten me then, and do I seem 
Now in thine eyes so foull once deemed so fair 
In Heaven, when at the assembly, and in sight 
Of all the seraphim with thee combined 
In bold conspiracy against Heaven's King, 
All on a sudden miserable pain 
Surprised thee, dim thine eyes, and dizzy swam 
In darkness, while thy head flcimes thick and fast 
Threw forth, till on the left side opening wide, 
Likest to thee in shape and countenance bright, 
Then shining heavenly fair, a goddess armed, 
Out of thy head I sprung: amazement seized 
All the host of Heaven ; back they recoiled, afraid 
At first, and called me Sin, and for a sign 
Portentous held me; but, familiar grown, 
I pleased, and with attractive graces won 
The most averse, thee chiefly, who full oft, 
Thyself in me thy perfect image viewing, 
Becam'st enamoured, and such joy thou took'st 
With me in secret, that my womb conceived 
A growing burden. Meanwhile war arose. 
And fields were fought in Heaven ; wherein re- 
mained 
(For what could else 1) to o\ir Almighty Foe 



Clear victory, to our part loss and rout 
Through all the empyrean: down they fell, 
Driven headlong from the pitch of Heaven, down 
Into this deep, and in the general fall 
I also ; at which time this powerful key 
Into my hand was given, with charge to keep 
These gates for ever shut, which none can pass 
Without my opening. Pensive here I sat 
Alone: but long I sat not, till my womb. 
Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown 
Prodigious motion felt, and rueful throes. 
At last this odious offspring whom thou seest, 
Thine own begotten, breaking violent way. 
Tore through my entrails, that with fear and pain 
Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew 
Transformed ; but he my inbred enemy 
Forth issued, brandishing his fatal dart, 
Made to destroy: I fled, and cried out Death! 
Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighed 
From all her caves, and back resounded Death ! 
I fled; but he pursued, (though more it seems, 
Inflamed with lust than rage,) and swifter far, 
Me overtook, his mother, all dismayed, 
And, in embraces forcible and foul 
Engendering with me, of that rape begot 
These yelling monsters, that with ceaseless cry 
Surrounded me, as thou sawest, hourly conceived 
And hourly born, with sorrow infinite 
To me; for when they list, into the womb 
That bred them they return, and howl and gnaw 
My bowels, their repast ; then, bursting forth 
Afresh, with conscious terrors vex me round, 
That rest or intermission none I find. 
Before mine eyes in opposition sits 
Grim Death, my son and foe, who sets them on, 
And me his parent would full soon devour 
For want of other prey, but that he knows 
His end with mine involved ; and knows that I 
Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane. 
Whenever that shall be ; so fate pronounced. 
But thou, O father! I forewarn thee, shun 
His deadly arrow; neither vainly hope 
To be invulnerable in those bright arms, 
Though tempered heavenly; for that mortal dint, 
Save he who reigns above, none can resist." 
She finished, and the subtle fiend his lore 
Soon learn'd, now milder, and thus answered 

smooth. 
"Dear daughter! since thou claim'st me for thy 

sire. 
And my fair son here show'st me, the dear pledge 
Of dalliance, had with thee in Heaven, and joys 
Then sweet, now sad to mention, through dire 

change 
Befallen us, unforeseen, unthought of; know, 
I come no enemy, but to set free 
From out this dark and dismal house of pain 
Both him and thee, and all the heavenly host 
Of spirits, that, in our just pretences armed 



Jirr 



16 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Bocnc II, 



Fell with U8 from on high : from tliom I go 
This uncouth orranil sole, and one for nil 
Myself exi)ose, with lonely steps to tread 
Th' unfounded deep, and through the void im- 
mense 
To search with wandering quest a place foretold 
Should bo, and, by concurring signs, ere now 
Created vast and round, a place of bliss 
In the purlieus of Heaven, and therein placed 
A race of upstart creatures, to supply 
Perhaps our vacant room, though more removed, 
Lest Heaven, surcharged with potent multitude, 
Might hap to move new broils : be this or aught 
Than this n\ore secret now designed, I haste 
To know, and this once known, shall soon return, 
And brinii veto the place where thou and Death 
Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen 
Wing silently the buxom air, embalmed 
With odours ; there ye shall be fed and filled 
Immeasurably, all things shall be your prey."' 
He ceased, for both seemed highly pleased, and 

Death 
Grinned horribly a ghastly smile, to hear 
His famine should be tilled, and blest his maw 
Destined to that good hour: no less rejoiced 
His mother bad, and thus bespake her sire. 

" The key of this infernal pit by due. 
And by command of Heaven's all powerful King, 
I keep, by him forbidden to unlock 
These adamantine gates; against all force 
Death ready stands to interpose his dart, 
Fearless to bo o'ermatched by living might. 
But what owe 1 to his commands above 
Who hales me, and hath hither thrust me down 
Into the gloom of Tartarus profound, 
To sit in hateful office here conliued. 
Inhabitant of heaven, and heavenly bom, 
Here iji perpetual agony and pain. 
With terroi-s and with clamours compassed round 
Of mine own brood, that on my bowels fcedl 
Thou art my lather, thou my author, thou 
My being gavest me ; whom should I oln^y 
But thee, whom follow 1 thou wilt bring me soon 
To that new world of light and bliss, among 
The gods who live at ease, where I shall reign 
At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems 
Thy daughter and thy darling, without end." 

Thus saying, from her side the fatal key, 
Sad instrument of all our wo, she took; 
And, towards the gate rollingher bestial train. 
Forthwith the huge portcullis high up drew, 
Which, but lierself, not all the Stygian powers 
Could once have moved: then in the keyhole 

tunis 
Th' intricate wards, and every bolt and bar 
Of massy iron or solid rock with ease 
Unfastens : on a sudden o\)cn lly, 
With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, 
Th' infernal doors, and on their liinges grate 



Harsh thunder; that the lowest bottom shook 
Of Erebus. She opened, but to shut 
Excelled her power; the gates wide open stood, 
That with extended wings a bannered host. 
Under spread ensigns marching, might pass 

through 
With horse and chariots ranked in loose arrav; 
So wide they stood, and like a furnace mouth 
Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame. 
B<ibre their eyes in sudden view appear 
The siTrets of the hoary deep, a dark 
Illimitable ocean, without bound. 
Without dimension; where length, breadth, and 

heighth, 
And time, and place are lost ; where eldest Night 
And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold 
Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise 
Of endless wars, and by confusion stand. 
For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions 

fierce. 
Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring 
Their embryon atoms; they around the Hag 
Of each his faction, in their several clans, 
Light armed or heavy, sharp, smooth, swit>, or 

slow. 
Swarm populous, unnumbered as the sands 
OfBarca or Cyreno's torrid soil, 
Levied to side with warring winds, and poise 
Their lighter wings. To whom these most adhere, 
He rules a moment: Chaos umpire sits, 
And by decision more embroils the fray, 
By which he reigns; next him high arbiter 
Chance governs all. Into this wild abyss, 
The womb of nature, ami perhaps her grave, 
Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire. 
But all these in their pregnant causes mixed 
Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight. 
Unless the almighty Maker them ordain 
His dark materials to create more worlds; 
Into this wild abyss tlie wary fiend 
Stood on the brink of hell, and looked a while. 
Pondering his voyage; for no narrow frith 
He had to cross. Nor was his cor less pealetl 
With noises loud and ruinous (to compare 
Great things with small) than when Bellona 

storms, 
With all her battering engines bent to raze 
Some capital city; or less than if this frame 
Of Heaven were tailing, and these elements 
In mutiny had from her axle torn 
The steadfast earth. At last his sail-broad vans 
He spreads for flight, and in the surging smoke 
Uplil\ed spurns the ground; thence many a league, 
As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides 
Audacious; but, that seat soon falUng, meets 
A vast vacuity : all unawares. 
Fluttering his pennons vain, plump down he drops 
Ten thousand fatliom deep ; and to this hour 
Down had been falhng, had not by ill chance 



Book ir. 



PARADISE LOST. 



17 



The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud, 

Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him 

As many miles aloft: that fury stayed, 

Q,uenched in a boggy Syrtis, neither sea 

Nor pood dry land : nigh foundered, on he fares, 

Treading the crudi consistence, half on foot, 

Half flying ; bchi.oves him now both oar and sail. 

As when a gryphon, through the wilderness 

With winged course, o'er hill or moory dale, 

Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stealth 

Had from his wakeful custody purloined 

The guarded gold: so eagerly the fiend 

O'er bog, or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or 

rare. 
With head, hands, wings, or feet pursues his way. 
And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies: 
At length a universal hubbub wild 
Of stunning sounds, and voices all confused. 
Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear 
With loudest vehemence: thither he plies. 
Undaunted to meet there whatever power 
Or spirit of the nethermost abyss 
Might in that noise re.side, of whom to ask 
Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies 
Bordering on hght ; when straight behold the 

throne 
Of Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread 
Wide on the wasteful deep ; with him entlironed 
Sat sable vested Night, eldest of things, 
The consort of his reign ; and by them stood 
Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name 
Of Demogorgon; Rumour next, and Chance, 
And Tumult, and Confusion, all embroiled, 
And Discord with a thousand various mouths. 
T' whom Satan, turning boldly, thus, " Ye powers 
And spirits of this nethermost abyss, 
Chaos and ancient night ! I come no spy. 
With purpose to explore or to disturb 
The secrets of your realm ; but, by constraint 
Wandering this darksome desert, as my way 
Lies through your spacious empire up to light, 
Alone, and without guide, half lost, I seek 
What readiest path leads where your gloomy 

bounds 
Confine with Heaven ; or if some other place, 
From your dominion won, th' ethereal King 
Possesses lately, thither to arrive 
I travel this profound : direct my course ; 
Directed, no mean recompense it brings 
To your behoof, if I that region lost. 
All usurpation thence expelled reduce. 
To her original darkness, and your sway, 
(Which is my present journey,) and once more 
Erect the standard there of ancient night : 
Yours be th' advantage all, mine the revenge." 
Thus Satan ; and him thus the Anarch old, 
With faltering speech and visage incomposed 
Answered, " I know thee, stranger! whotliouart, 
That mighty leading angel, who of late 
4 E 



Made head against Heaven's King, though over- 
thrown. 
I saw and heard ; for such a numerous host 
Fled not in silence through the frighted deep, 
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, 
Confusion worse confounded ; and Heaven gates 
Poured out by millions her victorious bands 
Pursuing. I upon my frontiers here 
Keep residence ; if all I can will serve 
That little which is left so to defend, 
Encroached on still through your intestine broils, 
Weakening the sceptre of old Night : first hell. 
Your dungeon, stretching far and wide beneath ; 
Now lately Heaven and Earth, another world, 
Hung o'er my realm, linked in a golden chain 
Tothatside Heaven from whence your legions fell: 
If that way be your walk, you have not far ; 
So much the nearer danger ; go, and speed I 
Havoc, and spoil, mmI ruin are my gain." 

He ceased; and Satan stayed not to reply. 
But, glad that now his sea should find a shore, 
With fresh alacrity and force renewed, 
Springs upward, like a pyramid of fire, 
Into the wild expanse, and through the shock 
Of fighting elements, on all sides round 
Environed, wins his way; harder beset. 
And more endangered, than when Argo passed 
Through Bosphorus, betwixt the justling rocks; 
Or when Ulysses on the larboard shunned 
Charybdis, and by the other whirlpool steered. 
So he with difficulty and labour hard 
Moved on, with difficulty and labour he: 
But, he once past, soon after, when man fell. 
Strange alteration ! Sin and Death amain 
Following his track, such was the will of Heaven, 
Paved after him a broad and beaten w.ay 
Over the dark abyss, whose boiling gulf 
Tamely endured a bridge of wondrous length. 
From nell continued, reaching the utmost orb 
Of this frail world ; by which the spirits perverse 
With easy intercourse pass to and fro 
To tempt or punish mortals, except whom 
God and good angels guard by special grace. 
But now at last the sacred influence 
Of light appears, and from the walls of Heaven 
Shoots far into the bosom of dim night 
A glimmering dawn : here Nature first begins 
Her farthest verge, and Chaos to retire. 
As from her outmost works a broken foe, 
With tumult less, and with less hostile din : 
That Satan with less toil, and now with ea.se, 
Wafts on the calmer wave by dubious light. 
And, like a weatherbeaten vessel, holds 
Gladly the port; though shrouds and tackle torn; 
Or in the emptier waste, resembUng air, 
Weighs his spread wings, at leisure to behold 
Far off the empyreal Heaven, extended wide 
In circuit, undetermined square or round, 
With opaj towers and battlements adorned 



18 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book hi. 



Of living sapphire, once his native seat ; 
And fast by, hanging in a golden chain, 
This pendent world, in bigness as a star 
Of smallest magnitude close by the moon. 
Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge, 
Accursed, and in a cursed hour, he hies. 



. BOOK 111. 



THE ARGUMENT- 

God, sitting on his throne, sees .Satan flying towards this 
world, then newly created ; shows him to the Son, who sat at 
his right liand ; foretells the success of Satan in perverting 
mankind ; clears his own justice and wisdom from all impu- 
tation, having created man free, and able enough to have with- 
stood his tempter ; yet declares his purpose of grace towards 
him, in regard he fell not of his own malice, as did Satan, but 
by him seduced. The Son of God rendei's praises to his Fa- 
ther, for the manifestation of his gracious purpose towards 
man ; but God again declares, that grace can not be extended 
towards man without the satisfaction of divine justice; man 
hath offended the majesty of God by aspiring to Godhead, and, 
therefore, with all his progeny, devoted to death, must die, un- 
less some one can be found sufficient to answer for his offence, 
and undergo his punishment. The Son of God freely offers 
himself a ransom for man: the Father accepts him, ordains 
his incarnation, pronounces his exaltation above all names in 
Heaven and earth ; commands all the angels to adore him; 
they obey, and, hymning to their harps in full choir, celebrate 
the Father and the Son. Meanwhile Satan alights upon the 
bare convex of this world's outermost orb ; where wandering, 
he first finds a place since called the Limb»/ of Vanity : what 
persons and things fly up thither ; thence comes to the gate of 
Heaven, described ascending by stairs, and the waters above 
llie firmament that flow about it ; his passage thence to the 
orb of the sun ; he finds there Uriel, the regent of that orb, 
but first changes himself into the shape of a meaner angel ;_ 
and pretending a zealous desire to behold the new creation, and 
man whom God had placed here, inquires of him the place 
of his liabitation, and is directed : alights first on mount Ni- 
phates. 



Hail, holy Light ! offspring of Heaven first bom ! 

Or of the eternal coeternal beam 

May I express thee unblamed 1 since God is light, 

And never but in unapproached light 

Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, 

Bright effluence of bright essence increate. 

Or hearest thou rather pure ethereal stream. 

Whose fountain who shall tell 1 Before the sun. 

Before the heavens thou wert, and, at the voice 

Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 

The rising world of waters dark and deep, 

Won from the void and formless infinite. 

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, 

Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained 

In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight 

Through utter and through middle darkness borne, 

With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, 

I sung of Chaos and eternal Night, 

Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down 

The dark descent, and up to reascend. 

Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe, 



And feel thy sovereign vital lamp ; but thou 
Revisitest not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, 
Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more 
Cease I to wander, where the muses haunt 
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 
Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief 
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 
That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, 
Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 
Those other two equalled with me in fate, 
So were I equalled with them in renown, 
Blind Thamyris and blind Mseonides, 
And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old : 
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move 
Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird 
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid 
Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 
Seasons return ; but not to me returns 
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, 
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose 
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; 
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark 
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 
Cut off, and, for the book of knowledge fair 
Presented with a universal blank 
Of nature's works, to me expunged and razed, 
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 
So much the rather thou, celestial Light, 
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence 
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 
Of things invisible to mortal sight. 

Now had the almighty Father from above. 
From the pure empyrean where he sits 
High throned above all height, bent down his eye, 
His own works and their works at once to view; 
About him all the sanctities of Heaven 
Stood thick as stars, and from his sight received 
Beatitude past utterance; on his right 
The radiant image of his glory sat. 
His only Son ; on the earth he first beheld 
Our two first parents, yet the only two 
Of mankind, in the happy garden placed, 
Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love. 
Uninterrupted joy, unrivalled love, 
In blissful solitude; he then surveyed 
Hell and the gulf between, and Satan there 
Coasting the wall of Heaven on this side Night 
In the dun air sublime, and ready now 
To stoop, with wearied wings, and willing feet. 
On the bare outside of this world, that seemed 
Firm land embosomed, without firmament. 
Uncertain which, in ocean or in air. 
Him God beholding from his prospect high 
Wherein past, present, future he beholds, 
Thus to his only Son foreseeing spake. 

" Only begotten Son, seest thou what rage 



Book in. 



PARADISE LOST. 



19 



Transports our adversary 1 whom no bounds 
Prescribed, no bars of hell, nor all the chains 
Heaped on him there, nor yet the main abyss 
Wide interrupt can hold; so bent he seems 
On desperate revenge, that shall redound 
Upon his own rebellious head. And now. 
Through all restraint broke loose, he wings his 

way 
Nor far off Heaven, in the precincts of light, 
Directly towards the new created world. 
And man there placed, with purpose to assay 
If him by force he can destroy, or, worse, 
By some false guile pervert; and shall pervert: 
For man will hearken to his glozing lies, 
And easily transgress the sole command, 
Sole pledge of his obedience : so will fall 
He and his faithless progeny: whose fault 1 
Whose but his own 1 Ingrate, he had of me 
All he could have ; I made him just and right, 
Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall. 
Such I created all the ethereal powers 
And spirits, both them who stood and them who 

failed ; 
Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell. 
Not free, what proof could they have given sincere 
Of true allegiance, constant faith or love. 
Where only what they needs must do appeared, 
Not what they would 1 what praise could they re- 
ceive'? 
What pleasure I from such obedience paid. 
When will and reason (reason also i^ choice) 
Useless and vain, of freedom both despoiled, 
Made passive both, had served necessity, 
Not me "? They, therefore, as to right belonged 
So were created, nor can justly accuse 
Their Maker, or their making, or their fate. 
As if predestination overruled 
Their will, disposed by absolute decree 
Or high foreknowledge; they themselves decreed 
Their own revolt, not I ; if 1 foreknew, 
Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault, 
Which had no less proved certain unforeknown. 
So without least impulse or shadow of fate, 
Or aught by me immutably foreseen. 
They trespass, authors to themselves in all 
Both what they judge and what they choose ; for so 
I formed them free, and free they must remain. 
Till they inthral themselves; I else must change 
Their nature, and revoke the high decree 
Unchangeable, eternal, which ordained 
Their freedom ; they themselves ordained their fall. 
The first sort by their own suggestion fell. 
Self-tempted, self-depraved: man falls, deceived 
By the other first : man therefore shall find grace, 
The other none: in mercy and justice both. 
Through heaven and earth, so shall my glory ex- 
cel: 
But mercy first and last ■^hall brightest sliine." 



Thus while God spake, ambrosial fragrance 
filled 
All Heaven, and in the blessed spirit elect 
Sense of new joy ineffable diffused : 
Beyond compare the Son of God was seen 
Most glorious ; in him all his Father shone 
Substantially expressed; and in his face 
Divine compassion visibly appeared. 
Love without end, and without measure grace, 
Which uttering, thus he to his Father spake : 
" O Father, gracious was that word which 
closed 
Thy sovereign sentence, that man should find 

grace 
For which both Heaven and earth shall high extol 
Thy praises, with th' innumerable sound 
Of hymns and sacred songs, wherewith thy throne 
Incompassed shall resound thee ever blest. 
For should man finally be lost, should man, 
Thy creature late so loved, thy youngest son 
Fall circumvented thus by fraud, though joined 
With his own folly 1 that be from thee far. 
That far be from thee, Father, who art judge 
Of all things made, and judgcst only right. 
Or shall the adversary thus obtain 
His end, and frustrate thine 1 shall he fulfil 
His malice, and thy goodness bring to nought. 
Or proud return, though to his heavier doom, 
Yet with revenge accomplished, and to hell 
Draw after him the whole race of mankind, 
By him corrupted 1 or wilt thou thyself 
Abolish thy creation, and unmake. 
For him, what for thy glory thou hast madel 
So should thy goodness and thy greatness both 
Be questioned and blasphemed without defence." 

To whom the great Creator thus replied, 
" O Son, in whom my soul hath chief delight, 
Son of my bosom. Son who art alone 
My word, my wisdom, and effectual might. 
All hast thou spoken as my thoughts are, all 
As my eternal purpose hath decreed: 
Man shall not quite be lost, but saved who will ; 
Yet not of will in him, but grace in me 
Freely vouchsafed; once more I will renew 
His lapsed powers, though forfeit and inthralled 
By sin to foul exorbitant desires; 
Upheld by me, yet once more he shall stand 
On even ground against his mortal foe. 
By me upheld, that he may know how frail 
His fallen condition is, and to me owe 
All his deliverance, and to none but me. 
Some I have chosen of peculiar grace, 
Elect above the rest ; so is my will : 
The rest shall hear me call, and oft be warned 
Their sinful state, and to appease betimes 
Th' incensed Deity, while offered grace 
Invites; for I will clear their senses dark, 
What may sufRce and soften stony hearts 



20 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book iil 



To pray, repent, and brinjf obedience due. 

To prayer, repentance, and obedience due. 

Though but endeavoured with sincere intent, 

Mine ear shall not be slow, mine eye not shut. 

And I will place within them as a guide 

My umpire Conscience, whom if they will hear, 

Light after light well used they shall attain, 

And to the end persisting, safe arrive. 

This my long sufferance and my day of grace 

They who neglect and scorn shall never taste; 

But hard be hardened, blind be blinded more, 

That they may stumble on, and deeper fall; 

And none but such from mercy I exclude. 

But yet all is not done ; man disobeying, 

Disloyal, breaks his fealty, and sins 

Against the high supremacy of Heaven, 

Affecting Godhead, and, so losing all. 

To expiate his treason hath naught left, 

But to destruction sacred and devote. 

He with his whole posterity must die, 

Die he or justice must: unless for him 

Some other able, and as willing, pay 

The rigid satisfaction, death for death. 

Say, heavenly powers, where shall vfe find such 

love? 
"Which of ye will be mortal to redeem 
Man's mortal crime, and just th' unjust to save 1 
Dwells in all heaven charity so dearT' 

He asked, but all the heavenly choir stood 
mute, 
And silence was in Heaven; on man's behalf 
Patron or intercessor none appeared, 
Much less tiiat durst upon his own head draw 
The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set. 
And now witiiout redemption all mankind 
Must have been lost, adjudged to death and hell 
By doom severe, had not the Son of God 
In whom the fulness dwells of love divine. 
His dearest mediation thus renewed. 

" Father, thy word is past, man shall find grace; 
And shall grace not find means, that finds her 

way, 
The speediest of thy winged messengers. 
To visit all thy creatures, and to all 
Comes unprevented, unimplored, unsought! 
Llappy for man, so coming; he her aid 
Can never seek, once dead in sins, and lost; 
Atonement for himself or offering meet, 
Indebted and undone, hath none to bring: 
Behold me then; me for him; life for life 
I offer; on me let thine anger fall ; 
Account me man; I for his sake wilHeave 
Thy bosom, and this glory next to thee 
Freely put off, and for him lastly die 
Well pleased; on mc let Death wreak all liis 

rage; 
Under his gloomy power I shall not long 
Lie vanquished ; thou hast given me to possess 
Life in myself for ever: by thee I live. 



Though now to Death I yield, and am his due 
All that of me can die; yet that debt paid 
Thou wilt not leave me in the loathsome grave 
His prey, nor suffer my unspotted soul 
For ever with corruption there to dwell; 
Rut I shall rise victorious, and subdue 
My vanquisher, spoiled of his vaunted spoil; 
Death his death's wound shall then receive, ana 

stoop 
Inglorious, of his mortal sting disarmed, 
I througli the ample air in triumph high 
Shall lead hell captive, maugre hell, and show 
The powers of darkness bound. Thou, at tlie 

sight 
Pleased, out of Heaven shall look down and 

smile. 
While, by thee raised, I ruin all my foes, 
Deatli last, and with his carcass glut the grave : 
Then with the multitude of my redeemed 
Shall enter Heaven, long absent, and return, 
Father, to see thy face, wherein no cloud 
Of anger shall remain, but peace assured 
And reconcilement : wrath shall be no more 
Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire." 
tlis words here ended, but his meek aspect 
Silent yet spake, and breathed immortal love 
To mortal men, above which only shone 
Filial obedience; as a sacrifice 
Glad to be offered, he attends the will 
Of his great Father. Admiration seized 
AH Heaven, what this might mean, and whither 

tend. 
Wondering ; but soon th' Almighty thus replied. 
" O thou, in Heaven and earth the only peace 
Found out for mankind under wrath! O thou, 
My sole complacence ! well thou knowest hov? 

dear 
To me are all my works, nor man the least, 
Though last created; that for him I spare 
I'hee ii-om my bosom and right hand, to save, 
By losing thee awhile, the whole race lost. 
Thou, therefore, whom thou only canst redeem. 
Their nature also to thy nature join; 
And be thyself man among men on earth, 
Made liesh, when time shall be, of virgin seed. 
By wondrous birth: be thou, in Adam's room, 
The head of all mankind, though Adam's son. 
As in him perish all men, so in thee, 
As from a second root, shall be restored 
As many as are restored, without thee none. 
His crime makes guilty all his sons ; thy merit, 
Imputed, shall absolve them who renounce 
Their own both rigliteous and unrighteous deeds^ 
And live in thee transplanted, and from thee 
Receive new life. So man, as is most just. 
Shall satisfy for man, be judged and die, 
And dying rise, and rising with him raise 
Flis bretln-en, ransomed with his own dear life. 
So heavenlv love shall outdo hellish hate. 



Book nt. 



PARADISE LOST. 



81 



Giving to death, and dying to rcc^em, 
So dearly to redeem what hellish hate 
So easily destroyed, and still destroys 
In those who, when they may, accept not grace. 
Nor shalt thou, by descending to assume 
Man's nature, lessen or degrade thine own. 
Because thou hast, though throned in highest bliss 
Equal to God, and equally enjoying 
Godlike fruition, quitted all to save 
A workl from utter loss, and hast been found 
By merit more than birthright Son of God, 
Found worthiest to be so by being good, 
Far more than great or high ; because in thee 
Love hath abounded more than glory abounds ; 
Therefore thy humiliation shall exalt 
With thee thy manhood also to this throne: 
Here shalt thou sit incarnate, here shalt reign 
Both God and man, Son both of God and man, 
Anointed universfd King ; all power 
I give thee ; reign for ever, and assume 
Thy merits ; under thee, as head supreme. 
Thrones, princedoms, powers, dominions I reduce: 
All knees to thee shall bow, of them that bide 
In Heaven, or earth, or under earth in hell. 
When thou, attended gloriously from Heaven, 
Shalt in the sky appear, and from thee send 
The summoning archangels to proclaim 
Thy dread tribunal, forthwith from all winds 
The living, and forthwith the cited dead 
Of all past ages to the general doom 
Shall hasten, such a peal shall rouse their sleep. 
Then, all thy saints assembled, thou shalt judge 
Bad men and angels ; they, arraigned, shall sink 
Beneath thy sentence ; hell, her numbers full. 
Thenceforth shall be for ever shut. Mcanwliile 
The world shall burn, and from her ashes spring 
New Heaven and earth, wherein the just shall 

dwell. 
And, after all their tribulations long, 
See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds. 
With joy and love triumphing, and fair truth. 
Then thou thy regal sceptre shalt lay by, 
For regal sceptre then no more shall need, 
God shall be all in all. But, all ye gods, 
Adore him, who to compass all this dies; 
Adore the Son, and honour him as me." 

No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all 
The multitude of angels, with a shout 
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet 
As from blest voices, uttering joy, Heaven rung 
With jubilee, and loud hosannas filled 
The eternal regions : lowly reverent 
Towards cither throne they bow, and to the ground 
With solemn adoration down they cast 
Their crowns inwove with amarantli and fold; 
Immortal amaranth, a flower which once 
In Paradise, fast by the tree of hfe. 
Began to bloom ; but soon for man's offence 



To Heaven removed, where first it grew, there 

grows. 
And flowers, aloft, shading the fount of life. 
And where the river of bliss through midst of 

Heaven 
Rolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream : 
With these that never fade the spirits elect 
Bind their resplendent locks inwreathed with 

heams ; 
Now in loose garlands thick thrown off, the bright 
Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone, 
Impurpled with celestifd roses smiled. 
Then, crowned again, their golden harps they took, 
Harps ever tuned, that, glittering by their side, 
Like quivers hung, and with preamble sweet 
Of charming symphony they introduce 
Their sacred song, and waken raptures high ; 
No voice exempt, no voice but well could join 
Melodious part, such concord is in Heaven. 
Thee, Father, first they sung, omnipotent, 
Immutable, immortal, infinite. 
Eternal King ; the Author of all being. 
Fountain of light, thyself invisible 
Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sittest 
Throned inaccessible, but when thou shadest 
The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud 
Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine, 
Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear. 
Yet dazzle Heaven, that brightest seraphim 
Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes, 
Thee next they sang, of all creation first, 
Begotten Son, divine similitude. 
In whose conspicuous countenance, without cloud 
Made visible, the Almighty Father shines. 
Whom else no creature can behold ; on thee 
Impressed the effulgence of his glory abides. 
Transfused on thee his ample spirit rests. 
He tieaven of Heavens, and all the powers 

therein. 
By thee created, and by thee threw down 
The aspiring dominations: tiiou that day 
Thy Father's dreadful thunder didst not spare, 
Nor stop thy flaming chariot wheels, that shook 
Heaven's everlasting frame, while o'er the necks 
Thou drovest of warring angels disarrayed. 
Back from pursuit thy powers with loud acclaim 
Thee only extolled. Son of thy Father's might, 
To execute fierce vengeance on his foes. 
Not so on man ; him, through their malice fallen, 
Father of mercy and grace, thou didst not doom 
So strictly, but much more to pity incline i 
No sooner did thy dear and only Son 
Perceive thee purposed not to doom frail man 
So strictly, but much more to pity inclined. 
He, to appease thy wrath, and end the strife 
Of mercy and justice in thy face discerned. 
Regardless of the bliss wherein he sat 
Second to thee, offered himself to diei 



e3 



22 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book in. 



For man's olTcncc. O unexamplod love, 
Love no where to be fouricl less tlian divine! 
Hail, Son of God, Saviour of men ! thy name 
Shall he the copious matter of my song 
Henceforth, and never shall my harp »hy praise 
Forget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin. 

Thus they in Heaven, above the starry sphere, 
Their hapi)y hours in joy and hymning spent. 
Meanwhile upon the firm opacious globe 
Of this round world, whoso first convex divides 
Their luminous inferior orbs, inclosed 
From Chaos and th' inroad of Darkness old, 
Satan alighted walks : a globe iiir off 
It seemed, now seems a boundless continent, 
Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of Night 
Starless exposed, and ever-threatening storms 
Of Chaos blustering round, inclement sky; 
Save on th;it side which from the wall of Heaven, 
Though distant far, some small rellection gains 
Of glimmering air, less vexed with tempest loud : 
Here walked the fiend at large in spacious field. 
As when a vulture, on Imaus bred, 
Whose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds, 
Dislodging from a region scarce of jirey 
To gorge the fiesh of lambs or yearling kids, 
On hills where flocks are fed, flies towards the 

springs 
Of Ganges or Hydaspea, Indian streams; 
But in his way lights on the barren plains 
Of Sericana, where Chineses drive 
With sails and wind their cany wagons light ; 
So, on this windy sea of land, the fiend 
Walked up and down alone, bent on his prey; 
Alone, for other creature in tiiis place, 
Living or lifeless to he found was none; 
None yet, but store hereafter from the earth 
Up hither like aerial vapours flew 
Of all things transitory and vain, when sin 
With vanity had filled the works of men; 
Both all things vain, and all who in vain things 
Built their fond ho[ies of glory or lasting fame, 
Or happiness in this or the other life; 
All who have their reward on earth, the fruits 
Of painful superstition and blind zeal. 
Nought seeking but the praise of men, here find 
Fit retribution, empty as their deeds; 
AU the imaccom|)lished works of Nature's hand, 
Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixed, 
Dissolved on earth, fleet hither, and in vain, 
Till final dissolution wander here, 
Not in the neighb'ring moon, as some have 

dreamed ; 
Those argent fields more likely habitants. 
Translated saints, or middle s()irits, hold 
Betwixt the angelical and human kind. 
Hither, of ill-joined sons and daughters born. 
First from the ancient world those giants came 
With many a vain exploit thougli then renowned : 
The builders next of Babel on the plain 



Of Sennaar, and still with vain design 

New Babels, had they wherewithal would build: 

Others came single: he who, to be deemed 

A god, leaped fondly into .^tna flames, 

Enipedocles; and he who, to enjoy 

Plato's clysium, leaped into the sea, 

Cleombrotus ; and many more too long, 

Embryos, and idiots, eremites, and friars 

White, black, and gray, with all their trumpery 

Here pilgrims roam, that strayed so far to seek 

In Golgotha him dead, who lives in Heaven; 

And they who, to be sure of Paradise, 

Dying j)ut on the weeds of Dominic, 

Or in Franciscan think to pass disguised ; 

They pass the planets seven, and j)ass the fixed. 

And crystalline sphere, whose balance weighs 

The trepidation talked, and that first moved: 

And now saint Peter at Heaven's wicket seems 

To wait them with his keys, and now at foot 

Of Heaven's ascent they lift their feet, when lo 

A violent cross wind from either coast 

Blows tluMu transverse ten tliousand leagues awry 

Into the devious air; then might ye see 

Cowls, hoods, and habits, with their wearers tost 

And fluttered into rags; then reliques, beads, 

Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls. 

The sport of winds: all these, upwhirlcd aloft, 

Fly o'er the backside of the world far olf 

Into a limbo large and broad, since called 

The Paradise of fools, to few unknown 

Long after, now unpeopled, and untrod. 

All this dark globe the fiend found as he passed, 

And long he wandered till at last a gleam 

Of dawning light turned thitherward in haste 

His travelled steps: far distant he descries. 

Ascending by degrees magnificent 

Up to the wall of Heaven, a structure high ; 

At top whereof, but tar more rich, appeared 

The work as of a kingly palace gate. 

With frontispiece of diamond and gold 

Embollished ; thick with sparkling orient gems 

The portal shone, inimitable on earth 

By model, or by shading pencil drawn. 

The stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw 

Angels ascending and descending, bands 

Of guardians bright, when he from Esau fled 

To Padan-Aram, in the field of Luz 

Dreaming by night under the open sky. 

And waking cried, " This is the gate of Heaven." 

Each stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood 

There always, but drawn up to Heaven sometimes 

Viewless ; and underneath a bright sea flowed 

Of jasper, or of liquid pearl, whereon 

Who after came from earth, sailing arrived 

Wafted by angels, or flew o'er the lake 

l\a[it in a chariot drawn by fiery steeds. 

The stairs wert. then let down, whether to dare 

Tiie fiend by easy ascent, or aggravate 

His sad exclusion from tlie doors of bliss ; 



Book hi. 



PARADISE LOST. 



S3 



Direct against wliich opened from beneath, 

Just o'er the blissful seat of Paradise, 

A passage down to th' earth, a passage wide, 

Wider by far than that of aflertimes 

Over mount Sion, and, though that were large, 

Over the promised land to God so dear: 

By which, to visit oft those happy tribes, 

On high behests his angels to and fro 

Passed frequent, and his eye with choice regard 

From Pancas, the fount of Jordan's flood. 

To Bcersaba, where the Holy Land 

Borders on Egypt and the Arabian shore ; 

So wide the opening seemed, where bounds were 

set 
To darkness, such as bound the ocean wave. 
Satan from hence, now on the lower stair. 
That scaled by steps of gold to Heaven gate, 
Looks down with wonder at the sudden view 
Of all this world at once. As when a scout. 
Through dark and desert ways with peril gone 
All night, at last by break of cheerful dawn, 
Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill. 
Which to his eye discovers unavyare 
The goodly prospect of some foreign land. 
First seen, or some renowned metropolis 
With glistering spires and pinnacles adorned. 
Which now the rising sun gilds with his beams : 
Such wonder seized, though after Heaven seen. 
The spirit malign, but much more envy seized. 
At sight of all this world beheld so fair. 
Round he surveys, (and well might, where he stood 
So high above the circling canopy 
Of night's extended shade) from eastern point 
Of Libra to the fleecy star that bears 
Andromeda far off Atlantic seas 
Beyond the horizon; then from pole to pole 
He views in breadth, and without longer pause 
Downright into the world's first region throws 
His flight precipitant, and winds with ease 
Through the pure marble air, his oblique way 
Amongst innumerable stars that shone. 
Stars distant, but nigh hand seemed other worlds ; 
Or other worlds they seemed, or happy isles, 
Like those Hesperean gardens famed of old, 
Fortunate fields, and groves, and flowery vales. 
Thrice happy isles; but who dwelt happy there 
He stayed not to inquire; above them all 
The golden sun, in splendour hkest Heaven, 
Allured his eye; thither his course he bends 
Through the calm firmament (but up or down. 
By centre, or eccentric, hard to tell, 
Or longitude,) where the great luminary, 
Aloof the vulgar constellations thick 
That from his lordly eye keep distance due. 
Dispenses light from far: they, as they move 
Their starry dance, in numbers that compute 
Days, months, and years, towards his all-cheering 

lamp 
Turns swift their various motions, or are turned 



By his magnetic beam, that gently warms 
The universe, and to each inward part 
With gentle penetration, though unseen, 
Shoots invisible virtue even to the deep ; 
So wondrously was set his station bright. 
There lands the fiend, a spot like which perhaps 
Astronomer in the sun's lucent orb. 
Through his glazed optic tube, yet never saw. 
The place he found beyond expression bright, 
Compared with aught on earth, metal or stone; 
Not all parts like, but all ahke informed 
With radiant light, as glowing iron with fire; 
If metal, part seemed gold, part silver clear; 
If stone, carbuncle most or chrysolite. 
Ruby or topaz, to the twelve that shone 
In Aaron's breastplate, and a stone besides 
Imagmed rather oft than elsewhere seen. 
That stone, or like to that which here below 
Philosophers in vain so long have sought, 
In vain, though by their powerful art they bind 
Volatile Hermes, and call up unbound 
In various shapes old Proteus from the sea, 
Drained through a hmbec to his native form. 
What wonder then if fields and regions here 
Breathe forth elixir pure, and rivers run 
Potable gold, when with one virtuous touch 
The arch chymic sun, so far from us remote, 
Produces, with terrestrial humour mixed. 
Here in the dark so many precious things 
Of colour glorious, and effect so rare 1 
Here matter new to gaze the Devil met 
Undazzled; far and wide his eye commands; 
For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade, 
But all sunshine, as when his beams at noon 
Culminate from the equator, as they now 
Shot upward still direct, whence no way round 
Shadow from body opaque can fall ; and the air 
No where so clear, sharpened his visual ray 
To objects distant far, whereby he soon 
Saw within ken a glorious angel stand, 
The same whom John saw also in the sun: 
His back was turned, but not his brightness hid; 
Of beaming sunny rays a golden tiar 
Circled his head, nor less his locks behind 
Illustrious on his shoulders fledged with wings 
Lay waving round ; on some great charge employed 
He seemed or fixed in cogitation deep. 
Glad was the spirit impure, as now in hope 
To find who might direct his wandering flight 
To Paradise, the happy seat of man, 
His journey's end, and our beginning wo. 
But first he casts to change his proper shape. 
Which else might work him danger or delay: 
And now a stripling cherub he appears, 
Not of the prime, yet such as in his face 
Youth smiled celestial, and to every limb 
Suitable grace diffused, so well he feigned: 
Under a coronet his flowing hair 
In curls on either cheek played; wings he wore 



34 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book iv . 



Of many a coloured plume, sprinkled with gold ; 
His habit fit for speed succinct, and held 
Before his decent steps a silver wand. 
He drew not nigh unheard; the angel bright, 
Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turned, 
Admonished by his ear, and straight was known 
The archangel Uriel, one of the seven 
Who in God's presence, nearest to his throne, 
Stand ready at command, and are his eyes 
That run through all the Heavens, or down to the 

earth 
Bear his swift errands over moist and dry. 
O'er sea and land : him Satan thus accosts. 

" Uriel, for thou of those seven spirits that stand 
In sight of God's high throne, gloriously bright, 
The iirst art wont his great authentic will 
Interpreter through highest Heaven to bring, 
Where all his sons thy embassy attend ; 
And here art likeUest by supreme decree 
Like honour to obtain, and as his eye 
To visit oft this new creation round ; 
Unspeakable desire to see and know 
All these his wondrous works, but chiefly man, 
His chief delight and favour, him for whom 
All these his work so wondrous he ordained, 
Hath brought me from the choirs of cherubim 
Alone thus wandering. Brightest seraph, tell 
In which of all these shining orbs hath man 
His fixed seat, or fixed seat hath none. 
But all these shining orbs his choice to dwell; 
That I may find him, and with secret gaze 
Or open admiration liim behold. 
On whom the great Creator hath bestowed 
Worlds, and on whom hath all these graces poured ; 
That both in him and all things, as is meet, 
The universal Maker we may praise; 
Who justly hath driven out his rebel foes 
To deepest hell, and to repair that loss 
Created this new happy race of men 
To serve him better: wise are all his ways." 

So spake the false dissembler unperceived; 
For neither man nor angel can discern 
Hypocrisy, the. only evil that walks 
Invisible, except to God alone, 
By his permissive will, through Heaven and earth: 
Aiid oft, though wisdom wake suspicion sleeps 
At wisdom's gate, and to simplicity 
Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill 
Where no ill seems : which now for once beguiled 
Uriel, though regent of the sun, and held 
The sharpest-sighted spirit of all in Heaven; 
Who to the fraudulent impostor foul. 
In his uprightness, answer thus returned. 

" Fair angel, thy desire, which tends to know 
The works of God, thereby to glorify 
The great Workmaster, leads to no excess 
That reaches blame, but rather merits praise 
The more it seems excess, that led thee hither 
From thy empyreal mansion thus alone, 



To witness with thine eyes what some perhaps 
Contented with report, hear only in Heaven: 
For wonderful indeed are all his works, 
Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all 
Had in remembrance always with delight; 
But what created mind can comprehend 
Their number, or the wisdom infinite 
That brought them forth, but hid their causes deepi 
I saw when at his word the formless mass, 
This world's material mould, came to a heap: 
Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar 
Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined ; 
Till at his second bidding darkness fled, 
Light shone, and order from disorder sprung: 
Swift to their several quarters hasted then, 
The cumbrous elements, earth, flood, air, fire; 
And this ethereal quintessence of Heaven 
Flew upward, spirited with various forms, 
That rolled orbicular, and turned to stars 
Numberless, as thou seest, and how they move"; 
Each had his place appointed, each his course; 
The rest in circuit walls this universe. 
Look downward on that globe, whose hither side 
With hght from hence, though but reflected, shines' 
That place is earth, the seat of man, that light 
His day, which else, as the other hemisphere. 
Night would invade; but there the neighbouring 

moon 
(So call that opposite fair star) her aid 
Timely interposes, and her monthly round 
Still ending, still renewing, through mid Heaven, 
With borrowed light her countenance triform 
Hence fills and empties to enlighten the earth, 
And in her pale dominion checks the night. 
That spot to which I point is Paradise, 
Adam's abode; those lofty shades, his bower. 
Thy way thou can'st not miss, me mine requires." 
Thus said, he turned ; and Satan, bowing low 
As to superior spirits is wont in Heaven, 
Where honour due and reverence none neglects, 
Took leave, and toward the coast of earth beneath 
Down from th' echptic, sped with hoped success, 
Throws his steep flight in many an airy wheel; 
Nor stayed, till on Niphates' top he lights. 



BOOK IV. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Satan, now in prospect of Eden, and nigh the place whero 
he must now attempt tlie bold enterprise which he undertoolc 
alone against God and man, falls into many doubts with him- 
self, and many passions, fear, envy, and despair ; but at length 
confirms himself in evil; journeys on to Paradise, whose out- 
ward prospect and situation is described; overleaps the bounds; 
sits in the shape of a cormorant on the tree of life, as liighest 
in the garden, to look about him. The garden described ; 
Satan's first sight of Adam and Eve; his wonder at their ex- 
cellent form and happy state, but with resolution to work 
their fall : overhears their discourse, thence gathers that the 
tree of knowledge was forbidden ihcm to eat of, under penalty 



Book iv. 



PARADISE LOST. 



25 



of (loatl) ; and thereon intends to found his temptation, by se- 
ducing them to transgress; thenle.ives them awhile, to know 
fiirllier of tlieir state by some other means Meanwhile Uriel, 
descending on a sun-heani, warns Gabriel, wlio had in charge 
the gate of Paradise, that some evil spirit had escaped the 
doop, and passed at noon by Ids sphere, in the shape of a good 
aiigel, down to Paradise, discovered after by Ins furious ges- 
tures in the mount. Gabriel promises to find him ere niorn- 
iuj. Night eonnng on, Adam and Eve discourse of going to 
tlioir re.«t; their bower described; tlieir evening worsliip. 
Gabriel, drawing forth his bands of nightwat(?li to walk the 
riiunil of Paradise, apjioints two strong angels to Adam's 
bower, lest the evil spirit should be tliere doing some harm to 
Adam or Eve sleeping ; there they find him at the ear of Eve, 
templing her in a dream, and bring him, though unwilling, to 
Gabriel; by whom questioned, he scornfully answers, pre- 
p;u-es resistance, but, hindered by a sign from Heaven, flies 
out of Paradise. 



O FOR that warning voice, which he who saw 
Th' Apocalypse heard cry in Heaven aloud, 
Tlien vvlien the dragon, put to second rout. 
Came furious down to be revenged on men, 
fVo to th' inhabitants on earth ! that now, 
Wliile time was, our first parents liad been warned 
Tiie coming of their secret foe, and 'scaped. 
Haply so 'scaped his mortal snare : for now 
Satan, now first inflamed with rage came down. 
The tempter ere the accuser of mankind, 
To wreak on innocent frail man his loss 
Of that first battle, and his flight to hell : 
Yet not rejoicing in his speed, though bold 
.Far off and fearless, nor with cause to boast, 
Begins his dire attempt, which, nigh the birth, 
Now rolling boils in his tumultuous breast, 
And like a devilish engine back recoils 
Upon himself; horror and doubt distract 
His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir 
The hell within him ; for within him hell 
He brings, and round about him, nor from hell 
One step, no more than from himself, can fly 
By change of place : now conscience wakes despair. 
That slumbered, wakes the bitter memory 
Of what he was, what is, and what must be 
Worse ; of worse deeds worse sufterings must ensue. 
Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view 
Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixes sad ; 
Sometimes towards Heaven,and the full blazingsun. 
Which now sat high in his meridian tower : 
Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began — 

" O thou, that with surpassing glory crowned, 
Lookest from thy sole dominion like the God 
Of this new world ; at whose sight all the stars 
Hide tlieir diminished heads ; to thee I call. 
But witli no friendly voice, and add thy name, 

Sun ! to tell thee how I hate thy beams. 
That bring to my remembrance from what state 

1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere; 
Till pride and worse ambition threw me down 
Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless 

King ; 
Ah ! wherefore ! he deserved no such return 



From me, whom he created what I was 
In that bright eminence, and with his good 
Upbraided none ; nor was his service hard. 
What could be less than to aflbrd him praise, 
The easiest recompense, and pay him thanka, 
How due ! yet all his good proved ill in me 
And wrought but malice ; lifted up so high 
I 'sdained subjection, and thought one step higher 
Would set me highest, and in a moment quit 
The debt immense of endless gratitude, 
So burdensome still paying, still to owe, 
Forgetful what from him I still received. 
And understood not that a grateful mind 
By owing owes not, but still pays at once 
Indebted and discharged; what burden thenl 
O had his powerful destiny ordained 
Me some inferior angel, I had stood 
Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised 
Ambition ! Yet why not 1 some other power 
As great might have aspired, and me, though meau, 
Drawn to his part ; but other powers as great 
Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within 
Or from without, to all temptations armed. 
Hadst thou tlie same free will and power to stand 1 
Thou hadst : whom hadst thou then or what to 

accuse. 
But Heaven's free love dealt equally to all 1 
Be then this love accused, since love or hate, 
To me alike, it deals eternal wo. 
Nay, cursed be thou ; since against his thy will 
Chose freely what it now so justly rues 
Me miserable ! which way shall I fly 
Infinite wrath, and infinite despair^ 
Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell; 
And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep 
Still threatening to devour me opens wide, 
To which the hell I suffer seems a Heaven. 
O then at last relent : is there no place 
Left for repentance, none for pardon left 1 
None left but by submission ; and that word 
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame 
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduced 
With other promises and other vaunts 
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue 
Th' Omnipotent. Ay me! they little know 
How dearly I abide that boast so vain, 
Under what torments inwardly I groan, 
While they adore mo on the throne of hell. 
With diadem and sceptre high advanced, 
The lower still I fall, only supreme 
In misery ; such joy ambition finds. 
But say I could repent, and could obtain, 
By act of grace, my former state ; how soon 
Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay 
What feigned submission swore ! ease would recant 
"Vows made in pain, as violent and void ; 
For never can true reconcilement grow 
Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep,' 
Which would but lead me to a worse relapse 



26 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book iv. 



And heavier fall : so should I purchase dear 
Short intermission bought with double smart. 
This knows my Punisher ; therefore as far 
From granting he, as I from begging peace : 
All hope excluded thus, behold, in stead 
Of us outcast, exiled, his new delight, 
Mankind created, and for him this world. 
So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear, 
Farewell remorse ! all good to me is lost ; 
Evil, be thou my good ! by thee at least 
Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold. 
By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign ; 
As man ere long, and this new world, shall know." 
Thus while he spake, each passion dimmed his 
face 
Thrice changed with pale, ire, envy, and despair; 
"Which marred liis borrowed visage, and betrayed 
Him counterfeit, if any eye beheld: 
For heavenly minds from such distempers foul 
Are ever clear. Whereof he soon aware. 
Each perturbation smoothed with outward calm, 
Artificer of fraud ; and was the first 
That practised falsehood under saintly show, 
Deep malice to conceal, couched with revenge : 
Yet not enough had practised to deceive 
Uriel once warned ; whose eye pursued him down 
The way he went, and on the Assyrian mount 
Saw him disfigured, more than could befal 
jSpirit of isappy sort : his gestures fierce 
■He marked, and mad demeanour, then alone. 
As he supposed, all unobserved, unseen. 
So on he fares, and to the border comes 
■Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, 
Now nearer crowns with her inclosure green. 
As with rural mound, the champaign head 
Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides 
With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, 
Access denied ; and over head up grew 
Insuperable height of loftiest shade, 
Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm 
A sylvan scene, and, as the ranks ascend 
Shade above shade, a woody theatre 
Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops 
The verdurous wall of Paradise upsprung : 
Which to our general sire gave prospect large 
Into his nether empire neighbouring round. 
And higher than that wall a circling row 
Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit. 
Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue. 
Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed : 
On which the sun more glad impressed his beams 
Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow. 
When God hath showered the earth ; so lovely 

seemed 
That landscape : and of pure now purer air 
Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires 
Vernal delight and joy, able to drive 
All sadness but despair : now gentle gales. 
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense 



Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole 

Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail 

Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past 

Mozambic, off at sea northeast winds blow 

Sabean odours from the spicy shore 

Of Araby the blest : with such delay 

Well pleased they slack their course, and many a 

league 
Cheered with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles: 
So entertained those odorous sweets the fiend, 
Who came their bane, though with them better 

pleased 
Than Asmodeus with the fishy fume 
That drove him, though enamoured, from the 

spouse 
Of Tobit's son, and with a vengeance sent 
From Medea post to Egypt, there fast bound. 
Now to th' ascent of that steep savage hill 
Satan had journeyed on, pensive and slow; 
But further way found none, so thick entwined, 
As one continued brake, the undergrowth 
Of shrubs and tangling bushes had perplexed 
All path of man or beast that passed that way : 
One gate there only was, and that looked cast 
On th' other side : which when th' arch-felon saw, 
Due entrance he disdained, and, in contempt, 
At one slight bound high overleaped all bound 
Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within 
Lights on his feet. As when a prowling wolf. 
Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey, 
Watching where shepherds pen their flocks at 

eve. 
In hurdled cotes amid the field secure. 
Leaps o'er the fence with ease into the fold : 
Or as a thief, bent to unhoard the cash 
Of some rich burgher, whose substantial doors. 
Cross-barred and bolted fast, fear no assault. 
In at the window climbs, or o'er the tiles : 
So clomb this first grand thief into God's fold ; 
So since into his church lewd hirelings climb. 
Thence up he flew, and on the tree of life. 
The middle tree and highest there that grew, 
Sat hke a cormorant ; yet not true life 
Thereby regained, but sat devising death 
To them who lived ; nor on the virtue thourrht 
Of that life-giving plant, but only used 
For prospect, what, well used, had been the plcdcre 
Of immortality. So little knows 
Any, but God alone, to value right 
The good before him, but perverts best things 
To worst abuse, or to their meanest use. 
Beneath him with new wonder now he views. 
To all delight of human sense exposed. 
In narrow room Nature's whole wealth, yea more, 
A Heaven on earth; for blissful Paradise 
Of God the garden was, by him in the cast 
Of Eden planted ; Eden stretched her line ' 

From Auran eastward to the royal towers 
Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings^ 



Book iv. 



PARADISE LOST. 



97 



Or where the sons of Eden long before 
Dwelt in Telassar : in this pleasant soil 
riis far more pleasant garden God ordained ; 
Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow 
All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste ; 
And all amid them stood the tree of life, 
High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit 
Of vegetable gold; and next to life. 
Our death, the tree of knowledge grew fast by. 
Knowledge of good bought dear by knowing ill. 
Southward through Eden went a river large, 
Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy 

hiU 
Passed underneath ingulphed ; for God had thrown 
That mountain as his garden mould high raised 
Upon the rapid current, which, through veins 
Of porous earth, with kindly thirst updrawn, 
Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill 
Watered the garden ; thence united fell 
Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood. 
Which from his darksome passage now appears 
And now, divided into four main streams, 
Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm 
And country, whereof here needs no account ; 
But rather to tell how, if Art could tell, 
How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks. 
Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, 
With mazy error under pendent shades 
Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed 
Flowers, worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art 
In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon 
Poured forth profuse on hill and dale and plain. 
Both where the morning sun first warmly smote 
The open field, and where the unpierced shade 
Embrowned the noontide bowers: thus was this 

place 
A happy rural seat of various view ; 
Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and 

balm. 
Others whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, 
Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, 
If true, here only, and of delicious taste: 
Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks 
Grazing the tender herb, were interposed, 
Or palmy hillock ; or the flowery lap 
Of some irriguous valley spread her store. 
Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose : 
Another side, umbrageous grots and caves 
Of coo! recess, o'er which the mantling vine 
Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps 
Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall 
Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake. 
That to the (ringed bank with myrtle crowned 
Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams. 
The birds their choir apply; airs, vernal airs, 
Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune 
The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, 
Knit with the Graces and the Hours, in dance 
Led on the eternal spring. Not that fair field 



Of Enna, where Proserpine gathering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis 
Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain 
To seek her through the world ; nor that sweet 

grove 
Of Daphne by Orontes, and the inspired 
Castalian spring, might with this Paradise 
Of Eden strive ; nor that Nyseian isle. 
Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham, 
Whom Gentiles Ammon call and Lybian Jove, 
Hid Amalthea, and her florid son. 
Young Bacchus, from her step-dame Rhea's eye ; 
Nor where Abassin kings their issue guard, 
Mount Aniara, though this by some supposed 
True Paradise, under the Ethiop line 
By Nilus' head, enclosed with shining rock, 
A whole day's journey high, but wide remote 
From this Assyrian garden, where the fiend 
Saw undelighted all delight, all kind 
Of living creatures, new to sight, and strange. 
Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall. 
Godlike erect, with native honour clad. 
In naked majesty seemed lords of all : 
And worthy seemed ; for in their looks divine 
The image of their glorious Maker shone, 
Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure 
(Severe, but in true filial freedom placed,) 
Whence true authority in men ; though both 
Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed ; 
For contemplation he and valour formed, 
For softness she and sweet attractive grace ; 
He for God only, she for God in him : 
His fair large front and eye sublime declared 
Absolute rule; and hyacinthine locks 
Round from his parted forelock manly hung 
Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad: 
She, as a veil, down to the slender waist 
Her unadorned golden tresses wore 
Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved 
As the vine curls her tendrils, which implied 
Subjection, but required with gentle sway, 
And by her yielded, by him best received, 
Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, 
And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay. 
Nor those mysterious parts were then concealed ; 
Then was not guilty shame, dishonest shame 
Of nature's works, honour dishonourable. 
Sin-bred, how have ye troubled all mankind 
With shows instead, mere shows of seeming pure 
And banished from man's life his happiest life, 
Simplicity and spotless innocence ! 
So passed they naked on, nor shunned the sight 
Of God or angel, for they thought no ill: 
So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair 
That ever since in love's embraces met; 
Adam the godliest man of men since born 
His sons ; the fairest of her daughters Eve. 
Under a tuft of shade, that on a green 
Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain side, 



28 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book jv. 



They sat them down; and, after no more toil 
Of their sweet gardening labour than sufficed 
To recommend cool zephyr, and made ease 
More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite 
More grateful, to their supper fruits they fell, 
Nectarine fruits which the compliant boughs 
Yielded them, side-long as they sat recline. 
On the soft downy bank damasked with flowers : 
The savoury pulp they chew, and in the rind 
Still as they thirsted scoop the brimming stream ; 
Nor gentle purpose, nor endearing smiles 
Wanted, nor youthful dalliance, as beseems 
Fair couple, hnked in happy nuptial league, 
Alone as they. About them frisking played 
All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase, 
In wood or wilderness, forest or den ; 
Sporting the lion ramped, and in his paw 
Dandled the kid ; bears, tigers, ounces, pards. 
Gambolled before them ; the imwieldy elephant, 
To make them mirth, used all his might and 

wreathed 
His lithe proboscis; close the serpent sly, 
Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine, 
His braided train, and of his fatal guile 
Gave proof unheeded ; others on the grass 
Couched, and, now filled with pasture, gazing sat, 
Or bedward ruminating ; for the sun. 
Declined, was hasting now with prone career 
To the ocean isles, and in the ascending scale 
Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose : 
When Satan, still in gaze, as first he stood. 
Scarce thus at length failed speech recovered sad. 
" O hell! what do mine eyes with grief behold! 
Into our room of bliss thus high advanced 
Creatures of other mould, earthborn perhaps, 
Not spirits, yet to heavenly spirits bright 
Little inferior; whom my thoughts pursue 
With wonder, and could love, so lively shines 
In them divine resemblance, and such grace 
The hand that formed them on their shape hath 

poured. 
Ah, gentle pair! ye little think how nigh 
Your change approaches, when all these delights 
Will vanish, and deliver ye to wo. 
More wo, the more your taste is now of joy; 
Happy, but for so happy ill secured 
Long to continue, and this high seat your Heaven 
lU fenced for Heaven to keep out such a foe 
As now is entered; yet no purposed foe 
To you, whom I could pity thus forlorn. 
Though I unpitied: league with you I seek,' 
And mutual amity, so straight, so close, 
That I with you must dwell, or you with me 
Henceforth ; my dwelUng haply may not please, 
Like this fair Paradise, your sense; yet such 
Accept your Maker's work ; he gave it me, 
Which I as freely give: hell shall unfold, 
To entertain you two, her widest gates. 
And send forth all her kings ; there will be room, 



Not like these narrow limits, to receive 
Your numeron.'' offspring; if no better place, 
Thank him who puts me loth to this revenge 
On you who wrong me not, for him who wronged. 
And should I at your harmless innocence 
Melt as J do, yet public reason just, 
Honour and empire with revenge enlarged. 
By conquering this new world, compels me now 
To do what else, though damned, I should abhor." 

So spake the fiend, and with necessity. 
The tyrant's plea, excused his devilish deeds. 
Then from his lofty stand on that high tree 
Down he alights among the sportful herd 
Of those four-footed kinds, himself now one. 
Now other, as their shape served best his end 
Nearer to view his prey, and unespied 
To mark what of their state he more miorht learn. 
By word or action marked: about them round 
A lion now he stalks with fiery glare; 
Then as a tyger, who by chance hath spied 
In some purlieu two gentle fawns at play. 
Straight couches close, then, rising, changes oft 
His couchant watch, as one who chose his ground. 
Whence rushing he might surest seize them both, 
Griped in each paw: when Adam, first of men, 
To first of women Eve, thus moving speech, 
Turned him, all ear to hear new utterance flow. 

" Sole partner, and sole part, of all these joys, 
Dearer thyself than all : needs must the Power 
That made us, and for us this ample world 
Be infinitely good, and of his good 
As liberal and free as infinite ; 
That raised us from the dust, and placed us here 
In all this happiness, who at his hand 
Have nothing merited, nor can perform 
Aught whereof he hath need: he who requires 
From us no other service than to keep 
This one, this easy charge, ' of all the trees 
In Paradise that bear deUcious fruit 
So various, not to taste that only tree 
Of knowledge, planted by the tree of life;' 
So near grows death to life, whate'er death is. 
Some dreadful thing no doubt; for well thou know- 

est 
God hath pronounced it death to taste that tree, 
The only sign of our obedience left. 
Among so many signs of power and rule 
Conferred upon us, and dominion given 
Over all other creatures that possess 
Earth, air, and sea. Then let us not think hard 
One easy prohibition, who enjoy 
Free leave so large to all things else, and choice 
Unlimited of manifold dehghts : 
But let us ever praise him, and extol 
His bounty, following our delightful task. 
To prune these growing plants, and tend these 

flowers, 
Which, were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet." 

To whom thus Eve replied : — " Othou for whom 



Book iv. 



PARADISE LOST. 



29 



And from whom I was formed, flesh of thy flesh, 
And without whom am to no end, my guide 
And head! what thou hast said is just and right. 
For we to him indeed all praises owe, 
And daily thanks; I chiefly, who enjoy 
So far the happier lot, enjoying thee 
Pre-eminent by so much odds, while tliou 
Like consort to thyself canst no where find. 
That day I oft remember, when from sleep 
1 first awaked, and found myself reposed 
Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where 
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how, 
Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound 
Of waters issued from a cave, and spread 
Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved 
Fure as the expanse of Heaven ; I thither went 
With unexperienced thought, and laid me down 
On the green bank to look into the clear 
Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky. 
As I bent down to look, just opposite 
A shape within the watery gleam appeared, 
Bending to look on me: 1 started back, 
It started back; but pleased I soon returned, 
Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks 
Of sympathy and love : there I had fixed 
Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire, 
Had not a voice thus warned me : ' What thou 

seest, 
What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself; 
With tliee it came and goes : but follow me. 
And I will bring thee where no shadow stays 
Thy coming, and thy soft embraces, he 
Whose image thou art ; him thou shalt enjoy. 
Inseparably thine, to him shalt bear 
Multitudes like thyself, and thence be called 
Mother of human race.' What could I do, 
But follow straight, invisibly thus led 1 
Till I espied thee, fair indeed and tall. 
Under a plantain ; yet methought less fair. 
Less winning soft, less amiably mild, 
Than that smooth watery «mage: back I turned; 
Thou following criedst aloud, ' Return, fair Eve, 
Whom fliest thou? whom thou fiiest, of huu thou 

art, 
His flesh, his bone : to give thee being, I lent 
Out of my side to thee nearest my heart. 
Substantial life, to have thee by my side 
Henceforth an individual solace dear; 
Part of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim 
My other half With that thy gentle hand 
Seized mine; I yielded, and from that time see 
How beauty is excelled by manly grace, 
And wisdom, which alone is truly fair." 

So spake our general mother, and with eyes 
Of conjugal attraction, unreproved. 
And meek surrender, half-embracing leaned 
On our first father ; half her swelUng breast 
Naked met his, under the flowing gold 
Of her loose tresses hid : he, in delight 



Smiled with superior love, as Jupiter 

On Juno smiles, when he impregns the clouds 

That shed May flowers; and pressed her matron 

With kisses pure : aside the devil turned 
For envy, yet with jealous leer malign 
Eyed them askance, and to himself thus plained 
Both of her beauty and submissive charms, 

" Sight hateful, sight tormenting! thus these two, 
Imparadised in one another's arms, 
The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill 
Of bliss on bliss; while I to hell am thrust, 
Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire, 
Among our other torments not the least. 
Still unfulfilled, with pain of longing pines. 
Yet let mc not forget what I have gained 
From their own mouths: all is not theirs, it seems; 
One fatal tree there stands, of knowledge called. 
Forbidden them to taste : knowledge forbidden 1 
Suspicious, reasonless. Why should their Lord 
Envy them that 1 can it be sin to know 1 
Can it be death 1 and do they only stand 
By ignorance 1 is that their happy state, 
The proof of their obedience and their faith 1 
O fair foundation laid whereon to build 
Their ruin 1 Hence I will excite their minds 
With more desire to know, and to reject 
Envious commands, invented with design 
To keep them low, whom knowledge might exalt 
Equal with goJs : aspiring to be such. 
They taste and die; what likelier can ensue'? 
But first with narrow search I must walk round 
This garden, and no corner leave unspied : 
A chance but chance may lead where I may meet 
Some wandering spirit of Heaven by fountain 

side. 
Or in thick shade retired, from him to draw 
What further would be learned. Live while ye 

may 
Yet happy pair ; enjoy, till I return. 
Short pleasures, for long woes are to succeed." 
So saying, his proud step he scornful turned, 
But with sly circumspection, and began, 
Through wood, tiirough waste, o'er hill, o'er dale, 

his roam. 
Meanwhile in utmost longitude, where Heaven 
With earth and ocean meets, the setting sun 
Slowly descended, and with right aspect 
Against the eastern gate of Paradise 
Levelled his evening rays: it was a rock 
Of alabaster, piled up to the clouds. 
Conspicuous far, winding with one ascent 
Accessible from earth, one entrance high ; 
The rest was craggy clifl', that overhung 
Still as it rose, impossible to climb. 
Betwixt these rocky pillars Gabriel sat. 
Chief of the angelic guards, awaiting night: 
About him exercised heroic games 
The unarmed youth of Heaven, but nigh at hand 



30 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book iv. 



Celestial armoury, shields, holms, and spears, 
Hung high with dinniond flaiuing, and with gold. 
Thither came Uriel, gliding through the even 
On a sunheam, swift as a shooting star. 
In autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fired 
Impress the air, and shows the mariner 
From what ))oint of his compasto hcvvarc 
Impetuous winds : he thus hcgan in haste. 

" Gahriel, to thee thy course by lot hath given 
Charge and strict watch, that to this happy place 
No evil thing approach or enter in. 
This day at height of noon came to my sphere 
A spirit, zealous, as he seemed, to know 
More of the Almighty's works, and chiefly man, 
God's latest image : I described his way 
Bent all on speed, and marked his airy gait ; 
But in the mount that lies from Eden north. 
Where he first lighted, soon discerned his looks 
Alien from Heaven, with passions foul obscured: 
Mine eye pursued him still, but under sliade 
Lost sight of iiim : one of the banished cew, 
I fear, hath ventured from the deep, to raise 
New troubles ; him thy care must be to find." 

To whom the winged warrior thus returned. 
" Uriel, no wonder if thy perfect sight, 
Amid the sun's bright circle where thou sittest, 
Bee liir and wide: in at this gate none pass 
The vigilance here placed, but such as come 
Well known from Heaven; and since meridian 

hour 
No creature thence: if spirit of other sort, 
So minded, have o'erleaped these earthly botmds 
On purpose, hard thou knowest it to exclude 
Spiritual substance with corporeal bar. 
But if within the circuit of these walks, 
In whatsoever shape he lurk, of whom 
Thou tcllcst, by morrow dawning I shall know." 

So promised he ; and Uriel to his charge 
Returned on that bright beam, whose point now 

raised 
Bore him slope downward to the sun now fallen 
Beneath the Azores ; whether the prime orb, 
Incredible how swift, had thither rolled 
Diurnal, or this less voluble earth. 
By shorter flight to the cast had left him there 
Arraying with reflected purple and gold 
n^he clouds that on his western throne attend. 
Now came still evening on, and twilight gray 
Had in her sober livery all things clad ; 
Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird. 
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests 
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale; 
She all niglit long her amorous descant suntr ; 
Silence was pleased ; now glowed the firmament 
With living sapphires ; Hesperus, that led 
The starry host, rotte brightest, till the moon, 
Rising in clouded majesty, at length. 
Apparent (pici^n, unveiled her peerless light, 
And o'er the dark her silver mantle tlirevv. 



When Adam thus to Eve. " Fair consort, the 
hour 
Of night, and all things now retired to rest. 
Mind us of like repose, since God hath set 
Labour and rest, as day and night, to men 
Successive; and the timely dew of sleep. 
Now fiilling with soft slunib'rous weight, inclines 
Our eyelids: other creatures all day long 
Rove idle, unemployed, and less need rest: 
Man hath his daily work of body or mind 
Appointed, which declares his dignity. 
And the regard of Heaven on all his ways; 
While otlier animals unactive range, 
And of their doings God takes no account. 
To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east 
With first approach of light, we must be risen, 
And at our pleasant labour to reform 
Yon flowery arbours, yonder alleys green. 
Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown. 
That mock our scant manuring, and require 
More hands than ours to lop tlieir wanton growth: 
Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums, 
That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmooth, 
Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease: 
Meanwhile, as Nature wills, night bids us rest." 

To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned. 
" My author and disposer, what thou bid'st 
Unargued I obey : so God ordains ; 
God is thy law, thou mine : to know no more 
Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise 
With thee conversing 1 forget all time ; 
All seasons and their change, all please alike. 
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, 
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun, 
When first on this delightful land he spreads 
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, 
Glistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth 
After sort showers; and sweet the coming on 
Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night. 
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon. 
And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train: 
But neither breath of morn, when she ascends 
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun 
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower. 
Glistering with dew ; nor fragrance after showers, 
Nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night, 
With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon. 
Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet. 
But wherefore all night long shine these 1 for whom 
This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all 
eyes V 
To whom our general ancestor replied. 
" Daughter of God and man, accomjilished Eve, 
These have their course to finish round the earth, 
By morrow evening, and from land to land 
In order, though to nations yet unborn. 
Ministering light prepared, they set and rise; 
Lest total darkness should by night regain 
Her old possession, and extmguish liJ'e 



Book iv. 



PARADISE LOST. 



31 



In nature and all thiny;s, which these soft fires 
Not only enligliten, but with kindly heat 
Of various influence foment and warm, 
Temper or nourish, or in part shed down 
Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow 
On earth, made hereby apter to receive 
Perfection from the sun's more potent ray. 
These then, though unbehcld in deep of night. 
Shine not in vain ; nor think, though men were 

none, 
That Heaven would want spectators, God want 

praise ; 
Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth 
Unseen, both wlien we wake, and when we sleep; 
All these witli ceaseless praise his works behold 
Both day and night : how often from the steep 
Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard 
Celestial voices to the midnight air. 
Sole, or responsive each to other's note, 
Singing their great Creator 1 oft in bands 
"While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, 
With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds 
In full harmonic number joined, their songs 
Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven." 

Thus talking, hand in hand alone they passed 
On to their blissful bower: it was a place 
Chosen by the sovereign Planter, when he framed 
All things to man's dehghtful use; the roof 
Of thickest covert was interwoven shade 
Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew 
Of firm and fragrant leaf: on either side 
Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub. 
Fenced up the verdant wall; each beauteous 

flower, 
Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine 
Reared high their flourishing heads between, and 

wrougiit 
Mosaic ; under foot the violet. 
Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay 
Broidered the ground, more coloured than with 

stone 
Of costliest emblem : other creature here. 
Beast, bird, insect, or worm durst enter none. 
Such was their awe of man. In shadier bower. 
More sacred and sequestered, though but feigned, 
Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymph 
Nor fauns haunted. Here, in close recess. 
With flowers, garlands, and sweet swelling herbs. 
Espoused Eve decked first her nuptial bed. 
And heavenly choirs the hymenaean sung. 
What day the genial angel to our sire 
Brought her, in naked beauty more adorned. 
More lovely than Pandora, whom the god 
Endowed with all their gifts, and O too Uke 
In sad event, when to the unwiser son 
Of Japhct brought by Hermes, she ensnared 
Mankind with her fair looks, to be avenged 
On him who had stole Jove's authentic fire. 
Thus, at their shady lodge arrived, both stood, 



Both turned, and under open sky adored 

The God that made both sky, air, earth, and 

Heaven 
Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe^ 
And starry pole: " Thou also mad'st the night, 
Maker omnipotent, and thou the day. 
Which we, in our appointed work employed 
Have finished, happy in our mutual help 
And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss 
Ordained by thee; and this delicious place 
For us too large, where thy abundance wants 
Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground. 
But thou hast promised from us two a race 
To fill the eartli, who shall with us extol 
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake. 
Ami when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep." 

This said unanimous, and other rites 
Observing none, but adoration pure 
Which God likes best, into their inmost bower 
Handed they went ; and, eased the putting oflF 
These troublesome disguises which we wear. 
Straight side by side were laid ; nor turned, I ween, 
Adam from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites 
Mysterious of connubial love refused : 
Whatever hypocrites austerely talk 
Of purity, and place, and innocence. 
Defaming as impure what God declares 
Pure, and commands to some, leaves free to all 
Our Maker bids increase; who bids abstain 
But our destroyer, foe to God and man? 
Hail, wedded love, mysterious law, true source 
Of human oflspring, sole propriety 
In Paradise of all things common else ! 
By thee adult'rous lust was driven from men 
Among the bestial herds to range ; by thee, 
Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure. 
Relations dear, and all the charities 
Of father, son, and brother first were known. 
Far be it that I should write thee sin or blame, 
Or thnik thee unbefitting holiest place. 
Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets. 
Whose bed is undefiled and chaste pronounced. 
Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs used ! 
Here love his golden shafts employs, here lights 
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings, 
Reigns here and revels ; not in the bought smile 
Of harlots, loveless, joyless, unendeared, 
Casual fruition ; nor in court amours, 
Mixed dance, or v/anton mask, or midnight ball, 
Or serenade, which the starved lover sings 
To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain. 
These lulled by nightingales, embracing slept, 
And on their naked limbs the flowery roof 
Showered roses, which the morn repaired. Sleep on, 
Blest pair ; and O yet happiest, if ye seek 
No happier state, and know to know no more. 

Now had night measured with her shailowy cone 
Half way up hill this vast sublunar vault. 
And from their ivory port the cherubim, 



32 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book ir. 



Forth issuing at the accustomcJ liour, stood armed 
To their night watches in warUke parade, 
When Gabriel to his next in power thus spake. 

" Uzziel, hair these draw o(V, and coast the south 
With strictest watcli ; these other wiieel the north ; 
Our circuit meets full west." As flame they part, 
Half wheeling to the shield, half to the spear. 
From these, two strong and subtle spirits he called 
That near him stood, and gave them thus in charge. 

" Ithuriel and Zephon, with winged speed 
Search through this garden, leave unsearched no 

nook : 
But chielly where those two fair creatures lodge, 
IN'ow laid perhaps asleep, secure of harm. 
This evening from the sun's decline arrived 
Who tells of some infernal spirit seen 
Hitherward bent (who could have thought ?) es- 
caped 
The bars of hell, on errand bad no doubt : 
Such where yo find, seize fast and hither bring." 

So saying, on he led his radiant files, 
Dazzling the moon ; these to the bower direct 
In search of whom they sought ; him there they 

found 
Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve, 
Assaying by his devilish art to reach 
The organs of her fancy, and with them forge 
Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams ; 
Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint 
The animal spirits, that from pure blood arise 
Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise 
At least distempered, di.scontented thoughts. 
Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires, 
Fdown lip with hii^h conceits engendering pride. 
Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear 
Touched lightly ; for no falsehood can endure 
Touch of celestial temper, but returns 
Of force to its own likeness : up he starts 
Discovered and surprised. As when a spark 
Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid 
Fit for the tun some magazine to store 
Against a rumoured war, the smutty grain, 
With sudden blaze dilluscd, inflames the air : 
So started up in his own shape the fiend. 
Back step tiiose two fair angels, half amazed 
So sudden to behold the grisly king ; 
Yet thus, unmoved with fear, accost him soon. 

" Which of those rebel spirits adjudged to Hell 
Comest thou, escaped thy prison'? and, transformed 
Why sat'st thou like an enemy in wait. 
Here watching at the head of these that sleep?" 

" Know ye not then," said Satan, filled with 
scorn, 
" Know ye not me 1 ye knew me once no mate 
For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar; 
]N"ot to know me argues yourselves unknown, 
The lowest of.j'our throng; or, if you know, 
Why ask ye, and superfluous begin 
Your message, like to end as much in vain 1" 



To whom thus Zephon, answering scorn with 
scorn : 
" Think not, revolted spirit, thy shape the same. 
Or undinnnished brightness to be known. 
As when thou stood'st in Heaven upright and 

pure ; 
That glory then, when thou no more wast good, 
Departed from thee ; and thou resemblest now 
Thy sin and place of doom, obscure and foul. 
But come, for thou, be sure, shall give account 
To nim who sent us, whose charge is to keep 
This place inviolable, and these from harm." 

So spake the cherub ; and this grave rebuke, 
Severe in youthful beauty, added grace 
Invincible; abashed the devil stood, 
And felt how awful goodness is, and saw 
Virtue in her shape how lovely ; saw, and pined 
BTis loss ; but chiefly to find her observed 
His lustre visibly impaired; yet seemed 
Undaunted. " If I must contend," said he, 
" Best with the best, the sender not the sent. 
Or all at once ; more glory will be won, 
Or less be lost." " Thy fear," said Zephon bold, 
" Will save us trial what the least can do 
Single against thee vv'icked, and thence weak." 
The fiend re[)lied not, overcome with rage ; 
But, like a proud steed reined, went haughty on, 
Champing his iron curb : to strive or fly 
He held it vain ; awe from above had quelled 
His heart, not else dismayed. Now drew they 

nigh 
The western point, where those half-rounding 

guards 
Just met, and closing stood in squadron joined. 
Awaiting next command. To whom their c!;ief, 
Gabriel, from the front thus called aloud. 

" O friends! I hear the tread of nimble feet 
Hasting this way, and now by glimpse discern 
Ithurifl and Zephon through the shade; 
And with them comes a third of regal port, 
But faded splendour wan ; who, by his gait 
And fierce demeanour, seems the prince of hell> 
Not likely to part hence without contest ; 
Stand firm, for in his look defiance lowers." 

He scarce had ended, when those two ap- 
proached, 
And brief related whom they brought, where 

found. 
How busied, in what form and posture couched. 

To whom with stern regard thus Gabriel spake. 
" Why hast thou, Satan, broke the bounds pre- 
scribed 
To thy tr.insgressions, and disturbed the charge 
Of others, who approve not to transgress 
By thy example, but have power and right 
To question thy bold entrance on this place ; 
Employed, it seems, to violate sleep, and those 
Whose dwelling God hath planted here in bliss 1" 

To whom thus Satan with contemptuous brow 



Book iv. 



PARADISE LOST. 



33 



" Gabriel, thou hadst in Heaven the esteem of 

wise, 
And such I held thee ; but this question asked 
Puts me in doubt. Lives there who loves his pain 1 
Who would not, finding way, break loose from 

hell, 
Though thither doomed 1 Thou wouldst thyself 

no doubt, 
And boldly venture to whatever place 
Farthest from pain, where thou mightest hope to 

change 
Torment with ease, and soonest recompense 
Dole with delight, which in this place I sought ; 
To thee no reason, who knowest only good. 
But evil hast not tried : and wilt object 
His will who bounds us 1 let him surer bar 
His iron gates, if he intends our stay 
In that dark durance : thus much what was asked. 
The rest is true, they found me where they say ; 
But that implies not violence or harm." 

Thus he in scorn. The warlike angel, moved. 
Disdainfully half smiling, thus replied. 
'• loss of one in Heaven to judge of wise, 
Since Satan fell, whom folly overthrew. 
And now returns him from his prison 'scaped. 
Gravely in doubt whether to hold them wise 
Or not, who ask what boldness brought him hither, 
Unlicensed, from his bounds in hell prescribed ; 
So wise he judges it to fly from pain. 
However, and to escape his punishment ! 
So judge thou still, presumptuous ! till the wrath 
Which thou incurrest by flying, meet thy flight 
Sevenfold, and scourge that wisdom back to hell. 
Which taught thee yet no better, that no pain 
Can equal anger infinite provoked. 
But wherefore thou alone ? wherefore with thee 
Came not all hell broke loose 1 is pain to them 
Less pain, less to be fled 1 or thou than they 
Less hardy to endure"? Courageous chief! 
The first in flight from pain! hadst thou alleged 
To thy deserted host this cause of flight. 
Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive." 
To which the fiend thus answered, frowning 

stem, 
" Not that I less endure or shrink from pain, 
Insulting angel ! well thou knowest I stood 
Thy fiercest, when in battle to thy aid 
The blasting voUied thunder made all speed. 
And seconded thy else not dreaded spear. 
But still thy words at random, as before, 
Argue thy inexperience what behooves, 
From hard assays and ill successes past, 
A faithful leader, not to hazard all 
Through ways of danger by huuself untried: 
I therefore, I alone first undertook 
To wing the desolate abyss, and spy 
This new created world, whereof in hell 
Fame is not silent, here in hope to find 
Better abode, and my afllicted powers 
5 i'2 



To settle here on earth, or in mid air ; 
Though for possession put to try once more 
What thou and thy gay legions dare against; 
V/hose easier business were to serve their Lord 
High up in Heaven, with songs to hymn his throne 
And practised distances to cringe, not fight." 

To whom the warrior angel soon replied. 
" To say and straight unsay, pretending first 
Wise to fly pain, professing next the spy. 
Argues no leader but a liar traced, 
Satan, and could'st thou faithful add "? O name, 
O sacred name of faithfulness profaned ! 
Faithful to whom 1 to thy rebellious crew 1 
Army of fiends, fit body to fit head. 
Was this your discipline and faith engaged. 
Your military obedience, to dissolve 
AUegiance to the acknowledged Power supreme"? 
And thou, sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem 
Patron of liberty, who more than thou 
Once fawned, and cringed, and servilely adored 
Heaven's awful Monarch"? whrerefore, but in hopo 
To dispossess him, and thyself to reign "? 
But mark what I arreedthee now, avaunt; 
Fly thither whence thou fledst ! if from this hour 
Within these hallowed limits thou appear. 
Back to the infernal pit I drag thee chained. 
And seal thee so, as henceforth not to scorn 
The facile gates of hell too slightly barred." 

So threatened he: but Satan to no threats 
Gave heed, but waxing more in rage, replied. 

" Then when I am thy captive talk of chains, 
Proud limitary cherub ! but ere then 
Far heavier load thyself expect to feel 
From my prevailing arm, though Heaven's King 
Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers. 
Used to the yoke, drawest his triumphant wheels 
In progress through the road of Heaven star-paved." 

While thus he spake, the angelic squadron 
briglit 
Turned fiery red, sharpening in mooned horns 
Their phalanx, and began to hem him round 
With ported spears, as thick as when a field 
Of Ceres ripe for harvest waving bends 
Her bearded grove of ears, which way the wind 
Sways them; the careful ploughman doubting 

stands. 
Lest on the threshing-floor his hopeful sheaves 
Prove chaff. On the other side, Satan, alarmed, 
Collecting all his might, dilated stood. 
Like TeneritT or Atlas, unrcmoved : 
His stature reached the sky, and on his crest 
Sat horror plumed ; nor wanted in his grasp 
What seemed both spear and shield : now dread- 
ful deeds 
Might have ensued, not only Paradise 
In this commotion, but the starry cope 
Of Heaven perhaps, or aU the elements 
At least had gone to wrack, disturbed and torn 
With violence of this conflict, had not soon 



34 



MILTON'S WOUKS. 



Book v. 



Tho Ftorvml, to prrvont Kurli horrid frny, 
Iluiiir Until ill ilriivcii liir. ;^oiilcii Hcalt'H, )'ot Hccn 
Ht'twixt Anlroii 1111(1 tilt' Hcor|ii(in siyiii, 
VVlicri'iii all tliihiM iTcnti'il lirsl he wcifjhcd, 
'i'lio |UMi(luli)iiu roiiiiii curt!) vvitli l)iilniit'(<ci iiir 
111 foiiiit('r|ioiso, now |ioiiil('i'H all cvi'mIh, 
Ijiiltii* itiui r<"i»liim: ill llit'Hi' 111' jiut two vvcijjIilH, 
'riu> N('(|iii'l (<iiclt of |iiirliiii; iiiid of (i<r|it; 
Till' lultiT t|iiii'iv up llcw, riiid Ivicki'il tlio lu'iini; 
Wliii-h tJ:ilii'ii'l H|iyiiii;, lliUH lu'S|mUi' tlit< liciid. 
" ^ittnii, I know tliy Htri<u>«lh, and tliou kiiowoHt 

iiiiiii', 
TNi'illu'i' oiii' own, lull ;;;ivt'ii; wliiil, liilly l.liiMi 
'I'o lioai.t wIimI iiniis cull do! MiiK-it tliiiir no iiuu'c 
'I'linii I h'uvcii |ii>riiiit-4, nor iiiiiu', llioti:;li doiiMi'd 

now 
To triiiii|>li' llii'«> MM iiiii'»<; for iiroot'Iook up, 
7\iid rciultliy lot in yon coli'stiiil siijii, 
AVIiiTo llioii lu't wi'i^licd, iiiul mIiowii liow iiiflit, 

how wi'iik, 
If thou i'(>Hist." Tiio iii'iid looki-d up, and kiunv 
1 lid iiioiinli'd si'iilc alot) ; nor iiioit' ; hul lied 
]Muriiiurin<;, and w ilh liini lied the .slimlis of iii^lit. 

BOOK V. 

•I'llK MUaiMKNT. 

Mornliis nppi'ivu'liml, l';viu>'liiliw to Ad.iiu ht»r nimlili-si'ino 
»li\>.uii i 111' IIIvunIi iiiil, vol ooml'iii'tN lii'i- ; llicy ooiiio Imlli In 
llii'ir il.iy ItiluHiix; tlioli' muniinj* liymii iil llio ilooi- ol ilu'lr 
luiwoi', (iiul, to I'cnili'i' iiiiii) liU'XCNHiililo, wiuIh ISiniliitcl (o 
iiilnuuilsli him ol' li'H i>l«»illin»'ti, ol' Ills I'lVo osliito, ol' Ills ciui- 
my iioiii' III hitiiil, who lu' is, mul wliv litn t-noiii.v, iiiiil whiil- 
jivprplsri miiy iivail Adam lo know. Kiiplinol coiui's down lo 
I'.irmll* ; Ids ii|(piiii'uiu'o diwrilu-d ; hiscomliy disooiniul by 
Aijiim iiloi' oil kIiiIiij; iii ilio dinir ol' Ids howoi ; ho mu's mil lo 
lut't'i Idiii, luinss him lo liki lodno, ruii-iitiiiis him wiili iho 
fhoit'osl I'riiiis ol' I'iii'iidlsi' coi loj{i>llim hy Kvr ; 111(11111x00111X0 
III liihio ; Kj|ihiipl poiloiins his iimssiino, iidmis Adiim ol' Ids 
W:ilo imd ol his oiiomy ; itd.ilos ut Adam's I'i'iiiiosi, who llml 
iMiomy Is, and how ho i.iiur lo bo so, b>i^iniilii;! I'lMm his Ilisl 
rovoli ill lliavon, aiidllio oooasioii thoivof; how ho divw his 
lotions iidoi' him in llio luii'lsol' iho noi'lh, and ihoio inoiliHl 
thorn lo I'obol Willi him, poi'siiadiii'; all lull only Abdicl a so- 
rai'h, who in ai.^umoiil disMii.idos aiut (ippivsos him, Ihon lor- 
itakt>s him. 



Now iiioi'n, lior rosy stt'ps in the cnstorn cliiiio 
iXdvaiu'injj, sowed tho earth with orient |H'arl, 
When Adam waked, so eiistoined ; for ids sleep 
Was airy liijhl, iViMii piiri> di':;eslion hred, 
A lid temperate va{Hnirsl>land, wliieh the only sound 
()f leaves and fniiiin;; rills, Aurora's fan, 
I.ijjiitly dispersed, and tlu> shrill nialiii sonsj 
(M" hirilson i>very housjh ; so iiuudi the inoro 
His wonder was to (iiul iinwakened Kvo 
Willi tresses diseomp(>sed, and ^lowinij flieek 
As thrtino'li inuiiiiet rest; he on his side 
Ltniniui; half raised, with Uniks of eordiul lovo 
llun;; omt lior ennmouivil, uiKll)ohold 



Beivnty, wliirh, whether wnkiiii^ or asleep, 
Shut liirtli peculiar oraces; then with voieo 
Mild, IIS when '/ephyrns on l''lorn lireatlies, 
ller hand Holt loiieliino;, whispered thus. " Awakp, 
My fairest, my espoused, my latest tiiinid, 
1 leaven's last hesi oi(l, my ever new dcliolft ! 
Awake: the iiioriiiii<; shines, and the fresh field 
Calls us; wo lose tho prime, to mark how npring 
( >iir leiided plants, how hlows the citron o;rov«>, 
Whatilrops the myrrh, iind what llie hahiiy reed, 
llow nature paints iier colours, how lliel>e»> 
Sits on the I'looiii extraeliiior liipiid swcel." 

Such whisperiiio waked her, hut willi start led cyo 
(>ii Adam, whom emhraeinjj, thus she spake. 

" t) sol(> ill whom my thoughts find all repose, 
Mv oiorv, mv peifeclion! "lad I see 
Thy face, and morn returned; for I this nioht 
(Suehni^ftit till this I never passed) have di-eumed, 
It' dreiimed, uot, as I oil am woiil, of thee. 
Works ol' ilay past, or morrow's next ilesiiin, 
Hill of olfence and IroiihU-, wliii-h my mind 
Knew never till this irksotiu< iiij;ht : methouijht 
( 'lose at mine enr one called mt> forlh lo walk 
With gentle voice; I thoufjlit it thine : it said, 
' Why sloepesi thou, Kve'? now is the pleasant tiuip, 
The eovil, the silent, sav«> where silence yields 
To the niolit warUliiio; hird, that now awake 
'I'unes sweetest his Kivo-lalniured soiio; : now reijjns 
l'\ill orhcd the moon, and with more pleasiiiu lij^ht 
Shmlowv sets oll'tlu" face of tliinos; in vain, 
If none n-'jjard ; Heaven wakes with all his eyes, 
Whom to luliold hut thee, iNatnre's desire I 
In wluise sioht all lhiiip;s joy, with ra\islinient 
Attracted by thy heauty still to oa7.(>. 
I rose as at thy call, hut found thee not; 
To Iind thei' 1 directed then my walk; 
And on, iiiethouoht, alone I jiassed Ihroujjh ways 
That hivnioht me oi\ a sudileii to the tree 
Of iiilcrdjcted knowh"di;e : fair it seemed, 
Much fairer lo my fancy than hy day: 
And, as I wondcrinjj looked, hcside it sttH>d 
One shaped and winged liko one of those from 

Heaven 
My us oil seen; liis dewy liH'ka distillinl 
Amhn>sia; on that tree he nlsoijazed; 
And ' O fair plant,' said he, 'with fruit suivlianjed, 
Peions none to ease thy load and taste thy sweet, 
Ni>r (.Mui, nor miui I is knowledj;e so despised I 
(>r eiivv, or what reserve forhids us taste ! 
f'orliid who will, none shall fi\>in me withhiild 
l.onjjer thy otVenil ^ood; why else set here ?' 
This said, he paused not, hut with venturous arm 
He plucked, he tasted; me damp liorror chilled 
At such hold w\)rds, vouched with a deed so bold: 
lUit he thus, overjoyixl. 'O fruit divine, 
S\vei>t of tliYself, but much niort> sweet thusoivpt, 
Korbidden here, it seems, as iiiily lit 
For sods, yet able to make >;ih1s o( men ! 
And why not goils of men, since good, tho moro 



Book v. 



TARADISR LOST. 



35 



Coniimiiiiiiiitcd, more almiidiiril. irrowH, 
1'hc author not imimircd, liut lioiioiired morel 
IltTC li'ipjiy orcaturo, f'uir angi'lic, l-'.vc, 
l'artak(^ thus also; liiippy tliduirli thou art, 
Jla|)|)irr tliou inaycKt lir, wortliii.T canst not lie: 
TuhIc tiiits, and Ik; licnri'llirth ariionj; the godH 
ThyHcIf a iroddcHH, not to earth conliticd, 
But Konictiiiicrt in the air, ns wo, HOtncliiiU'H 
yVhcciid to il(^av(!n, liy merit thine, arul hco 
What life the fjodw live there, and 8ii<;h live thou.' 
So Kayirijf, he drew niifli,aiid to nn^held, 
J'Acn to uiy nioiilh ol'tiint name frnil held jjart 
Which he had j)luclced; the pleasant savoury 

Hlllell 

So quiekened oiipetitc, that I, mnthought, 

Could not hut ta«tc. Forthwith up to theclouda 

With hini 1 flew, and underneHth lieheld 

'J'lie earth outKtret('he<l iiiniienw, a proHpect wido 

And various: wonderinfj at (ny (lii^ht and change 

To this lii^jh exaltation; suddenly 

Aly guide was gonti, and I, nii'thought sunk down, 

And fell .-iKleep; hut () liow glad ! waked 

To find this hut a dream!" Thus Kve her night 

Related, and thus Adam answered sad. 

" I'est im.'igf! of myself, and dearer half, 
The trouhle of thy tiioughts this tiight in sleep 
AflL'cts mc equally; nor can I like 
Tliis utK'outh dream, of evil sprung, I fear; 
Yet evil whence'! in thee can harliour non*;, 
Created pure. But know, that in the soul 
Are many lesser faculties, that serve 
Rc^ason as chief; among these! fan(^y next 
ITer offi(!e holds; of all external things, 
Which the five watchful senses repntscnt, 
She forms imaginations, airy slia|)es, 
Which reason, joining or disjoining, frames 
All what we aflirrn or what deny, and call 
Oiir knowledge or opinion; then ri^tires 
Into hi'r private cell when nature rcHts. 
()ll in her al>s(!nce mimic fancy wakes 
To imitatt; her; hut, misjoining shapes, 
Wild work iiroduccH off, and most in dreams, 
III matching words and deeds long jiast or late. 
Some such rescmhlances, mcthinks, I find 
f)f our la.xt evening's talk, in this thy dream, 
Hut with addition strange ; yet he not sad. 
Evil into the mind of God or man 
May come and go, so unapproved, and leave 
No 8[)ot or hiame h(;liinil : which gives me hoix;. 
That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream. 
Waking thou never wilt consent to do. 
Be not dishearteiK^d then, nor cloud those looks, 
That wont to be more cheerful and s(!rene. 
Than when fair morning first smiles on the world ; 
And let us to our fresh em|)loyments rise 
Amon lh(! groves, the fountains, an<l the flowers. 
That open now their choicest bosoujed Hmells, 
Reserved from night, and kept for thee in store." 



So cheered ho his fair S]iouse, and she was 
clircr'il; 
liut Hileiilly a gentle tear let fnll 
i''rom either eye, and wiped thi'm with her hair; 
Two other precious drops that ready stood, 
Ivich in their crystal sluice, ho ere they fell 
Kissed, as tiie gracious signs of sweet remorse 
And pious awe, that feared to have oflended. 

So all was cleared, and to the field they haste, 
Hut first, from under shady arhorous roof, 
Soon as thi^y forth were come to open sight 
< H days|)riug, and the stui, who scarce uprisen, 
With wheels y(!t hovering o'er the ocean brim, 
Shot parallel totlu! eartii his ilewy ray, 
Discovering in wide huidscape ail the ctiHt 
Of Paradise and Ivleii's happy pJaiuH, 
liowly they bowed adoring, and begun 
1'heir orisons, each morning duly paiil 
In various style; for neither various stylo 
Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise 
Their Maker, in fit strains jironounceil, or sung 
llnmeditati'd ; such potirijit eloquence 
flowed from their li|)s, in jirose or innnerous verso 
Metre tuneable than nee^ded lute or har|) 
'I'o add iiiori! sweetness; and they thus br-gan. 

" 'I'hesi! an; thy glorious works, Pariuit of good, 
Almighty! thine this universal frame, 
Thus woiidrouK fiir: thyself how wondrous tlicnf 
Unspeakable, who sitst above these I leavens, 
To us invisible, or dindy sticn 
fn thesi; thy lowewt works; yet these declare 
Thy goodness beyond thought, and jiower divine. 
S])eak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light. 
Angels; for ye behold him, and witli songs 
And choral symphonies, day without night, 
('ircle his throne rejoicing; ye in Heaven, 
On eartli join all ye creatures to extol 
i lim first, him last, him nddst, and without end. 
h'aireMt of stars, last in the train of night, 
If better thou belong iKjt to the dawn, 
Sure |)ledg(!of day, that crown'st the snuling morn 
With thy briglit ciri'let, praise him in thy sphere, 
While day arises, that swc'ifl hour of jirime. 
Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul, 
A<'knowleilge him tliy greater, sound his pr.iiso 
In thy eternal course;, bolii when thou cli)id)est. 
And when high noon has gained, and wIk'u thoa 

fullest. 

Moon, that now mcetest the orient sun, now flicst, 
With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies. 
And ye five other wandering fires, tiiat move 
In mystic dance, not without song, resound 
His praise, who out of darkness called up light. 
Air, and ye; elements, the eldi-st birth 
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run 
I*er|>etu.'d circle, multiform; and mix 
And nourish all things; let your c^'aseless change 
Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 



36 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book v. 



Yc mists nnil cxiinlations, that now riae 
I'roiM liill or Htcuiiiiiii; hike, iliisky or gray 
Till the sun [mint your lli'iry skirts witli golil, 
[n honour totho world's irrcal Author rise; 
Whfthor to clock with clouds the uncolouriul sky, 
C)r wt't the thirsty ciirlh with iklHii^ showors, 
Risiiijf or I'alliiijj, still udvimcc his praise. 
His praise, ye winds, that from four (jnarters blow. 
Breathe soil or loud; and wave your tops, ye 

pines. 
With every i)lant in sign of worship wave. 
Fountains, and ye that warhlo, as ye (low, 
Melodious niurnuirs, warliling tune his praise. 
Join voices all ye living souls: yo birda, 
That singing up to Heaven gate ascend, 
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. 
Ye that in waters glide, and ye tliat walk 
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, 
Witness if 1 he silent, morn or even. 
To hill, or valli'y, fountain, or l'ri>sh sliade, 
Maile vocal by my song, and taught his praise. 
Hail ! universal Lord, be bounteous still 
To give us only good; and if the night 
Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed. 
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.'' 

So i)rayed they inmx'ent, and to their thoughts 
Finn [)eace recovered soon and wonted cahn. 
On to their morning's rural work they haste, 
Aniong sweet dews and (lowers, where any row 
C)r fruit trees over- woody reached too (ar 
Their pampered boughs, and needed hands to 

check 
Fruitless embraces: or they led the vino 
1"o wed her ehn; she, spoused about him twines 
Her marriageable arms, and with her brings 
Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn 
His barren leaves. Them thus employed beheld 
AVitlipity ileaveu's high Iving, and to him c;dled 
Raphael, the sociable spirit, that deigned 
To travel witii Tobias, and secured 
His marriage with the seven times wcildcd maid. 
" Raphael," said he, " thou hearcst what stir on 
earth 
Satan from hell escaped through the darksome 

TL-ith raised in Paradise, and how disturbed 
'I'his night tiie human pair; how he designs 
In them at once to ruin all mankind. 
Go, theretbre, half this day as friend with friend 
Converse with Adam, in what bower or shade 
Thou (indcst him from the heat of noon retired, 
To respite his day lalwur with repast. 
Or with repose; and sudi discourse bring on, 
As may advise him of his happy state, 
Happiness in his power lelt free to will. 
Left to his own free will, his will though free, 
Yet nuitable; Whence warn him to beware 
}Ie swerve not, too secure; tell him withal 
Hid danger, and from whom; what enemy, 



Late fallen himself from Heaven, is plotting now 
The fall of others from like state of hliss; 
l->y violence'f no, for that shall he withstood; 
l!ul by deceit and lies: this let him know. 
Lest wilfully trangressing ho pretend 
Surprisal, unadmonished, unfore warned." 
So spake the eternal Father and fuUillcd 
All justice; nor delayed the winged saint 
Alb-r his charge received; hut from among 
Thousand celestial ardours, where he stood 
Veiled with his gorgeous winds, up si)ringin5 

light, 
Flew through the midst of Heaven; th' angelic 

choirs. 
On each hand parting, to his speed gave way 
Tiirough all the empyreal road ; till at the gate 
Of Heaven arriveil, the gate selfojiened wide, 
(.>n golden hinges turning, as by work 
Divine the sovereign architect had framed. 
I'^rom hence, no cloud, or, to obstruct his sight, 
Star interposed, however sniall he sees. 
Not unconform to other shining globes, 
iMirlh, and tlie garden of God, with cedars crowned 
Above all hills. As when by night the glass 
Of Galileo, less assured, observes 
Imagined lands and regions in the moon*, 
Or pilot, from amidst the Cyclades 
Delos or Samos first appearing, kiins 
A cloudy spot. Down thither jirone in flight 
He speeils, and through the vast ethereal sky 
Sails between worlds and worlds, with steady 

wing 
Now on the polar winds, then with quick fan 
Winnows the buxom air; till, within soar 
Of towering eagles, to all the fowls he seems 
A pha-nix, gazed by all as that sole bird, 
When, U) enshrine his rcliiiues in the smi's 
Bright temple, to Egyptian Thebes he lUcs. 
At once on the eastern dill' of Paradise 
He lights, and to his proper shape returns 
A seraph winged; si.\ wings lie wore, to shade 
His lineaments divine ; the pair that clad 
Each shoulder broad, came mantling o'er his breast 
With regal ornament; the miildle pair 
Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round 
Skirted his loins and thighs with downy gold 
And coloiu'sdipt in Heaven; tlic third his ii-et 
Shadowed from either heel with feathered mail. 
Sky-tinctured grain. Like jMaia's son he stood. 
And shook his plumes, that Heavenly fnigrance 

filled 
The circuit wide. Straight knew him all the 

bands 
Of angels under watch; and to his state. 
And to his message high, in honour rise; 
For on some message they guessed him bound. 
I'heir glittering tents he passed, and now is come 
Into the blissful field, through groves of myrrh. 
And flowering odours, cassia, nard, and baliuj 



Book v. 



PARADISE LOST. 



37 



A wilderness of sweets; for Nature here 
Waiitotifd as in her prime, and pliiyt'd at will 
Hit virjriii fancies, pouring forth more sweet 
Wild above rule or art; enormous bliss. 
Iliin, throuifh the spicy forest onward come, 
Adam discerned, as in the door he sat 
Of hisi cool bower, while now the mounted sun 
Shot down direct his fervid rays to warm 
Kartli's inmost womb, more warmth than Adam 

needs 
And Eve within, due at her hour prepared 
For dinner savoury fruits, of taste to please 
'I'me appetite, and not disrelish thirst 
Of nectarous draughts between, from milky stream, 
Berry or grape: to whom thus Adam called. 

" Haste hither, Eve, and, worth thy sight, behold 
Eastward among those tn^es, what glorious shape 
(Jomes tiiis way moving; seems anotlier morn 
Risen on mid-noon; some great belicst from heaven 
To us perhaps he brings, and will vouchsafe 
'i'his day to be our guest. But go with speed, 
And what thy stores contain bring forth and pour 
Abundance, fit to honour and receive 
Our heaveidy stranger: well we may aflbrd 
Our givers their own gills, and large bestow 
From large bestowed, where nature multiplies 
Her fertile growth, and by disburdening grows 
More fruitful, which instructs us not to spare." 

To whom thus Eve. " Adam, earth's hallowed 
mould. 
Of Cod inspired, small store will serve, where store, 
All seasons, ripe for ua hangs on the stalk; 
Save what by frugal storing firmness gains 
To nourish, and superfluous moist consumes: 
But I will haste, and from each bough and brake, 
Each plant and juiciest gourd, will pluck such 

choice 
To enti'rtain our angel guest, as he 
]{('lio!ilirig shall confess, that liere on earth 
God hath dispensed his bounties as in Heaven." 

So saying, with despatchful looks in haste 
She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent 
What clioice to choose for delicacy best, 
What order so contrived as not to mix 
Tastes, not well joined, inelegant, but brif)g 
Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change; 
Bestirs her then, and from each tender stalk 
Whatever earth, all bearing mother, yields 
In India East or West, or middle shore 
In Pontus or the Punic coast, or where 
Alcinous reigned, fruit of all kinds, in coat 
Rough or smooth rind, or bearded husk, or shell, 
She gath(!rs, tribute large, and on the board 
Heaps with unsparing hand; for drink the grape 
She crusiies, inoffensive must, and meaths 
From many a berry; and fromswetit kernels press'd 
She tempers dulcet creams; nor these to hold 
Wi)nts her fit vessels pure; then strews the ground 
With rose and odours from the shrub unfunicd. 



Meanwhile our primitive great sire, to meet 
His godlike guest, walks forth, without more train 
Accompanied than with his own complete 
Perfections; in himself was all his state, 
More solemn than the tedious jiomp that waitu 
On princes, when their rich retinue long 
Of horses led, and grooms besmeared with gold, 
Dazzles the crowd, and sets them iill agajie. 
Nearer his presence Adam, though not awed, 
Yet with Kubmiss ai)proach and rt^verence meek, 
As to a superior nature bowing low 
Thus said. " Native of Heaven, for other place 
None can than Heaven such glorious slia|)e contain; 
Since, by descending from the thrones above, 
Those happy places thou hast deigned a while 
To want, and honour thes(^, vouchsafe with us 
Two only, who yet by sovereign gift possess 
This spacious ground, in yonder shady bower 
To rest, and what the garden choicest bears 
To sit and taste till this meridian heat 
Be over and the sun more cool decline." 

Whom thus the angelic virtue answered mild, 
"Adam, I tluireforc came; nor art thou such 
Created, or such place hast here to dwell. 
As may not oft invite, though spirits of Heaven, 
To visit thee: lead on then where thy bower 
O'ershades; for these mid-hours, till evening rise, 
I have at will." So to the sylvan lodge 
They came, that like Pomona's arbour smiled, 
With flowerets decked, and fragrant smells; but 

Eve, 
Undecked, save with herself, more lovely fair 
Than wood nymph, or the fairest goddess, feigned 
Of three that in mount Ida naked strove, 
Stood to entertain her guest from heaven : no veil 
She needed, virtue proof; no thought infirm 
Altered her cheek. On whom the angel " Hail" 
Bestowed, the holy salutation uscmI 
Long after to blest Mary, second Eve. 

" Hail! mother of mankind, whose fruitful womb 
Shall fill the world more numerous with thy sons 
Than with these various fruits the trees of God 
Have heaped this table!" Raised of grassy turf 
Their table was, and mossy seats had round, 
And on her ample square from side to side 
All autumn piled, though spring and autumn here 
l)an(;ed hand in hand. Awhile discourse they hold; Jt 
No fear lest dinner cool; when thus began 
Our Author. " Heavenly stranger, please to taste 
These bounties, which our Nourisher, from whom 
All perf(!Ct good, unmeasured out, descends, 
To us for food, and for delight hath caused 
The earth to yield ; unsavoury food perhaps 
To 8[)iritual natures; only this I know, 
That one celestial Father gives to all." 
To whom the Angel. " Therefore what hegivea 
(Whose praise be ever sung) toman, in part 
Spiritual, may of purest s|)irits be found 
I No ingrateful food: and food alike those pure 



38 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Rook v. 



Intclliffoiitial sutiptancoa require, 

As (loth your rational ; iimi botli contain 

Witliiii tlieiii every lower fiieully 

or Heiise, wlierehy lliey hear, see, smell, touch, 

tast(\ 
Tasting eoiicoet, ilij^est, assimilate, 
A\h\ eorporeiil to iiieorporeal turn. 
For know, whatever was erealeii, needs 
To be sustained and led; of elements 
The irrtissev leeils the purer, earth the sea, 
F.urtli and tlie sea fei-d air, the air those tires 
F.tliereul, and, as lowest, lirsl the moon; 
Whence in her visnge rounil those spots, uupur<;ed 
Vapours not yet iiiti> her sul>stai\ee tiu'ned. 
]Nor dotli the moon to nourishment exhale 
From her moist eontineut to hii^her orbs 
'I'lie sun, tiiat li^ht imparts to all, receives 
I''rii;n all ids ulimental ri'compeuse 
In huniitl exhalations, and at even 
Sups with the ocean. Though in I leaven the trees 
<)t' lili- ambrosial tVuitaije bear, and vines 
Yielil nectar; thoujjh from olf tiie boui^hs each 

morn 
We brush nH-llilluous dews, anU find the jiround 
.!"'o\vi-ed with iH>arly >;rain: yetOod hath hero 
Varieil his bounty so with new ileli<ihts. 
As may compare with Heaven; and to taste 
Think not 1 shall lie nice." So down they sat, 
Aud to tlunr viands ti'il ; nor secminifly 
The imgA, nor in mist, the common jiloss 
(>f theologians ; but with keen despatcli 
Of real huni^t-r, and eoncoctive heat 
TotransubatotJtiute; what rtulounds, transpir»N 
Throufjh spirits with ease ; nor wonder, if by lire 
Of sootv coal, th' empiric alchynnst 
Can turn, or hoKls it possible to turn, 
Metals of iln>ssiest oiv to |H>rfect jjold. 
As from the M\ine. Meanwhile at table F.vo 
Ministerial naked, and their tlowin>;cups 
With pleasant liiiuoj-s crowned : O innocenco 
Deservins; Paradise ! if ever, then. 
Then had the sons of Ood excuse to have been 
F.namoured at that siijht ; but in those hearts 
l.ove unlibidinousreiiined, nor jealousy 
Was understtHul, the inJMre<i lo\t>r's hell. 

'I'hus when with n\cats and drinks they liad 

sulVicciI, 
r^ot burdened nature, sudden mind oroso 
In Adam, not to let th' occasion pass. 
Given him by this jjr»>at conference, to know 
("If thiuiis above this world, atul of their beinii 
Who dwell in Heaven, whose excellence he saw 
Transcend his own so far, whose radiant terms, 
Pivine elVuls;cnce, wlu^sc hi>;h power so far 
Exceeded human, and his wary spewh 
'J'hus to th" empyreal minister he framed. 

" Inhabitant with(,iod, now know 1 well 
Thy favour, in this honour done to man. 
Under whoso lowly roof thou hast vuucltsafed 



To enter, and these earthly fruits to taste. 
Food not o( anijels, yet accepted so. 
As that more willinifly thou couldst not seem 
At Heaven's high feasts to have fed: yet what 
compare !" 

'J\> whom the winijed hierarch replied: 
"O Adam, one Almi<;hty is, from whom 
All tliini;s proceed, and up to him n'turn; 
If not depraved from j;ood, creuteil all 
S\ich to i>erfection, one first matter all, 
llnducd with various t'orms, various deijrees 
t>f substance, and, in thinijs that live, t)f life; 
Rut more relinod, more spirituous, and pure. 
As nearer to him placed, or nearer tendinij 
l''ach in their several active spheres assigned, 
Till body up to spirit work, in Iniunds 
Proportioned to each kind. So from the root 
Springs lighter the green stalk, from ihencc tiiQ 

leaves 
More airy, last the bright consummate flower 
Spirits odorous breathes: flowers and tlieir fruit, 
Man's nourishment, by gradual scale sublimed, 
To vital spirits aspire, to animal. 
To intellectual; give both life and simse. 
Fancy and understanding ; whence the soul 
Reason receives, and reason is her being, 
niscursive, or intuitive; discourse 
Is ollest yours, the latter most is ours, 
nilfering but in degree, i>f kind the same. 
Wonder not then, what God for you saw good 
If 1 refuse not, but convert, as you. 
To proper substance: time may come, when men 
With angels may participate, and lind 
No iiu'onvenient diet, tior tiw light tare; 
.And from these corporal nutrinu-nts jn-rhaps 
Your bodies may at last turn all to spirit, 
Inqirovcd by tract of time, anil winged ascend 
Fihereal, as we, or may at choice 
Here or in heavenly Paradises dwell; 
If ye Ih< found obedient, and retain 
nnulterably firm his love ontirt», 
Whi)S(> progenv yon are. Meanwhile enjoy 
Your till what happiness this hap|>y state 
Can comprehend, mcapable of more." 

To whom the jiatriarch of mankind repHiHl. 
" O favourable spirit, propitious guest. 
Well hast thou taught the way that might direi't 
Our knowledge, and tlu> scale of nature set 
From centn- to circunUerence, whereon. 
In contemplation of created things, 
Hv steps we might asceiul to (.iod. Rut say, 
What meant that caution joined, ' if ye be (bund 
t>bcdient !' can we want obedience then 
To him, or possibly his love desert, 
Who formed us t'rom the dust, and placed us her«, 
V''ull to the utmost measure of what bliss 
Human desires can seek or ap(irehend \" 

To whom the nngel. " Son of Heaven and 
euitii, 



Book v. 



PARADISE LOST, 



39 



AttoiKl: that thou art hapi)y, owe to God; 
That thou continuest such, owe to thywelf, 
That is, to thy obedience ; therein stand. 
Tills was that caution given tliee ; l)e advised, 
God made thee perfect, not iiiiinutal)le ; 
And good he made thcc, but to persevere 
He It'll it in tliy power; ordained thy will 
By nature Tree, not overruled liy late 
Inextricable, or strict necessity ; 
Our voluntary service he requires, 
Not our necessitated ; such with him 
Finds no acceptance, nor can find ; for how 
Can hearts, not free, be tried whether they serve 
Willing or no, who will but what they must 
By destiny, and can no other choose? 
Myself and all tiie angelic host, that stand 
In Bight of God enthroned, our happy state 
Hold, as you yours, while our obedience holds; 
On other surety none, freely we serve, 
Because we freely love, as in our will 
To love or not; in this we stand or fall: 
And sonic are fallen, to disobedience fallen, 
A nd so from Heaven to de(!))est h(!ll ; O fall 
From what high state of bliss into what wo!" 

To whom our great progenitor. " Thy words 
Attentive, and with more deliglitcd ear, 
Divine instructor, I have heard, than when 
Cherubic songs by night from neighbouring hills 
Aerial music send: nor knew I not 
To be both will and deed created free; 
Yet that we never shall forget to love 
Our Maker, and obey him, whose command 
Single is yet so just, my constant thoughts 
Assured me, and still assure: tho' what thou tellest 
Hath paaacd in Heaven, some doubt within me 

move. 
But more desire to hear, if thou consent, 
The full relation, which must needs be strange. 
Worthy of sacred silence to be heard ; 
And we have yet large day, for scarce the sun 
Hath finished half his journey, and scarce begins 
His other half in the great zone of Heaven." 

Thus Adam made request; and Raphael, 
After short pause assenting, tiius began. 
" High matter thou enjoinest me, O prime of men, 
Sad task and hard ; for how shall I ndate 
To human sense the invisible exploits 
Of warring spirits'? how, without remorse, 
The ruin of so many glorious once. 
And perfect while they stood 1 how, last, unfold 
The secrets of another world, perhaps 
Not lawful to rcveall yet for thy good 
This is dispensed ; and what surmounts the reach 
Of human sense, 1 shall delineate so. 
By likenin;^ spiritual to corporeal forms. 
As may express them best: though what if earth 
Be but the shadow of Heaven, and things therein 
Each to other like, more than on earth is thought 1 

" As yet this world was not, and Chaos wild 



Reigned where these Heavens now roll, whcr» 

earth now rests 
Upon her centre poised : when on a day 
(For lime, though in eternity, a|)[ilied 
To motion, measures all things durable 
Hy jjresent, past, and future,) on such a day 
As Heaven's great year brings forth, the empyreal 

host 
Of angels, by im])erial summons called, 
Innumerable before the Almighty's throne 
Forthwith, from all the ends of Heaven appeared 
Under their liierarchs in ordc-rs bright: 
Ti;n thousand thousand ittisigns high advanced, 
Standards and gonfalons 'twixt van and rear 
Stream in the air, and for distinction serve 
Of hierarciiies, of orders, and degrees; 
Or in their glittering tissues bear emblazed 
Holy memorials, acts of zeal and love 
Recordi^l eminent. Thus, when, in orbs 
Of circuit inexpressible tliey stood. 
Orb within orb, the Father infinite. 
By whom in bliss imbosomed sal tho Son, 
Amidst, as from a (laming niouiil, whose top 
Brightness had made invisible, thus sjiakc. 

" Hear, all ye angels, progeny of light, 
Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers, 
Hear my decree, which unrevoked shall sland. 
This day I have begot whom I declare 
My only Son, and on tliis holy hill 
llim have anointed, wiioiii ye now behold 
At my right hand; your Head I him appoint; 
And by myself have sworn to him shall bow 
All kn(!esin Heaven, and shall confess him Lord: 
Under his great vicegerent reign abide 
United as one individual soul. 
For ever ha[)py: him who disobeys. 
Me disobeys, breaks union, and liiat day. 
Cast out from God and bless('d vision, falls 
Into utter darkness, deep ingulphed, his place 
Ordained without rcidemption, without end." 

" So spake the Omniijotont, and with his words 
AH seemed well pleased ; uU seemed, but were 

not all. 
That day, as other solemn days, they spent 
In song and dance about the 8acr<fd hill ; 
Mystical dance, which yonder starry sphere 
Of planets and of fixed in all her wheels 
Resembles nearest, mazes intricate, 
Eccentric, inlervolvcd, yet regular 
Then most, when most irregular they seem; 
And in their motions harmony divine 
So smooths her charming tones, that God's own ear 
Listens delighted. Evening now approached 
(For we have also our evening and our morn, 
We ours for change delectable, not need ;) 
Forthwith from dance to sweet repast they turn i 
Desirous ; all in circles as they stood. 
Tables are set, and on a sudden piled 
With angels' food, and rubied nectar flows 



40 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book v. 



In pearl, in diamond, and massy gold, 

Fruit of delicious vines, the growth of Heaven. 

On flowers reposed, and with fresh flow'rets 

crowned. 
They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet 
Quaff immortality and joy, secure 
Of surfeit, where full measure only bounds 
Excess, before tlic all-bounteous King, who 

showered 
With copious hand, rejoicing in their joy. 
Now when ambrosial night, with clouds exhaled 
From that high mount of God, whence light and 

shade 
Spring both, the face of briglitest Heav'n had 

chang'd 
To grateful twilight (for night comes not there 
In darker veil,) and roseate dews disposed 
All but tlie unsleeping eyes of God to rest; 
Wide over all the plain, and wider far 
Than all this globous earth in plain outspread 
(Such are the courts of God,) the angelic throng, 
Dispersed in bands and files, their camp extend 
By living streams among the trees of life. 
Pavilions numberless, and sudden reared, 
Celestial tabernacles, where they slept 
Fanned with cool winds ; save those who in their 

course 
Melodious hymns about the sovereign throne 
Alternate all night long: but not so waked 
Satan ; so call him now, his former name 
Is heard no more in Heaven ; he of the first, 
If not the first archangel, great in power, 
In favour and pre-eminence, yet fraught 
With envy against the Son of God, that day 
Honoured by his great Father, and proclaimed 
Messiah King anointed, could not bear. 
Through pride, that sight, and thought himself 

impaired. 
Deep malice thence conceiving, and disdain 
Soon as midnight brought on the dusky hour 
Friendliest to sleep and silence, he resolved 
With all his legions to dislodge, and leave 
Unworshippcd, unobeyed, the throne supreme, 
Contemptuous, and his ne.vt subordinate 
Awakening, thus to him in secret spake. 

" Sleepestthou, companion dear, what sleep can 
close 
Thy eyelids 1 and rememberest what decree 
Of yesterday, so late hath passed the lips 
Of Heaven's Almighty. Thou to me thy thoughts 
Was wont, I mine to thee was wont to impart ; 
Both waking we were one; how then can now 
Thy sleep dissent 1 New laws thou seest imposed; 
New laws from him who reigns, new minds may 

raise 
In us who serve, new councils, to debate 
What doubtful may ensue: more in this place 
To utter is not safe. Assemble thou 
Of all those myriads which we lead the chief; 



Tell them that by command, ere yet dim night 
Her shadowy cloud withdraws, I am to haste, 
And all who under me their banners wave, 
Homeward with flying march, where we possess 
The quarters of the north ; there to prepare 
Fit entertainment to receive our King, 
The great Messiah, and his new commands. 
Who speedily through all the hierarchies 
Intends to pass triumphant, and give laws." 

" So spake the false archangel, and infused 
Bad influence into the unwary breast 
Of his associate; he together calls. 
Or several one by one, the regent powers, 
Under him regent; tells, as he was taught. 
That, the most high commanding, now ere night; 
Now ere dim night had disencumbered Heaven, 
The great hierarchal standard was to move: 
Tells the suggested cause, and casts between 
Ambiguous words and jealousies, to soxmd 
Or taint integrity: but all obeyed 
The wonted signal, and superior voice 
Of their great potentate : for great indeed 
His name, and high was his degree in heaven: 
His countenance as the morning star that guides 
The starry flock, allured them, and with lies 
Drew after him the third part of Heaven's host. 
Meanwhile th' Eternal eye, whose sight discerns 
Abstrusest thoughts, from forth his holy mount, 
And from within the golden lamps that burn 
Nightly before him, saw without their light 
Rebellion rising; saw in whom, how spread 
Among the sons of morn, what multitudes 
Were banded to oppose his high decree ; 
And, smiling, to his only Son thus said. 

" Son, thou in whom my glory I behold 
In full resplendence, heir of all my might. 
Nearly it now concerns us to be sure 
Of our omnipotence, and with what arms 
We mean to hold what anciently we claim 
Of deity or empire; such a foe 
Is rising, who intends to erect his throne 
Equal to ours, throughout the spacious north; 
Nor so content, hath in his thought to try. 
In battle, what our power is, or our right. 
Let us advise, and to this hazard draw 
With speed what force is left, and all employ 
In our defence, lest unawares we lose 
This our high place, our sanctuary, our hill." 

To whom the Son, with calm aspect and clear, 
Lightning divine, ineffable, serene. 
Made answer. " Mighty Father, thou thy foes 
Justly hast in derision, and, secure, 
Laughest at their vain designs and tumults vain, 
Matter to me of glory, whom their hate 
Illustrates; when they see all regal power 
Given to quell their pride, and in event 
Know whether I be dexterous to subdue 
Thy rebels, or be found the worst in Heaven." 
So spake the Son; but Satan with powers 



Book v. 



PARADISE LOST. 



41 



Far was advanced on winged speed; an host 
Innumerable as the stars of niglit, 
Or stars of morning, dew drops, which the sun 
Impcarls on every leaf and every flower. 
Regions they passed, the mighty regencies 
Of seraphim, and potentates, and thrones, 
In their triple degrees; regions to which 
All thy dominion, Adam, is no more 
Than what this garden is to all the earth, 
And all the sea, from one entire globose 
Stretched into longitude ; which having passed, 
At length into the limits of the north 
They came, and Satan to his royal seat 
High on a hill, far blazing, as a mount 
Raised on a mount, with pyramids and towers 
From diamond quarries hewn, and rocks of gold. 
The palace of great Lucifer (so call 
That structure in the dialect of men 
Interpreted,) which not long after he, 
Affecting all equality with God, 
In imitation of that mount whereon 
Messiah was declared in sight of heaven 
The Mountain of the Congregation called : 
For thither he assembled all his train, 
Pretending so commanded, to consult 
About the great reception of their King, 
Thither to come, and with calumnious art 
Of counterfeited truth thus held their ears. 

" ' Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, 
powers. 
If these magnific titles yet remain 
Not merely titular, since by decree 
Another now hath to himself engrossed 
All power, and us eclipsed, under the name 
Of King anointed, for whom all this haste 
Of midnight march, and hurried meeting here; 
This only to consult how we may best, 
With what may be devised of honours new. 
Receive him coming, to receive from us 
Knee-tribute yet unpaid, prostration vile, 
Too much to one, but double how endured, 
To one and to his image now proclaimed 7 
But what if better counsels might erect 
Our minds, and teach us to cast off this yokel 
Will ye submit your necks, and choose to bend 
The supple kneel ye will not, if I trust 
To know ye right, or if ye know yourselves 
Natives and sons of Heaven possessed before 
By none, and if not equal all, yet free, 
Equally free; for orders and degrees 
Jar not with liberty, but well consist. 
Who can in reason, then, or right, assume 
Monarchy over such as live by right 
His equals, if in power and splendour less, 
In freedom equal? or can introduce 
Law and edict on us, who without law 
Err not 1 much less for this to be our Lord, 
And look for adoration to the abuse 

G 



Of those imperial titles, which assert 

Our being ordained to govern, not to serve.' 

" Thus fur his bold discourse without control 
Had audience; when among the seraphim 
Abdiel, than whom none with more zeal adored 
The Deity, and divine commands obeyed, 
Stood up, and, in a flame of zeal severe, 
The current of his fury thus opposed. 

" ' O argument blasphemous, false, and proud! 
Words which no ear ever to hear in Heaven 
Expected, least of all from thee, ingrate, 
In place thyself so high above thy peers. 
Canst thou with impious obloquy condemn 
The just decree of God, j)ronounced and sworn, 
That to his only Son, by right endued 
With regal sceptre, every soul in Heaven 
Shall bend the knee, and in that honour due 
Confess him rightful Kingl unjust, thou say'st. 
Flatly unjust, to bind with laws the free 
And equal over equals to let reign. 
One over all with unsucceeded power. 
Shalt thou give law to Godl slialt thou dispute 
With him the points of liberty, who made 
Thee what thou art, and formed the powers of 

Heaven 
Such as he pleased, and circumscribed their being 1 
Yet, by experience taught, we know how good. 
And of our good and of our dignity 
How provident he is ; how far from thought 
To make us less, bent rather to exalt 
Our happy state, under one head more near 
United. But to grant it thee unjust, 
That equal over equals monarch reign: 
Thyself, though great and glorious, dost thou count, 
Or all angelic nature joined in one, 
Equal to him, begotton Son? by whom, 
As by his word, the mighty Father made 
All things, even thee: and all the spirits of Heaven 
By him created in their bright degrees, 
Crowned them with glory, and to their glory named 
Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, powers, 
Essential powers; nor by his reign obscured, 
But more illustrious made: since he, the head 
One of our number thus reduced becomes; 
His laws our laws; all honour to him done 
Returns our own. Cease then this impious rage, 
And tempt not these : but hasten to appease 
The incensed Father, and the incensed Son, 
While pardon may be found, in time besought.' 

" So spake the fervent angel; but his zeal 
None seconded, as out of season judged, 
Or singular and rash ; whereat rejoiced 
The apostate, and more haughty tiius replied. 
' That we were formed then, say est thou? and the 

work 
Of secondary hands, by task transferred 
From Father to his Son? strange point and new! 
Doctrine which we would know whence learned; 
who saw 



42 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book vr. 



When this creation wasl remembcrest thou 
Thy making, while the Maker gave thee being 
We know no time when we were not as now; 
Know none before us, self-begot, self-raised 
By our own quickening power, when fatal course 
Had circled liis full orb, the birth mature 
Of tliis our native Heaven, ethereal sons. 
Our puissance is our own ; our own right hand 
Shall teach us higlu'st deeds, by proof to try 
Who is our equal : then thou shall behold 
Whether by supplication we intend 
Address, and to begirt the almighty throne 
Beseeching or besieging. This report, 
These tidings, carry to the anointed King; 
And fly, ere evil intercept thy flight.' 

" He said, and, as the sound of waters deep, 
Hoarse murmur echoed to his words applause 
Through the infinite host; nor less for that 
The flaming seraph, fearless though alone 
Encompassed round with foes, thus answered bold. 

" ' O alienate from God, O spirit accursed, 
Forsaken of all good ! I see thy fall 
Determined, and thy hapless crew involved 
In this perfidious fraud, contagion spread 
Both of thy crime and punishment: henceforth 
No more be troubled how to quit the yoke 
Of God's Messiah; those indulgent laws 
Will not be now vouchsafed : other decrees 
Against thee arc gone forth without recall ; 
That golden sceptre, which thou didst reject, 
Is now an iron rod to bruise and break 
Thy disobedience. Well thou didst advise; 
Yet not for thy advice or threats I lly 
These wicked tents devoted, lest the wrath 
Impendent, raging into sudden flame. 
Distinguish not: for soon expect to feel 
His thunder on thy head, devouring fire. 
Then who created thee lamenting learn, 
When who can unereate thee thou shalt know.' 

" So spake the seraph Abdiel, faithful found 
Among the faithless, faithful only he ; 
Among the innumerable false, unmoved. 
Unshaken, unseduced, untcrrificd. 
His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal ; 
Nor number, nor example, with him wrought 
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind 
Though single. From amidst them forth he passed. 
Long way through hostile scorn, which he sus- 
tained 
Superior, nor of violence feared aught; 
And with retorted acorn his back he turned 
On those proud towers to swift destruction doomed." 

BOOK VI. 



fight deacribcd: Satan and his powers retire under night: hs 
calls a council, invent.s devilish engines, which, in the second 
day's fight, put Michael and his angels to some disorder; but 
they at length, pulling up mountains, overwhelmed both the 
force and machines of Satan: yet, the tumult not so ending, 
God on the third day, sends Messiah his son, for whom he 
had reserved the glory of that victory : he, in the power of his 
Father, coming to tlie place, and causing all his legions to 
stand -still on either side, with his chariot and liunider driving 
into the midst of his enemies, pursues them, unable to resist, 
towards Ihe wall of Heaven; which opening, they leap down 
widi horror and confusion into the place of punishment pre- 
pared for them in the deep: Messiah returns with triumph to 
his Fatlier. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Raphael continues to relate how Michael and Gabriel were 
sent forth to battle against Satan and his angcla. The first 



" All night the dreadless angel, unpursued, 
Through Heaven's wide champaign held his way; 

till morn. 
Waked by the circling hours, with rosy hand 
Unbarred the gates of light. There is a cave 
Within the mount of God, fast by his throne, 
Where light and darkness in perpetual round 
Lodge and dislodge by turns, which makes through 

Heaven 
Grateful vicissitudes, like day and night: 
Light issues forth, and at the other door 
Obsequious darkness enters, till her hour 
To veil the Heaven, though darkness there might 

well 
Seem twiliglit here: and now went forth the morn, 
Such as in highest Heaven, arrayed in gold 
Empyreal ; from before her vanished night. 
Shot through with orient beams ; when all the 

plain. 
Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright, 
Chariots, and flaiiiing arms, and fiery steeds. 
Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view: 
War he perceived, war in procinct, and found 
Alrajidy known, what he for news had though 
To have reported : gladly then he mixed 
Among those friendly powers, who him received 
With joy and acclamations loud, that one, 
That of so many myriads fallen, yet one 
Returned not lost : on to the sacred hill 
They led him high apjilauded, and present 
Before the seat supreme ; from whence a voice 
From midst a golden cloud thus mild was heard. 
" ' Servant of God, well done ; well hast thou 

fought 
The better fight, who single hast maintained 
Against revolted muUitudes the cause 
Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms; 
And for the testimony of truth hast borne 
Universal reproach, far worse to bear 
Than violence; for this was all thy care 
To stand approved in sight of God, though worlds 
Judged thee perverse : the easier conquest now 
Remains thee, aided by this host of friends, 
Back on thy foes more glorious to return 
Than scorned thou didst depart, and to subdue 
By force, who reason for their law refuse, 



Book vt. 



PARADISE LOST. 



43 



B ight reason for their law, and for their king 
Messiah, who hy right of merit reigns. 
Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince, 
And thou, in military prowess next, 
Galiriel, lead forth to battle these my sons 
Invincible; lead forth my armed saints. 
By thousands and by millions, ranged for fight, 
Equal in number to that godless crew 
Rebellious; them with fire and hostile arms 
Fearless assault; and, to the brow of Heaven 
Pursuing, drive them out from God and bliss 
Into their place of punishment, the gulf 
Of Tartarus, which ready opens wide 
His fiery Chaos to receive their fall.' 

" So spake the sovereign voice, and clouds began 
To darken all the hill, and smoke to roll 
In dusky wreaths, reluctant flames, the sign 
Of wrath awaked ; nor with less dread the loud 
Ethereal trumpet from on high 'gan blow : 
At wiiich command the powers militant. 
That stood for Heaven, in mighty quadrate joined 
Of union irresistible, moved on 
In silence their bright legions, to the sound 
Of instrumental harmony, that breathed 
Heroic ardour to adventurous deeds 
Under their godlike leaders, in the cause 
Of God and his Messiah. On they move, 
Indissoluhly firm, nor obvious hill. 
Nor straitening vale, nor wood, nor stream divides 
Their perfect ranks ; for high above the ground 
Their march was, and the passive air upbore 
Their nimble tread ; as when the total kind 
Of birds, in orderly array on wing. 
Came, summoned over Eden, to receive 
Their names of thee ; so over manj' a tract 
Of Heaven they marched, and many a province 

wide 
Tenfold the length of this terrene : at last, 
Far in th' horizon to the north appeared 
From skirt to skirt a fiery region, stretch 
In battailous aspect, and nearer view 
Bristled with upright beams innumerable 
Of rigid spears, and helmets thronged, and shields 
Various, with boastful argument portrayed. 
The banded powers of Satan, hasting on 
With furious exhibition ; for they weened 
That selfsame day, by fight or by surprise 
To win the mount of God, and on his throne 
To set the envier of his state, the proud 
Aspirer.; but their thoughts proved fond and vain 
In the midway: though strange to us it seemed 
At first, that angel should with angel war, 
And in fierce hosting meet, who wont to meet 
So oft in festivals of joy and love 
Unanimous, as sons of one great Sire, 
Hymning the eternal Father: but the shout 
Of battle now began, and rushing sound 
Of onset ended soon each milder thought. 
High in the midst, exalted as a God, 



The apostate in his sunbright chariot sat, 
Idol of majesty divine, enclosed 
With flaming cherubim and golden shields ; 
Then lighted from his gorgeous throne, for now 
'Twixt host and host but narrow space was Ic^ 
A dreadful interval, and front to front 
Presented stood in terrible array 
Of hideous length : before the cloudy van. 
On the rough edge of battle ere it joined, 
Satan, with vast and haughty strides advanced 
Came towering, armed in adamant and gold; 
Abdiel that sight endured not, where he stood 
Among the mightiest, bent on highest deeds, 
And thus his own undaunted heart explores. 

" ' O Heaven, that such resemblance of the 
Highest 
Should yet remain, where faith and fealty 
Remain not: wherefore should not strength and 

might 
There fail where virtue fails, or weakest prove 
Where boldest, though to sight unconquerable 1 
His puissance, trusting in th' Almighty's aid, 
I mean to try, whose reason I have tried 
Unsound and false; nor is it aught but just. 
That he, who in debate of truth hath won, 
Should win in arms, in both disputes alike 
Victor ; though brutish that contest and foul, 
When reason hath to deal with force, yet so 
Most reason is that reason overcome.' 

" So pondering, and from his armed peers 
Forth stepping opposite, half-way he met 
His daring foe, at this prevention more 
Incensed, and thus securely him defied. 

" ' Proud, art thou metl thy hope was to have 
reached 
The height of thy aspiring unopposed. 
The throne of God unguarded, and his side 
Abandoned, at the terror of thy power 
Or potent tongue : fool ! not to think how vain 
Against the Omnipotent to rise in arms; 
Who out of smallest things could, without end. 
Have raised incessant armies to defeat 
Thy folly; or with solitary hand 
Reaching beyond all limit, at one blow, 
Unaided, could have finished thee, and whelmed 
Thy legions under darkness: but thou seest 
All arc not of thy train; there be who faith 
Prefer, and piety to God, though then 
To thee not visible, when I alone 
Seemed in thy world erroneous to dissent 
From all: my sect thou seest; now learn too late. 
How few sometimes may know, when thousands 
err.' 

"Whom the grand foe, with scornful eye askance, 
Thus answered. ' I'll for thee, but in wished hour. 
Of my revenge, fir.st sought for, thou retumest 
From flight, seditious angel ! to receive 
Thy merited reward, the first assay 
Of this right hand provoked, since first that tongue 



44 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book ti 



Inspired with contradiction, durst oppose 
A third part of the Gods, in synod met 
Their deities to assert, who, while they feel 
Vigour divine within them, can allow 
Omnipotence to none. But well thou coraest 
Before thy fellows, ambitious to win 
From me some plume, that thy success may show 
Destruction to the rest : this pause between 
(Unanswered lest thou boast) to let thee know; 
At first 1 thought that liberty and Heaven 
To heavenly souls had been all one ; but now 
I see that most through sloth had rather serve, 
Ministering spirits, trained up in feast and song ! 
Such hast thou armed, the minstrelsy of Heaven, 
Servility with freedom to contend, 
As both their deeds compared this day shall prove.' 

" To whom in brief thus Abdiel stern replied, 
• Apostate ! still thou err'st, nor end wilt find 
Of erring, from the path of truth remote: 
Unjustly thou depravest it with the name 
Of servitude, to serve whom God ordains, 
Or nature : God and nature bid the same. 
When he who rules is worthiest, and excels 
Them whom he governs. This is servitude, 
To serve the unwise, or him who hath rebelled 
Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, 
Thyself not free, but to thyself inthralled; 
Yet lewdly darest our ministering upbraid. 
Reign thou in hell thy kingdom ; let me serve 
In Heaven God ever blest, and his divine 
Behests obey, worthiest to be obeyed ; 
Yet chains in hell, not realms expect ; meanwhile 
From me returned, as erst thou saidst, from flight. 
This greeting on thy impious crest receive.' 

" So saying, a noble stroke he Ufted high, 
Which hung not, but so swift with tempest fell 
On the proud crest of Satan, that no sight. 
Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield, 
Such ruin intercept : ten paces huge 
He back recoiled ; the tenth on bended knee 
His massy spear upstayed ; as if on earth 
Winds under ground, or waters forcing way. 
Sidelong had pushed a mountain from his seat. 
Half sunk with all his pines. Amazement seized 
The rebel thrones, but greater rage, to see 
Thus foiled their mightiest; ours joy filled, and 

shout. 
Presage of victory, and fierce desire 
Of battle: whereat Michael bid sound 
Th' archangel trumpet; through the vast of heaven 
It sounded, and the faithful armies rung 
Hosanna to the Highest: nor stood at gaze 
The adverse legions, nor less hideous joined 
The horrid shock. Now storming fury rose. 
And clamour such as heard in Heaven till now 
Was never; arms on armour, clashing brayed 
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels 
Of brazen chariots raged; dire was the noise 
Of conflict; over head the dismal hiss 



Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew, 
And, flying, vaulted either host with fire. 
So under fiery cope together rushed 
Both battles main, with ruinous assault 
And inextinguishable rage ; all Heaven 
Resounded, and, had earth been then, all earth 
Had to her centre shook. What wonder, when 
Millions of fierce encountering angels fought 
On either side, the least of whom could wield 
These elements, and arm him with the force 
Of all their regions: how much more of power 
Army against army numberless to raise 
Dreadful combustion warring, and disturb. 
Though not destroy, their happy native seat ; 
Had not the Eternal King omnipotent. 
From his strong hold of Heaven, high overruled 
And limited their might; though numbered such 
As each divided legion might have seemed 
A numerous host ; in strength each armed hand 
A legion; led in fight, yet leader seemed 
Each warrior single as in chief, expert 
When to advance, or stand, or turn the sway 
Of battle, open when, and when to close 
The ridges of grim war : no thought of flight, 
None of retreat, no unbecoming deed 
That argued fear; each on himself relied, 
As only in his arm the moment lay 
Of victory : deeds of eternal fame 
Were done, but infinite ; for wide was spread 
That war and various ; sometimes on firm ground 
A standing fight, then, soanng on main wing, 
Tormented all the air ; all air seemed then 
Conflicting fire. Long time in even scale 
The battle hung ; till Satan, who that day 
Prodigious power had shown, and met in arms 
No equal, ranging through the dire attack 
Of fighting seraphim confused, at length 
Saw where the sword of Michael smote, and felled 
Squadrons at once ; with huge two-handed sway 
Brandished aloft, the horrid edge came down 
Wide wasting ; such destruction to withstand 
He hasted, and opposed the rocky orb 
Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield, 
A vast circumference. At his approach 
The great archangel from his warlike toil 
Surceased, and glad, as hoping here to end 
Intestine war in Heaven, the arch foe subdued. 
Or captive dragged in chains, with hostile frown. 
And visage all inflamed, first thus began. 

" ' Author of evil, unknown till thy revolt. 
Unnamed in Heaven, now plenteous as thou seest 
These acts of hateful strife, hateful to all, 
Though heaviest by just measure on thyself 
And thy adherents : how hast thou disturbed 
Heaven's blessed peace, and into nature brought 
Misery, uncreated till the crime 
Of thy rebellion ! how hast thou instilled 
Thy malice into thousands, once upright 
And faithful, now proved false ! But think not here 



Book vt. 



PARADISE LOST. 



45 



To trouble holy rest ; Heaven casts thee out 

From all her confines: Heaven, the seat of bliss, 

E rooks not the works of violence and war. 

Hence then, and evil go with thee along. 

Thy offspring, to the place of evil, hell ; 

Thou and thy wicked crew ! there mingle broils, 

Ere this avenging sword begin thy doom, 

Or some more sudden vengeance, winged from God, 

Precipitate thee with augmented pain 1' 

" So spake the prince of angels ; to whom thus 
The adversary. ' Nor think thou with wind 
Of airy threats to awe whom yet with deeds 
Thou canst not. Hast thou turned the least of these 
To flight, or if to fall, but that they rise 
Unvanquished, easier to transact with me 
That thou shouldst hope, imperious, and with 

threats 
To chase me hence 1 err not, that so shall end 
The strife which thou callest evil, but we style 
The strife of glory; which we mean to win, 
Or turn this Heaven itself into the hell 
Thou fablest ; here however to dwell free. 
If not to reign : meanwhile thy utmost force, 
And join him named Almighty to thy aid, 
I fly not, but have sought thee far and nigh.' 

" They ended parle, and both addressed for fight 
Unspeakable ; for who, though with the tongue 
Of angels, can relate, or to what things 
Liken on earth conspicuous, that may lift 
Human imagination to such height 
Of godlike power 1 for likest gods they seemed. 
Stood they or moved, in stature, motion, arms. 
Fit to decide the empire of great Heaven. 
Now waved their fiery swords, and in the air 
Made horrid circles ; two broad suns their shields 
Blazed opposite, while expectation stood 
In horror; from each hand with speed retired. 
Where erst was tliickest fight, the angelic throng. 
And left large field, unsafe within the wind 
Of such commotion ; such as, to set forth 
Great things by small, if, nature's concord broke, 
Among the constellations war were sprung, 
Two planets, rushing from aspect malign 
Of fiercest opposition, in mid sky 
Should combat, and their jarring spheres confound. 
Together both with next to Almighty arm 
Uplifted imminent, one stroke they aimed 
That might determine, and not need repeat. 
As not of power at once ; nor odds appeared 
In might or swift prevention ; but the sword 
Of Michael, from the armoury of God, 
Was given him tempered so, that neither keen 
Nor soHd might resist that edge : it met 
The sword of Satan, with steep force to smite 
Descending, and in half cut sheer; nor stayed. 
But with swift wheel reverse, deep entering, shared 
All his right side : then Satan first knew pain, 
And writhed him to and fro convolved ; so sore 
The griding sword with discontinuous wound 

g2 



Passed through him : but the ethereal substance 

closed, 
Not long divisible ; and from the gash 
A stream of nectarous humour issuing flowed 
Sanguine, such as celestial spirits may bleed, 
And all his armour stained, erewhile so bright. 
Forthwith on all sides to his aid was run 
By angels many and strong, who interposed 
Defence, while others bore him on their shields 
Back to his chariot, where it stood retired 
From off" the files of war ; there they him laid 
Gnashing for anguish, and despite and shame, 
To find himself not matchless, and his pride 
Humbled by such rebuke, so far beneath 
His confidence to equal God in power. 
Yet soon he healed ; for spirits that live throughout 
Vital in every part, not as frail man 
In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, 
Can not but by annihilating die ; 
Nor in their liquid texture mortal wound 
Receive, no more than can the fluid air : 
All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear, 
All intellect, all sense ; and as they please. 
They limb themselves, and colour, shape, or size 
Assume as likes them best, condense or rare. 

" Meanwhile in other parts like deeds deserved 
Memorial, where the might of Gabriel fought. 
And with fierce ensigns pierced the deep array 
Of Moloch, furious king; who him defied',Tir 
And at his chariot wheels to drag him bourtd 
Threatened, nor from the Holy One of Heaven 
Refrained his tongue blasphemous ; but anon, 
Down cloven to the waist, with shattered arms 
And uncouth pain fled bellowing. On each wing 
Uriel, and Raphael, his vaunting foe. 
Though huge, and in a rock of diamond armed 
Vanquished Adramelech and Asmadai, 
Two potent thrones, that to be less than Gods 
Disdained, but meaner thoughts learned in their 

flight, 
Mangled with ghastly wounds through plate and 

mail. 
Nor stood unmindful Abdiel to annoy 
The atheist crew, but with redoubled blow 
Ariel, and Arioch, and the violence 
Of Ramiel, scorched and blasted, overthrew. 
I might relate of thousands, and their names 
Eternize here on earth ; but those elect 
Angels, contented with their fame in Heaven, 
Seek not the praise of men ; the other sort. 
In might though wondrous, and in acts of war, 
Nor of renown less eager, yet by doom 
Cancelled from Heaven and sacred memory 
Nameless in dark oblivion let them dwell. 
For strength, from truth divided and from just, 
Illaudable, naught merits but dispraise 
And ignominy, yet to glory aspires 
Vain glorious, and through infamy seeks fame: 
Therefore eternal silence be their doom. 



46 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book vi. 



" And now, their niiglitiest quelled, the battle 
swerved, 
With in.any an inroad <iored; doforniod rout 
Entered, and I'oul disorder; all tlie ffround 
Witli shivered armour slrown, and on a heap 
Chariot ami charioteer lay overturned. 
And liery ibaniing steeds; what stood recoiled 
O'er wearied, tlnough tlie faint Satanic host 
Defensive scarce, or with jiale fear surprised. 
Then first with fear surprised and sense of pain, 
Fled ignoniiniou-s, to such evil hrought 
By sin of disobedience; till that hour 
Not liable to fear, or flight, or pain. 
Far otherwise the inviolable saints. 
In culiic i)halanx firm, advanced entire. 
Invulnerable, impenetrably armed; 
Such high advantages their innocence 
Gave them above tiieir foes, not to have sinned, 
Not to have disobeyed; in light they stood 
Unwearied, unobnoxious to be pained 
By wound, though from their place by violence 
moved. 

"Now night her course began, and over Heaven 
Inducing darkness, grateful truce imposed, 
And silence on tlie oiiious din of war: 
Under her cloudy covert both retired, 
Victor and vanquished : on the foughten field 
Michael and his angels prevalent 
Encamping, placed in guard their watches round, 
Cherubic waving fires: on the other part, 
Satan with his rebellious disappeared. 
Far in the dark dislodged; and, void of rest. 
His potentates to council called by night; 
And in the midst thus undismayed began. 

" ' O now in danger tried, now known. in arms 
Not to be over|Kiwered, companions dear. 
Found worthy not of liberty alone, 
Too mean pretence! but, what we more affect. 
Honour, dominion, glory, anil renown; 
Who have sustained one day in doubtful fight 
(And if one day, why not eternal days ?) 
What Heaven's Lord had ])ower fullest to send 
Against us from about his tlirone, and judged 
Surticient to subdue us to his will, 
But proves not so: then fallible, it socms. 
Of future we nuiy deem him, though till now 
Omniscient thought. I'rue is, less firmly armed, 
Some disadvantage we endured and pain. 
Till now not known, but, known, us soon con- 
temned ; 
Since now we find this our empyreal form 
Incapable of mortal injury, 
Imperishable, ami thougii pierced with wound, 
Soon closing, and by native vigour healed. 
Of evil then so small, as easy think 
The remedy; perhaps more valid arms, 
Weapons more violent, wiien next we meet, 
May serve to better us, and worse our foes. 
Or equal what between us made the odds, 



In nature none; if other hidden cause 
Left them superior, while we can preserve 
Unhurt our minds and understanding sound, 
Due search and consultation will disclose.' 

" He sat; and in the assembly next upstood 
Nisroch, of principalities the prime : 
As one he stood escaped from cruel fight. 
Sore toiled, his riven arms to havoc hewn, 
And cloudy in aspect thus answering spake, 
' Deliverer from new lords, leader to free 
Enjoyment of our rights as gods; yet hard 
For gods, and too unequal work we find. 
Against unequal arms to fight in pain, 
Against unpained, impassive; from which evil 
Ruin must needs ensue; for what avails 
Valour or strength, though matchless, quelled with 

pain 
Which all subdues, and makes remiss the hands 
Of mightiest? Sense of pleasure we may well 
Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine. 
But live content, which is the calmest life: 
But pain is perfect misery, the worst 
Of evils, and excessive, overturns 
All patience. He who therefore can invent 
With what more forcible we may offend 
Our yet unwounded enemies, or arm 
Ourselves witii like defence, to me deserves 
No less than for tlcliverancc what we owe.' 

"Whereto with look composed Satan replied. 
' Not uninventedtiiat, which thou aright 
Believest so main to our success, I bring. 
Which of us who beholds the bright surface 
Of this ethereous mould whereon we stand, 
This continent of spacious Heaven, adorned 
With plant, fruit, flower, ambrosial, gems, and 

gold ; 
Whose eye so superficially surveys 
These things as not to mind from whence they grow 
Deep underground, materials dark and crude, 
Of spirituous and fiery spume, till, touched 
With Heaven's ray, and tempered, they shoot forth 
So beauteous, opening to the a^tbient light 1 
These in their dark nativity the deep 
Shall yield us, pregnant with infernal flame; 
Which into hollow engines long and round 
Thick rammed, at th' other bore with touch of fire 
Dilated and infuriate, shall send forth 
From tar, with thundering noise, among our foes 
Such implements of mischief, as shall dash 
To pieces, and o'erwhelm whatever stands 
Adverse, that they shall fear we have disarmed 
The Thunderer of his only dreaded bolt. 
Nor lone shall be our labour ; yet ere dawn, 
EU'ect shall end otir wish. Meanwhile revive; 
Abandon fear; to strength and council joined 
Think nothing hard, much less to be despaired.' 

" He ended, and his words their ilrooping cheer 
Enlightened, and their languished hojw revived. 
Th' invention all admired, and each, how he 



Book vi. 



PARADISE LOST. 



47 



To be the inventor missed; so easy it seemed 
Once found, which, yet unfound, most would have 

tliought 
Inipossil)le: yet, haply, of thy race 
In future days, if malice should abound, 
Some one, intent on mischief, or inspired 
With devilish machination, might devise 
Like instrument to plague the sons of men 
For sin, on war and mutual slaughter bent. 
Forthwith from council to the work they flew; 
None carguing stood : innumerable hands 
Were ready; in a moment up they turned 
Wide the celestial soil, and saw beneath 
The originals of nature in their crude 
Conception ; sulj)liurous and nitrous foam 
They found, they mingled, and with subtle art, 
Concocted and adjusted, they reduced 
To blackest grain, and into store conveyed : 
Part hidden veins digged up (nor hath this earth 
Entrails unlike) of mineral and stone. 
Whereof to found their engines and their balls 
Of missive ruin ; part incentive reed 
Provide, pernicious with one touch to fire. 
So all, ere dayspring, under conscious night, 
Secret they finished, and in order set. 
With silent circumspection, unespied. 

" Now when fair morn orient in Heaven ap- 
peared. 
Up rose the victor angels, and to arms 
The matin trumpet sung: in arms they stood 
Of golden panoply, refulgent host, 
Soon banded ; others from the dawning hills 
Look round, and scouts each coast light armed 

scour. 
Each quarter to descry the distant foe, 
Where lodged, or whether fled, or if for fight. 
In motion or in halt: him soon they met 
Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow 
But firm battalion ; back with speediest sail 
Zophiel, of cherubim the swiftest wing. 
Came flying, and in mid air aloud thus cried. 

" Arm, warriors, arm for fight; the foe at hand. 
Whom fled we thought, will save us long pursuit 
This day; fear not his flight; so thick a cloud 
He comes, and settled in his face I see 
Sad resolution and secure : let each 
His adamantine coat gird well, and each 
Fit well his helm, gripe fast his orbed shield. 
Borne ev'n or high ; for this day will pour down, 
If I conjecture aught, no drizzling shower, 
But rattling storm of arrows barbed with fire.' 

" So warned he them, aware themselves, and 
soon 
In order quit of all impediment; 
Instant without disturb they took alarm. 
And onward moved embattled; when, behold I 
Not distant far, with heavy pace the foe 
Approaching, gross and huge, in hollow cub 
Training his devilish enginery, impaled 



On every side with shadowing squadrons deep, 
To hide the fraud. At interview both stood 
A while; but suddenly at head appt^red 
Satan, and thus was heard commanding loud. 

" ' Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold 
That all may see who hate us, how wc seek 
Peace and composure, and with open breast 
Stand ready to receive them, if they like 
Our overture, and turn not back perverse: 
But that I doubt; however, witness Heaven! 
Heaven, witness thou anon ! while we discharge 
Freely our part : ye who ap|)()inted stand. 
Do as you have in charge, and briefly touch 
What we propound, and loud that all may hear!' 

" So scoffing in ambiguous words, he scarce 
Had ended, when to right and l(^ft tlie front 
Divided, and to cither flank retired ; 
Which to our eyes discovered, new and strange, 
A triple mounted row of pillars laid 
On wheels (for like to ])illars most they seemed. 
Or hollowed bodies made of oak or fir. 
With branches loyjt, in wood or mountain felled,) 
Brass, iron, stony mould, had not their mouths 
With hideous orifice gaped on us wide, 
Portending hollow truce : at each beliind 
A seraph stood, and in his hand a reed 
Stood waving ti|)t with fire; while we, suspense, 
Collected stood within our thoughts amused. 
Not long ; for sudden all at once their reeds 
Put forth, and to a narrow vent a[)plied 
With nicest touch. Immediate in a flame, 
But soon obscured with smoke, all Heaven ap- 
peared. 
From those deep-throated engines belched, whose 

roar 
Embowelled with outrageous noise the air, 
And all her entrails tore, disgorging foul 
Their devilish glut, chained thunderbolts and hail 
Of iron globes ; which on the victor host 
Levelled, with such im{)etuous fury smote. 
That whom they hit, none on tlieir feet might 

stand, 
Though standing else as rocks, but down they 

fell 
By thousands, angel on archangel rolled ; 
The sooner for their arms; unarmed, they might 
Have easily, as spirits, evaded swift 
By quick contraction or remove ; but now 
Foul dissipation followed, and forced rout; 
Nor served it to relax their serried files. 
What should they do? if on they ruslied, repulse 
Repeated, and indecent overthrow 
Doubled, would render them yet more despised, 
And to their foes a laughter ; for in view 
Stood ranked of seraphim another row. 
In posture to displode their second tier 
Of thunder: back defeated to return 
They worse abhorred. Satan beheld their plight, 
And to his mates thus in derision called. 



48 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book vi. 



" ' O friends ! why come not on these victors 
proud ? 
Ercwliile they fierce were coming ; and when we 
To entertain them fair with open front 
And breast (what could we more'?) propounded 

terms 
Of composition, straight they changed their minds, 
Flew oil" and into strange vagaries fell, 
As they would dance ; yet for a dance they seemed 
Somewhat extravagant and wild, perhaps 
For joy of oflered peace : but I suppose, 
If our proposals once again were heard. 
We should compel them to a quick result.' 

" To whom thus Belial, in like gamesome mood. 
' Leader ! the terms we sent were terms of weight, 
Of hard contents, and full of force urged home, 
Such as we might perceive amused them all, 
And stumbled many: who receives them right 
Hail need from head to foot well understand; 
Not understood, this gift they have besides. 
They show us when our foes walk not upright.' 

" So they among themselves in pleasant vein 
Stood scoffing, heightened in their thoughts beyond 
All doubt of victory : eternal might 
To match with their inventions they presumed 
So easy, and of his thunder made a scorn, 
And all his host derided, while they stood 
A while in trouble: but they stood not long; 
Rage prompted them at length, and found them 

arms 
Against such hellish mischief fit to oppose. 
Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power, 
WTiich God hath in his mighty angels placed !) 
Their arms away they threw, and to the hills 
(For earth hath this variety from Heaven 
Of pleasure situate in hill and dale,) 
Light as the lightning glimpse they ran, they flew; 
From their foundations loosening to and fro. 
They plucked the seated hills with all their load, 
Rocks, waters, wiKxls, and by the shaggy tops 
Uplifting bore them in their hands: amaze, 
Be sure, and terror, seized the rebel host. 
When coming towanls them so dread they saw 
The bottom of the mountains upward turned; 
Till on those cursed engines' triple row 
They saw them whelmed, and all their confidence 
Under the weight of mountains buried deep; 
Themselves invaded next, and on their heads 
Main promontories Hung, which in the air 
Came shadowing, and oppressed whole legions 

armed ; 
Their armour helped their harm, crushed in and 

bruised 
Into their substance pent, which wrought them 

pain 
Implacable, and many a dolorous groan ; 
Long struggling underneath, ere they could wind 
Out of such prison, though spirits of purest light, 
Purest at first, now gross by sinning grown. 



The rest, in imitation, to like arms 
Betook them, and the neighbouring hills uptorc; 
So hills amid the air encountered hills. 
Hurled to and fro with jaculation dire. 
That under ground they fought in dismal shade; 
Infernal noise ! war seemed a civil game 
To this uproar; horrid confusion heaped 
Upon confusion rose: and now all Heaven 
Had gone to wreck, with ruin overspread, 
Had not the almighty Father, where he sits 
Shrined in his sanctuary of Heaven secure, 
Consulting on the sum of things, foreseen 
This tumult, and permitted all, advised: 
That his great purpose he might so fulfil, 
To honour his anointed Son, avenged 
Upon his enemies, and to declare 
All power on him transferred: whence to his Son, 
Th' assessor of his throne, he thus began. 
" ' Effulgene* of my glory. Son beloved. 
Son, in whose face invisible is beheld. 
Visibly, what by deity I am, 
And in whose hand what by decree I do. 
Second Omnipotence! two days are past. 
Two days, as we compute the days of Heaven, 
Since Michael and his powers went forth to tame 
These disobedient: sore hath been their fight, 
As likeliest was, when two such foes met armed ; 
For to themselves I left them, and thou knowest, 
Equal in their creation they were formed, 
Save what sin hath impaired, which yet hath 

wrought 
Insensibly, for I suspend their doom; 
Whence in perpetual fight they needs nnustlast » 
ELndless, and no solution will be found: 
War wearied hath performed what war can do. 
And to disordered rage let loose the reins, 
With mountains and with weapons armed, which 

makes 
Wild work in Heaven, and dangerous to the main. 
Two days are therefore past, the third is thine ; 
For thee I have ordained it, and thus tar 
Have suffered, tliat the glory may be thine 
Of ending this great war, since none but Thou 
Can end it. Into thee such virtue and grace 
Immense I have transfused, that all may know 
In Heaven and hell tliy power above compare; 
And, this perverse commotion governed thus, 
To manifest thee worthiest to be heir 
Of all things; to be Heir and to be King 
By sacred unction, by deserved right. 
Go then, thou mightiest, in thy Father's might. 
Ascend my chariot, guide the rapid wheels 
That shake Heaven's basis, bring forth all my war, 
My bow and thunder, my almighty arms 
Gird on, and sword upon thy puissant thigh; 
Pursue these sons of darkness, drive them out 
From all Heaven's bounds into the upper deep: 
There let them learn, as likes them, to despise 
God, and Messiah Ills anointed King.' 



Book vi. 



PARADISE LOST. 



49 



" He said, and on his Son with rays direct 
Shone full; lie all liis Father lull expressed 
Ineflahly into his face received ; 
And thus the filial Godhead answering spake. 

" ' O Fatlier, O Supreme of Heavenly thrones, 
First, hii^liest, holiest, best, thou always seckcst 
To glorify thy Son, I always thee. 
As is most just; this I my glory account, 
My exaltation, and my whole delight, 
Thiit thou, in me well pleased, declarcstthy will 
Fullilled, which to fuHil is all my bliss. 
Sceptre and power, thy giving, I assume. 
And gladiier shall resign, when in the end 
Thou shalt be all in all, and I in thee 
For ever, and in me all whom thou lovcst; 
But whom thou hatest, 1 hate, and can put on 
Thy terrors, as I j)ut thy mildness on, 
Image of thee in all things; and shall soon. 
Armed with thy might, rid Heaven of these re- 
belled. 
To thfir prepared ill mansion driven down, 
To chains of darkness, and th' undying worm, 
That from thy just obedience could revolt, 
Whom to obey is happiness entire. 
Then shall thy saints unmixed, and from th' im- 
pure 
Far separate, circling thy holy mount, 
Unfeigned hallelujahs to thee sing, 
Hymns of high jiraise, and I among them Chief.' 

" So said, he, o'er his scc[)tre bowing, rose 
From the right hand of glory where he sat ; 
And the third sacred morn began to sliine. 
Dawning through Heaven: forth rushed with 

whirlwind sound 
The chariot of paternal Deity, 
Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel un- 
drawn. 
Itself instinct with spirit, but convoyed 
By four cherubic shapes; four faces each 
Had wondrous ; as witti stars, their bodies all 
And wings were set with eyes, with eyes the wheels 
Of berryl, and careering fires between; 
Over tiieir heads a crystal firmament. 
Whereon a sapphire tlirone, inlaid with pure 
Amber, and colours of the showery arch. 
He, in celestial panoply all armed 
Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought, 
Ascended; at his right hand Victory 
Sat eagle-winged; beside him hung his bow 
And quiver with three-bolted thunder stored, 
And from about hira fierce effusion rolled 
Of smoke, and bickering flame, and sparkles dire: 
Attended with t<!n thousand thousand saints. 
He onward came, far off his coming shone; 
And twenty thousand (1 their numb<;r heard) 
Chariots of Cod, half on each hand, were seen: 
He on the wings of cherub rode sublime 
On the crystalline sky, in 8a])pliire throned, 
Illustrious far and wide, but by liis own 
6 



First seen : them unexpected joy surprised, 
When the great ensign of Messiah blazed 
Alofl;by angels borne, his sign in Heaven; 
Under whose conduct Michael soon reduced 
His army, circumfused on either wing. 
Under their Head embodied all in one. 
Before him power divine his way jjrepared; 
At his command th' uprooted hills retirc'd 
Each to his place, t^ley heard his voice, and went 
Obsequious; Heaven his wonted face renewed. 
And with fresh flowerets hill and valley smiled. 
This saw his hai)k'ss foe.s, but stood obdured, 
And to rebellious fight rallied their powers, 
Insensate, hope conceiving from despair. 
In heavenly spirits could sucli jjcrverseness dwell? 
But to convince the proud what signs avail, 
Or wonders move th' obdurate to relenf? 
They, hardened more by what might most re- 
claim. 
Grieving to sec his glory, at tlie sight 
Took envy; and, as[)iring to his height. 
Stood re-embattled fierce, by force, or fraud 
Weening to prosper, and at length prevail 
Against God and Messiah, or to fall 
In universal ruin last; and now 
To final battle drew, disdaining flight, 
Or faint retreat; when the great Son of God 
To all his host on either hand thus spake. 
" ' Stand still in bright array, ye saints, heia 
stand. 
Ye angels armed, this day from battle rest; 
Faithful hath been your warfare, and of God 
Accepted, fearless in his righteous cause ; 
And as ye have received, so have ye done 
Invincibly; butof this cursed crew 
The punishment to other hand belongs; 
Vengeance is his, or whose he sole appoints: 
Number to this day's work is not ordained, 
Nor multitude; stand only, and behold 
God's indignation on tliese godless poured 
By me; not you, but me, they have despised, 
Yet envied ; against me is all their rage. 
Because the Father, to whom in Heaven suprema 
Kingdom, and power, and glory ap[)eftains. 
Hath honoured me acconliiig to his will. 
Therefore to me their doom he hath assigned 
That they may have their wisli, to try with me 
In battle which the stronger proves; they all, 
Or I alone again.st them ; since by strength 
They measure all, of other excellence 
Not emulous, nor care who them excels ; 
Nor other strife with them do 1 vouchsafe.' 

" So spake the Son, and into terror changed 
His countenance, too severe to be beheld, 
And full of wrath bent on his enemies. 
At once the four spread out their starry wings 
With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orba 
Of his fierce chariot rolled, as with the sound 
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. 



50 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book vii. 



He on his impious foes right onward drove, 
Gloomy as night ; under liis burning wheels 
The steadfast empyrean shook througliout, 
All but the throne itself of God. Full soon 
Among them he arrived, in his right hand 
Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent 
Before him, such as in their souls infixed 
Plagues : they, astonished, all resistance lost. 
All courage ; down their idle weapons drop ; 
O'er shickb, and helms, and helmed heads he rode 
Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate, 
That wished the mountains now might be again 
Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire. 
Nor less on either side tempestuous fell 
His arrows, from the four-fold visaged four 
Distinct with eyes ; and from the living wheels 
Distinct alike with multitude of eyes; 
One spirit in them ruled, and every eye 
Glared lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire 
Among th' accursed, that withered all their 

strength, 
And of their wonted vigour left them drained, 
Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen. 
Yet half his strength he put not forth, but checked 
His thunder in mid volley ; for he meant 
Not to destroy, but root them out of Heaven : 
The overthrown he raised, and, as a herd 
Of goats or tim'rous flock together thronged, 
Drove them before him thunderstruck, pursued 
With terrors, and with furies, to the bounds 
And crystal wall of Heaven, which, opening wide, 
Rolled inward, and a spacious gap disclosed 
Into the wasteful deep : the monstrous sight 
Struck them with horror backward, but far worse 
Urged them behind: headlong themselves they 

threw 
Down from the verge of Heaven ; eternal wrath 
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit. 
Hell heard the unsufferable no.-se, hell saw 
Heaven running from Heaven, and would have 

fled 
Afl!"righted ; but strict fate had cast too deep 
Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound. 
Nine days they fell : confounded Chaos roared, 
And felt tenfold confusion in their fall 
Through his wild anarchy, so huge a rout 
Encumbered him with ruin ; hell at last 
Yawning received them whole, and on them closed ; 
Hell, their fit habitation, fraught with fire 
Unquenchable, the house of wo and pain. 
Disburdened Heaven rejoiced, and soon repaired 
Her mural breach, returning whence it rolled. 
Sole victor, from the expulsion of his foes 
Messiah his triumphal chariot turned : 
To meet him all his saints, who silent stood 
Eyewitnesses of his almighty acts, 
With jubilee advanced; and, as they went, 
Shaded with brandling palm, each order bright 
Sung triumph, and him sung victorious King, 



Son, Heir, and Lord, to him dominion given, 
Worthiest to reign: he, celebrated, rode 
Triumphant through mid Heaven, into the courts 
And temple of his mighty Father throned 
On high; who into glory him received, 
Where now he sits at the right hand of bliss. 
" Thus, measuring things in Heaven by things 
on earth. 
At thy request, and that thou may'st beware 
By what is past, to thee 1 have revealed 
What might have else to human race l)cen hid ; 
The discord which befell, and war in Heaven 
Among the angelic powers, and the deep fail 
Of those too high aspiring, who rebelled 
With Satan ; he who envies now thy state, 
Who now is plotting how he may setluce 
Thee also from obedience, that with him 
Bereaved of happiness, thou may'st partake 
His punishment, eternal misery ; 
Which would be all his solace and revenge. 
As a despite done against the most High, 
Thee once to gain companion of his wo. 
But listen not to his temptations, warn 
Thy weaker ; let it profit thee to have heard, 
By terrible example, the reward 
Of disobedience ; firm they might have stood, 
Yet fell ; remember, and fear to transgress." 



BOOK VII. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Raphafil, at the request of Adam, relates how and wherefore 
this world was first created ; that God, after the expelling of 
Satan and his angels out of Heaven, declared his pleasure to 
create another world, and other creatures to dwell therein ; 
sends his Son with glory, and attendance of angels, (o perform 
the work of creation in six days; the angels celebrate with 
hymns the performance thereof, and his reascension into 
Heaven. 



Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name 
If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine 
Following, above the Olympian hill 1 soar, 
Above the flight of Pegasean wing. 
The meaning, not the name I call: for thou 
Nor of the muses nine, nor on the top 
Of old Olympus dwellest, but, heavenly-born. 
Before the hills appeared, or fountain flowed, 
Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse. 
Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play 
In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased 
With thy celestial song. Up led by thee 
Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed, 
An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air. 
Thy tempering : with like safety, guided down 
Return me to my native element : 
Lest from this flying steed unreined (as once 
Bellerophon, though from a lower clime,) 
Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall 



Book vii. 



PARADISE LOST. 



61 



Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn. 
Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound 
Within the visible diurnal sphere; 
Standing on earth, not rapt above the pole, 
More safe I sing, with mortal voice unchanged 
To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days, 
On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues ; 
In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, 
And solitude; yet not alone, while thou 
Visitest my slumbers nightly, or when morn 
Purples the east; still govern thou my song, 
Urania, and fit audience find, though few. 
But drive far off the barbarous dissonance 
Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race 
Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard 
In Rhodope, where woods and rocks had ears 
To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned 
Both harp and voice ; nor could the muse defend 
Her son. So fail not thou, who thee implores: 
For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream. 

Say, goddess, what ensued when Raphael 
The affable archangel, had forewarned 
Adam, by dire example, to beware 
Apostacy, by what befell in Heaven 
To those apostates, lest the like befall 
In Paradise, to Adam or his race. 
Charged not to touch the interdicted tree. 
If they transgress and slight that sole command. 
So easily obeyed amid the choice. 
Of all tastes else to please their appetite, 
Though wandering. He with his consorted Eve 
The story heard attentive, and was filled 
With admiration and deep muse, to hear 
Of things so high and strange, things to their 

thought 
So unimaginable as hate in Heaven, 
And war so near the peace of God in bliss, 
With such confusion : but the evil, soon 
D-.iven back, redounded as a flood on those 
From whom it sprung, impossible to mix 
With blessedness. Whence Adam soon revealed 
The doubts that in his heart arose : and now 
Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know 
What nearer might concern him ; how this world 
Of Heaven and earth conspicuous, first began; 
When, and whereof created ; for what cause; 
What within Eden, or without, was done 
Before his memory; as one whose drought, 
Yet scarce allayed, still eyes the current stream, 
Whose liquid murmur heard, new thirst excites, 
Proceeded thus to ask his heavenly guest. 

" Great things, and full of wonder in our ears. 
Far differing from this world, thou hast revealed. 
Divine interpreter ! by favour sent 
Down from the empyrean, to forewarn 
Js timely, of what might else have been our loss. 
Unknown, which human knowledge could not 

reach. 
For which to the infinitely good we owe 



Immortal thanks, and his admonishment 

Receive, with solemn purpose to observe 

Immutably his sovereign will, the end 

Of what we are. But since thou hast vouchsafed 

Gently, for our instruction, to impart 

Things above earthly thought, which yet concerned 

Our knowing, as to highest wisdom seemed, 

Deign to descend now lower, and relate 

What may no less, perhaps, avail us, known ; 

How first began this Heaven which we behold 

Distant so high, with moving fires adorned 

Innumerable ; and this which yields or fills 

All space, the ambient air wide interfused, 

Embracing round this florid earth ; what cause 

Moved the Creator, in his holy rest 

Through all eternity, so late to build 

In Chaos, and the work begun, how soon 

Absolved ; if unforbid thou mayest unfold 

What we, not to explore the secrets, ask 

Of his eternal empire, but the more 

To magnify his works, the more we know. 

And the great light of day yet wants to run 

Much of his race, though steep ; suspense in Hea 

ven. 
Held by thy voice, thy potent voice, he hears, 
And longer will delay to hear thee tell 
His generation, and the rising birth 
Of nature from the unapparent deep: 
Or if the star of evening and the moon 
Haste to thy audience, night with her will bring 
Silence; and sleep, listening to thee, will watch,- 
Or we can bid his absence, till thy song 
End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine." 

Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought: 
And thus the godlike angel answered mild. 

" This also thy request, with caution asked 
Obtain: though to recount almighty works. 
What words or tongue of seraph can suffice, 
Or heart of man suffice to comprehend'? 
Yet what thou canst attain, which beat may serve 
To glorify the Maker, and infer 
Thee also happier, shall not be withheld 
Thy hearing; such commission from above 
I have received, to answer thy desire 
Of knowledge within bounds; beyond, abstain 
To ask, nor let thine own inventions hope 
Things not revealed, which th' invisible King, 
Only omniscient, hath suppressed in night, 
To none communicable in earth or Heaven : 
Enough is left besides to search and know. 
But knowledge is as food, and needs no less 
Her temperance over appetite, to know 
In measure what the mind may well contain ; 
Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns 
Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind. 

" Know then, that, after Lucifer from Heaven 
(So call him, brighter once amidst the host 
Of angels, than that star the stars among) 
Fell with his flaming legions through the deep 



B? 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book vrr. 



Into his place, and the great Son returned 
Victorious with his saints, the omnipotent, 
Eternal Father, from his throne beheld 
Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake. 
"At least our envious foe hath failed, who 
thought 
All like himself rebellious, by whose aid 
This inaccessible high strength, the seat 
Of Deity supreme, us dispossessed. 
He trusted to have seized, and into fraud 
Drew many, whom their place knows here no 

more; 
Yet far the greater part have kept, I see. 
Their station; Heaven, yet populous, retains 
Number sufficient to possess her realms. 
Though wide, and his highest temple to frequent 
With ministeries due, and solemn rites : 
But, lest his heart exalt him in the harm 
Already done, to have dispeopled Heaven, 
My damage fondly deemed, I can repair 
That detriment, if such it be to lose 
Self-lost, and in a moment will create 
Another world, out of one man a race 
Of men innumerable, there to dwell. 
Not here, till, by degrees of merit raised, 
They open to themselves at length the way 
Up hither, under long obedience tried, 
And earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to 

earth; 
One kingdom, joy and union without end. 
Meanwhile inhabit lax, ye powers of Heaven ; 
And thou my Word, begotten Son, by thee 
This I perform ; speak thou, and be it done ! 
My overshadowdng spirit and might with thee 
I send along; ride forth, and bid the deep 
Within appointed bounds be Heaven and earth, 
Boundless the deep, because I AM who fill 
Infinitude, nor vacuous the space. 
Though I, uncircumscribed myself, retire, 
And put not forth my goodness, which la free 
To act or not, necessity and chance 
Approach not me, and what I will is fate.' 

" So spake the Almighty, and to what he spake 
His Word, the filial Godhead, gave effect. 
Immediate are the acts of God, more swift 
Than time or motion, but to human ears 
Can not without process of speech be told, 
So told as earthly notion can receive. 
Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heaven, 
When such was heard declared the Almighty's 

will; 
Glory they sung to the Most High, good will 
To future men, and in their dwellings peace* 
Glory to him, whose just avenging ire 
Had driven out the ungodly from his sight 
And the habitations of the just: to him 
Glory and praise, whose wisdom had ordained 
Good out of evil to create ; instead 
Of spirits malign, a better race to bring 



Into their vacant room, and thence diffuse 
His good to worlds and ages infinite. 

" So sang the hierarchies; meanwhile the Son 
On his great expedition now appeared, 
Girt with omnipotence, with radiance crowned 
Of majesty divine ; sapience and love 
Immense, and all his Father in him shone. 
About his chariot numberless were poured 
Cherub and seraph, potentates and thrones. 
And virtues, winged spirits, and chariots winged 
From the armoury of God, where stand of old 
Myriads, between two brazen mountains lodged 
Against a solemn day, harnessed at hand, 
Celestial equipage; and now came forth 
Spontaneous, for within them spirit lived, 
Attendant on tlieir Lord : Heaven opened wide 
Her ever during gates, harmonious sound. 
On golden hinges moving, to let forth 
The King of Glory, in his powerful Word 
And spirit, coming to create new worlds. 
On heavenly ground they stood: and from the 

shore 
They viewed the vast immeasurable abyss 
Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild. 
Up from the bottom turned by furious vnnds 
And surging waves, as mountains, to assault 
Heaven's height, and with the centre mix the pole. 

" ' Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou deep 
peace,' 
Said then the omnific Word, ' your discord end !' 
Nor stayed, but, on the wings of cherubim 
Uplifted, in paternal glory rode 
Far into Chaos, and the world unborn; 
For Chaos heard his voice: him all his train 
Followed in bright procession, to behold 
Creation, and the wonders of his might. 
Then stayed the fervid wheels, and in his hand 
He took the golden compasses, prepared 
In God's eternal store, to circumscribe 
This universe, and all created things : 
One foot ho centered, and the other turned 
Round through the vast profundity obscure. 
And said, ' Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds, 
This be thy just circumference, O world !' 
Thus God the Heaven created, thus the earth. 
Matter unformed and void : darkness profound 
Covered the abyss ; but on the watery calm 
His brooding wings the spirit of God outspread, 
And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth 
Throughout the fluid mass, but downward purged 
The black, tartareous, cold, infernal dregs. 
Adverse to life : then founded, then conglobed 
Like things to like, the rest to several place 
Disparted, and between spun out the air; 
And earth, self-balanced, on her centre hung 

" 'Let there be light,' said God ; and forthwith 
light 

Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure, 
Sprung from the deep, and, firom her native «>st, 



Book vri. 



PARADISE LOST, 



53 



To journey through the aery gloom began, 

Sphered in a radiant cloud, for yet the sun 

Was not; she in a cloudy tabernacle 

S ojourncd the while. God saw the light was good ; 

And light from darkness, by the hemisphere, 

Divided: light the day, and darkness night. 

He named. Thus was the first day even and 

morn: 
Nor past uncelebrated, nor unsung 
By the celestial choirs, when orient light 
Exhaling first from darkness they beheld ; 
Birthday of Heaven and earth; with joy and shout 
The hollow universal orb they filled. 
And touched their golden harps, and, hymning, 



God and his works ; Creator him they sung, 
Both when first evening was, and when first morn. 

" Again, God said, ' Let there be firmament 
Amid the waters, and let it divide 
The waters from the waters:' and God made 
The firmament, expanse of liquid, pure, 
Transparent, elemental air, diffused 
In circuit to the uttermast convex 
Of this great round ; partition firm and sure, 
The waters underneath from those above 
Dividing : for as earth, so he the world 
Emit on circumfluous waters calm, in wide 
Crystalline ocean, and the loud misrule 
Of Chaos far removed ; lest fierce extremes 
Contiguous might distemper the whole frame : 
And Heaven he named the firmament : so even 
And morning chorus sung the second day. 

" The earth was formed, but in the womb as yet 
Of waters, ernbryon immature involved, 
Appeared not : over all the face of earth 
Main ocean flowed, not idle, but with warm 
Prolific humour softening all her globe. 
Fermented the great mother to conceive, 
Satiate with genial moisture ; when God said, 
' Be gathered now ye waters under Heaven 
Into one place, and let dry land appear.' 
Immediately, the mountains huge appear 
Emergent, and their broad bare backs upheave 
Into the clouds ; their tops ascend tlie sky : 
So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low 
Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep, 
Capacious bed of waters : thither they 
Hasted with glad precipitance, uproUed, 
As drops on dust conglobing from the dry ; 
Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct. 
For haste; such flight the great command im- 
pressed 
On the swift floods : as armies at the call 
Of trumpet (for of armies thou hast heard) 
Troop to their standard, so the watery throng. 
Wave rolling after wave, where way they found, 
If steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain. 
Soft -ebbing; nor withstood them rock or hill; 
But they, or under ground, or circuit wide 



With serpent error wandering, found their way, 
And on the washy ooze deep channels wore; 
Easy, ere God had bid the ground be dry. 
All but within those banks, where rivers now 
Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train. 
The dry land, earth ; and the great receptacle 
Of congregated waters, he called seas : 
And saw that it was good ; and said, ' Let the 

earth 
Put forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed, 
And fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind, 
Whose seed is in herself upon the earth.' 
He scarce had said, when the bare earth, till then 
Desert and bare, unsightly, unadorned. 
Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad 
Her universal face with pleasant green : 
Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flowered 
Opening their various colours, and made gay 
Her bosom, smelling sweet; and, these scarce 

blown. 
Forth flourished 'thick the clustering vine, forth 

crept 
The smelling gourd, up stood the corny reed 
Embattled in her field, and the humble shrub. 
And bush with frizzled hair implicit: last 
Rose as in dance, the stately trees, and spread 
Their branches hung with copious fruit, or gem'd 
Their blossoms: with high woods the hills wer& 

crowned ; 
With tufts the valleys, and each fountain side, 
With borders long the rivers : that earth now 
Seemed like to Heaven, a seat where gods might 

dwell, 
Or wander with delight, and love to haunt 
Her sacred shades: though God had yet not rained 
Upon the earth, aad man to till the ground 
None was; but from the earth a dewy mist 
Went up, and watered all the ground, and each 
Plant of the field, which, ere it was in the earth, 
God made, and every herb, before it grew 
On the green stem ; God saw that it was good : 
So even and morn recorded the third day. 

" Again th' Almighty spake, ' Let there be lights 
High in the expanse of Heaven, to divide 
The day from night; and let them be for signs, 
For seasons, and for days, and circling years ; 
And let them be for hghts, as I ordain 
Their oflSce in the firmament of Heaven, 
To give light on the earth ;' and it was so. 
And Gcd made two great lights, great for their 

use 1 
To man, the greater to have rule by day. 
The less by night, altern ; and made the stars, 
And set them in the firmament of Heaven 
To illuminate the earth and rule the day 
In their vicissitude, and rule the night, 
And light from darkness to divide. God saw, 
Surveying his great work, that it was good : 
For, of celestial bodies, first the sun 



54 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book vif 



A mighty sphere he framed, unlightsome first, 

Though of ethereal mould ; then formed the moon 

Globose, and every magnitude of stars, 

And sowed with stars the Heaven, thick as a field : 

Of light by far the greater part he took, 

Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placed 

In the sun's orb, made porous to receive 

And drink the liquid hght, firm to retain 

Her gathered beams, great palace now of light. 

Hither, as to their fountain, other stars 

Repairing, in their golden urns draw light, 

And hence the morning planets gilds her horns; 

By tincture or reflection they augment 

Their small peculiar, though from human sight 

So far remote, with diminution seen. 

First in his east the glorious lamp was seen, 

Regent of day, and all the horizon round 

Invested with briglit rays, jocund to run 

His longitude through Heaven's high road; the 

gray 
Dawn, and the Pleiades, before him danced. 
Shedding sweet influence: less bright the moon, 
But opposite in levelled west was set, 
His mirror, with full face borrowing her light 
From him ; for other light she needed none 
In that aspect, and still that distance keeps 
Till night ; then in the east her turn she shines, 
Revolved on Heaven's great axle, and her reign 
With thousand lesser lights dividual holds, 
With thousand thousand stars, that then appeared 
Spangling the hemisphere : then, first adorned 
With their bright lununaries that set and rose, 
Glad evening and glad morn crowned the fourth 
day, 
" And God said, * Let the waters generate 
Reptile with spawn abundant, living soul : 
And let fowl fly above the earth, with wings 
Displayed on the open firmament of Heaven.' 
And God created the great whales, and each 
Soul living, each that crept, which plenteously 
The waters generated by their kinds. 
And every bird of wing after his kind ; 
And saw that it was good, and blessed them, say- 
ing, 
' Be fruitful, multiply, and in the seas. 
And lakes, and running streams, the waters fill; 
And let the fowl be multiplied on the earth.' 
Forthwith the sounds and seas, each creek and 

bay. 
With fry innumerable swarm, and shoals 
Of fish, that with their fins and shining scales 
Glide under the green wave, in sculls that olt 
Bank the mid sea : part single, or with mate, 
Graze the sea weed, their pasture, and through 

groves 
Of coral stray, or. sporting with quick glance, 
Show to the sun their waved coats dropt with gold; 
Or, in their pearly shells at ease, attend 
Mojst nutriment ; or under rocks their food 



In jointed armour watch : on smooth the seal, 
And bended dolphins play: part huge of bulk 
Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait. 
Tempest the ocean : there leviathan, 
Hugest of living creatures, on the deep 
Stretched like a promontory, sleeps or swims, 
And seems a moving land, and at his gills 
Draws in, and at his trunk spouts out, a sea. 
Meanwhile the tepid caves, and fens, and shores, 
Their brood as numerous hatch, from the egg that 

soon 
Bursting with kindly rupture, forth disclosed 
Their callow young; but, feathered soon and 

fledged. 
They summed their pens, and, soaring th' air sub- 
lime, 
V.''ith clang despised the ground, under a cloud 
In prospect ; there the eagle and the stork 
On cliffs and cedar tops their eyries build : 
Part loosely wing the region, part more wise 
In common, ranged in figure, wedge their way, 
Intelligent of seasons, and set forth 
Their aery caravan, high over seas 
Flying, and over lands, with mutual wing 
Easing their flight : so steers the prudent crane 
Her annual voyage, borne on winds ; the air 
Floats as they pass, fann'd with unnumbered 

plumes: 
From branch to branch the smaller birds with song 
Solaced the woods, and spread their painted winga 
Till even, nor then the solemn nightingale 
Ceased warbling, but all night tuned her soft lays: 
Others on silver lakes and rivers bathed 
Their downy breast; the swan with arched neck, 
Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows 
Her state with oary feet ; yet oft they quit 
The dank, and, rising on stiff penons, tower 
The mid aerial sky: others on ground 
Walk'd firm ; the crested cock, whose clarion 

sounds 
The silent hours, and the other whose gay train 
Adorns him, coloured with the florid hue 
Of rainbows and starry eyes. The waters thus 
With fish replenished, and the air with fowl, 
Evening and morn solemnized the fifth day. 

" The sixth, and of creation last, arose 
With evening harps and matin, when God said, 
' Let the earth bring forth soul living in her kind, 
Cattle, and creeping things, and beasts of the earth, 
Each in their kind.' The earth obeyed, and 

straight. 
Opening her fertile womb, teemed at a birth 
Innumerous living creatures, perfect forms. 
Limbed and full grown ; out of the ground up rose, 
As from his lair, the wild beast where he wons 
In forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den; 
Among the trees in pairs they rose, they walked; 
The cattle in the fields and meadows green; 
Those rare and solitary, these in flocks 



Rook vii. 



PARADISE LOST. 



55 



Pasturing at once, and in broad herds upsprung. 
The grassy clods now calved; now half appeared 
The tawny lion, pawing to get free 
His hinder parts, then springs as broke from bonds, 
And rampant shakes his hrinded mane; the ounce, 
The lil)bard, and tlie tiger, as the mole 
Rising, the crumbled earth above them threw 
In hillocks: the swift stag from under ground, 
Bore up his branching head: scarce from his mould 
Behemoth, biggest born of earth, upheaved 
Hisvastness: fleeced the flocks and bleating rose, 
As plants : ambiguous between sea and land 
The river horse and scaly crocodile. 
At once came forth whatever creeps the ground. 
Insect or worm : those waved their limber fans 
For wings and smallest lineaments exact. 
In all the liveries decked of summer's pride. 
With spots of gold and purple, azure and green: 
These, as a line, their long dimension drew. 
Streaking the ground with sinuous trace ; not all 
Minims of nature ; some of serpent kind, 
Wondrous in length and corpulence, involved 
Their snaky folds, and added wings. First crept 
The parsimonious emmet, provident 
Of future, in small room large heart enclosed, 
Pattern of just equality, perhaps, 
Hereafter, joined in her popular tribes 
Of commonalty : swarming next appeared 
The female bee, that feeds her husband drone 
Deliciously, and builds her waxen cells 
With honey stored ; the rest are numberless. 
And thou their natures know'st, and gav'st them 

names. 
Needless to thee repeated : nor unknown 
The serpent, subtlest beast of all the field, 
Of huge extent sometimes, with brazen eyes 
And hairy mane terrific, though to thee 
Not noxious, but obedient at thy call. 

" Now Heaven in all her glory shone, and rolled 
Her motions, as the great first Mover's hand 
First wheeled their course: earth in her rich attire 
Consummate lovely smiled ; air, water, earth, 
By fowl, fish, beast, was flown, was swum, was 

walked 
Frequent ; and of the sixth day yet remained : 
There wanted yet the master work, the end 
Of all yet done ; a creature, who, not prone 
And brute as other creatures, but endued 
With sanctity of reason, might erect 
His stature, and, upright, with front serene, 
Govern the rest, self-knowing, and from thence 
Magnanimous to correspond with Heaven, 
But grateful to acknowledge whence his good 
Descends, thither with heart, and voice, and eyes, 
Directed in devotion, to adore 
And worship God supreme, who made him chief 
Of all his works ; therefore th' Omnipotent, 
Eternal Father, (for where is not he 
Present?) thus to his Son audibly spake. 



" ' Let us make now man in our image, man 
In our similitude, and let them rule 
Over the fisii and fowl of sea and air, 
Beast of the field, and over all the earth. 
And every creeping thing that creeps the ground.' 
This said, he formed thee, Adam, thee, O man, 
Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breathed 
The breath of life ; in his own image he 
Created thee, in the image of God 
Express, and thou becam'st a living soul. 
Male he created thee, but thy consort 
Female, for race; then blessed mankind, and said, 
' Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the earth. 
Subdue it, and, throughout, dominion hold 
Over fish of the sea, and fowl of the air, 
And every living thing that moves on the earth.' 
Wherever thus created, for no place 
Is yet distinct by name, thence, as thou know'st. 
He brought thee into this delicious grove. 
This garden, planted with the trees of God, 
Delectable both to behold and taste : 
And freely all their pleasant fruit for food 
Gave thee; all sorts are here that all the earth 

yields, 
Variety without end ; but of the tree, 
Which, tasted, works knowledge of good and 

evil. 
Thou may'st not; in the day thou eat'st, thou 

diest : 
Death is the penalty imposed ; beware, 
And govern well thy appetite, lest Sin 
Surprise thee, and her black attendant. Death. 
" Here finished he, and all that he had made 
Viewed, and behold all was entirely good ; 
So even and morn accomplished the sixth day : 
Yet not till the Creator from his work 
Desisted, though unwearied, up returned. 
Up to the Heaven of heavens, his high abode. 
Thence to behold this new created world, 
The addition of his empire, how it showed 
In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair, 
Answering his great idea. Up he rode, 
Followed with acclamation, and the sound 
Symphonious often thousand harps, that tuned 
Angelic harmonies : the earth, the air 
Resounded, (thou remember'st, for thou heard'st,) 
The Heavens and all the constellations rung. 
The planets in their stations listening stood, 
While the bright pomp ascended jubilant. 
Open, ye everlasting gates ! they sung. 
Open, ye Heavens ! your living doors ; let in 
The great Creator from his work returned 
Magnificent, his six days' work, a world ; 
Open and henceforth oft ; for God will deign 
To visit oft the dwellings of just men, , 

Delighted ; and with frequent intercourse 
Thither will send his winged messengers 
On errands of supernal grace. So sung 
The glorious train ascending; he through Heavea, 



j6 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book vm. 



1'hat opened wide her blazing portals, led 

To God's eternal house direct the way ; 

A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold 

And pavement stars, as stars to thee appear, 

Seen in the galaxy, that milky way, 

"Which nightly as a circling zone thou seest 

Powdered with stars. And now on earth the 

seventh , 

Evening arose in Eden, for the sun 
Was set, and twilight from the east came on. 
Forerunning night ; when at the holy mount 
Of Heaven's high seated top, th' imperial throne 
Of Godhead fixed for ever firm and sure, 
The fdial power arrived, and sat hiin down 
With his great Father: for he also went 
Invisible, yet stayed (such privilege 
Hath omnipresence,) and the work ordained. 
Author and end of all things; and, from work 
Now resting, blessed and hallowed the seventh 

day. 
As resting on that day from all his work, 
But not in silence holy kept : the harp 
Had work, and rested not; the solemn pipe 
And dulcimer, all organs of sweet stop. 
All sounds on fret by string or golden wire. 
Tempered soft tunings, intermixed with voice 
Choral or unison : of incense clouds. 
Fuming from golden censers, hid the mount. 
Creation andtlie six days' acts they sung: 
Great are thy works, Jehovah, infinite 
Thy power ! what thought can measure thee or 

tongue 
Relate thee ! greater now in thy return 
Than from the giant angels: thee that day 
Thy thunders magnified; but to create 
Is greater than created to destroy. 
Wiio can impair thee, mighty King, or bound 
Thy empire 1 easily the proud attempt 
Of spirits apostate, and their counsels vain, 
Thou hast repelled, while impiously they thought 
Thee to diminish, and from thee withdraw 
The number of thy worshippers. Who seeks 
To lessen thee, against his purpose serves 
To manifest the more thy might : his evil 
Thou usest, and from thence createst more good. 
Witness tliis new made world, another Heaven 
From Heaven gate not far, founded in view 
On the clear hyaline, the glassy sea; 
Of amplitude almost immense, with stars 
Numerous, and every star perhaps a world 
Of destined habitation ; but thou knowe«t 
Their seasons : among these the seat of men. 
Earth, with her nether ocean circumfused. 
Their pleasant dwelling-place. Thrice happy 

men, 
And sons of men, whom Goil hath thus advanced! 
Created in his image, there to dwell 
And worship him, and in reward to rule 
Over his works, on earth, in sea, or aii;, 



And multiply a race of worshippers 

Holy and just : thrice happy, if they know 

Their happiness, and persevere upright ! 

" So sung they, and the empyrean rung 
With hallelujahs: thus was sabbath kept. 
And thy request think now fulfilled, that asked 
How first this world and face of things began. 
And what before thy memory was done 
From the beginning ; that posterity, 
Informed by thee, might know : if else thou 

seekest 
Aught, not surpassing human measure, say." 



BOOK VIII. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Adam inquires concerning celestial motions; is doubtfully 
answered, and exhorted to search rather things more worthy 
of knowledge ; Adum assents ; and, still desirous to detain 
Raphael, relates to him what he remembered since his own 
creation ; his placing in Paradise ; his talk with God concern- 
ing solitude and fit society ; his first meeting and nuptials with 
Eve ; his discourse with the angel thereupon ; who, alter a't- 
monitions repeated, departs. 



The angel ended, and in Adam's ear 

So charming left his voice, that he a while 

Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to 

hear ; 
Then, as new waked, thus gratefully replied. 

" What thanks sufficient, or what recompense 
Equal have I to render thee, divine 
Historian, who thus largely hast allayed 
The thirst I had of knowledge, and vouchsafed 
This friendly condescension to relate 
Things, else by me unsearchable, now heard 
With wonder, but delight, and, as is due, 
With glory attributed to the high 
Creator 1 something yet of doubt remains, 
Wliich only thy solution can resolve. 
When I behold this goodly frame, this world, 
Of Heaven and earth consisting, and compute 
Their magnitudes ; this earth, a spot, a grain, 
An atom, with the firmament compared 
And all her numbered stars, that seem to roll 
Spaces incomprehensible (for such 
Their distance argues, and their swift return 
Diurnal) merely to officiate light 
Round this opacous earth, this punctual spot, 
One day and night, in all their vast survey 
Useless besides ; reasoning, I oft admire 
How nature, wise and frugal, could commit 
Such disproportions, with superfluous hand 
So many noble bodies to create. 
Greater so manifold, to this one use. 
For aught appears, and on tlieir orbs imoose 
Such restless revolution, day by day 
Repeated ; while the sedentary earth. 
That better might with far legs compass move^ 



Book viii. 



PARADISE LOST. 



57 



Served by more noble than herself, attains 
Her end without least motion, and receives, 
As tribute, such a sumlcss journey brought 
Of incorporeal speed, her warmth and light ; 
Speed, to describe whose swiftness number fails." 

So spake our sire, and by his countenance seemed 
Entering on studious thoughts abstruse; which 

Eve 
Perceiving, where she sat retired in sight, 
With lowliness majestic from her seat, 
And grace that won who saw to wish her stay, 
Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers, 
To visit how they prospered, bud and bloom, 
Her nursery ; they at her coming sprung. 
Anil, touched by her fair tendance, gladlier grew. 
Yet went she not, as not with such discourse 
Delighted, or not capable her ear 
Of what was high : such pleasure she reserved, 
Adam relating, she sole auditress ; 
Her husband the relator she preferred 
Before the angel, and of him to ask 
Chose rather; he, she knew, would intermix 
Grateful digressions, and solve high dispute 
With conjugal caresses; from his lip 
Net words alone pleased her. O who meet now 
Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined 7 
With goddess-like demeanour forth she went, 
Not unattended, for on her, as queen, 
A pomp of winning graces waited still, 
And from about her shot darts of desire 
Into all eyes, to wish her still in sight. 
And Raphael now, to Adam's doubt proposed. 
Benevolent and facile thus replied. 

" To ask or search T blame thee not; for Heaven 
Is as the book of God before thee set, 
Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learn 
His seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years : 
This to attain, whether Heaven move or earth, 
Imports not, if thou reckon right ; the rest 
From man or angel the great Architect 
Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge 
His secrets to be scanned by them who ought 
Rather admire; or, if they list to try 
Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens 
Hath left to their disputes, perhaps to move 
His laughter at their quaint opinions wide 
Hereafter, when they come to model Heaven 
And calculate the stars, how they will wield 
The mighty frame, how build, unbuild, contrive 
To save appearances, how gird the sphere 
With centric and eccentric scribbled o'er, 
Cycle and epicycle, orb in orb : 
Already by thy reasoning this I guess, 
Who art to lead thy oflspring, and supposest 
That bodies bright and greater should not serve 
The less not bright, nor Heaven such journeys, 

run, 
Earth sitting still, when she alone receives 
The benefit: consider first, that great 

u2 



Or bright infers not excellence : the earth, 

Though, in comparison of Heaven, so small, 

Nor glistering, may of solid good contain 

More plenty than the sun that barren shines, 

Whose virtue on itself works no eflect. 

But in the fruitful earth; there first received, 

His beams, unactive else, their vigour find. 

\ et not to earth are those bright luminaries 

Officious, but to thee, earth's habitant. 

And for the Heaven's wide circuit, let it speak 

The Maker's high magnificence, who built 

So spacious, and his line stretched out so far; 

That man may know he dwells not in his own; 

An edifice too large for him to fill, 

Lodged in a small partition, and the rest 

Ordained for uses to his Lord best known. 

The swiftness of those circles attribute, 

Though numberless, to his omnipotence, 

That to corporeal substances could add 

Speed almost spiritual: me thou thinkest not slow, 

Who since the morning hour set out from Heaven 

Where God resides, and ere mid-day arrived 

In Eden, distance inexpressible 

By numbers that have name. But this I urge, 

Admitting motion in the Heavens, to show 

Invalid that which thee to doubt it moved : 

Not that I so affirm, though so it seem 

To thee who hast thy dwelling here on earth. 

God, to remove his ways from human sense. 

Placed Heaven from earth so far, that earthly sight, 

If it presume, might err in things too high, 

And no advantage gain. What if the sun 

Be centre to the world, and other stars. 

By his attractive virtue and their own 

Incited, dance about him various rounds'? 

Their wandering course now high, now low, then 

hid, 
Progressive, retrograde, or standing still. 
In six thou secst ; and what if seventh to these 
The planet earth, so steadfast though she seem, 
Insensibly three difTerent motions move"? 
Which else to several spheres thou must ascribe, 
Moved contrary with thwart obliquities ; 
Or save the sun his labour, and tliat swift 
Nocturnal and diurnal rhomb supposed. 
Invisible else above all stars, the wheel 
Of day and night ; which needs not thy belief, 
If earth, industrious of herself, fetch day 
TravElling east, and with her part averse 
From the sun's beam meet night, her other pari 
Still luminous by his ray. What if that light, 
Sent from her through the wide transpicuous air, 
To the terrestrial moon be as a star. 
Enlightening her by day, as she by night 
This earth'? reciprocal, if land be there, 
Fields and inhabitants : he;- spots thou seest 
As clouds, and clouds may rain, and rain produfift 
Fruits in her softened soil, for some to eat 
Allotted there; and other suns perhaps. 



58 



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Book vjii 



"With their attendant moons, thus wilt descry, 
Communicating male and female light; 
Which too great sexes anunate the world, 
Stored in each orb perhaps with some that live. 
For such vast room in nature unpossessed 
By living soul, desert and desolate, 
Only to shine, yet scarce to contribute 
Each orb a glimpse of light, conveyed so far 
Down to this habitable, which returns 
Light back to them, is obvious to dispute. 
But whether thus these things, or whether not; 
Whether the sun, predominant in Heaven, 
Rise on the earth; or earth rise en the sun; 
He from the east his flaming road begin; 
Or she from west her silent course advance, 
With inoflensive pace that spinning sleeps 
On her soft axle, while she paces even, 
And bears thee soft with the smooth air along; 
Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid; 
Leave them to God above; him serve and fear; 
Of other creatures, as him pleases best, 
Wherever placed, let him dispose : joy thou 
In what he gives to thee, this Paradise 
And thy fair Eve; Heaven is for thee too high 
To know what passes there; be lowly wise: 
Think only what concerns thee and thy being; 
Dream not of other worlds, what creatures there 
Live, in what state, condition or degree; 
Contented that thus far hath been revealed. 
Not of earth only, but of highest Heaven." 

To whom thus Adam, cleared of doubt, replied, 
" How fully hast thou satisfied me, pure 
Intelligence of Heaven, angel serene 1 
And, freed from intricacies, taught to live 
The easiest way, nor with perplexing thoughts 
To interrupt the sweet of life, from which 
God hath bid dwell far oft' all anxious cares, 
And not molest us unless we ourselves 
Seek them with wand'ring thoughts, and notions 

vain. 
But apt the mind or fancy is to rove 
Unchecked, and of her roving is no end; 
Till warned, or by experience taught, she learn, 
That not to know at large of things remote 
From use, obscure and subtle, but, to know 
That which before us lies in daily hfe. 
Is the prime wisdom: what is more, is fume, 
Or emi)tincss, or fond impertinence, 
And renders us, in things that most concern, 
Unpractised, unprepared, and still to seek. 
Therefore from this high pitch let us descend 
A lower flight, and speak of things at hand 
Useful ; whence haply mention may arise 
Of something not unseasonable to ask. 
By suflerance, and thy wonted favour, deigned. 
Thee I have heard relating what was done 
Ere my remembrance : now hear me relate 
My story, which perhaps thou hast not heard; 
And day is yet not spent; till then thou seest 



How subtly to detain thee I devise, 
Inviting thee to hear while I relate. 
Fond, were it not in hope of thy reply; 
For while 1 sit with thee, I seem in Heaven ; 
And sweeter thy discourse is to my ear 
Than fruits of palm-tree pleasantest to thirst 
And hunger both, from labour, at the hour 
Of sweet repast; they satiate, and soon fill. 
Though pleasant; but thy words, with grace di- 
vine 
Imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety." 

To whom thus Raphael answered, heavenly 
meek: 
" Nor are thy lips ungraceful, sire of men, 
Nor tongue ineloquent; for God on thee 
Abundantly his gifts hath also poured 
Inward and outward both, his image fair: 
Speaking or mute, all comeliness and grace 
Attends thee, and each word, each motion forms; 
Nor less think we in Heaven of thee on earth 
Than our fellow-servant, and inquire 
Gladly into the ways of God with man: 
For God, we see, hath honoured thee and set 
On man his equal love: say therefore on; 
For I that day was absent, as befell. 
Bound on a voyage uncouth and obscure. 
Far on excursion toward the gates of hell; 
Squared in full legion (such command we had) 
To see that none thence issued forth a spy, 
Or enemy, while God was in his work; 
Lest he, incensed at such eruption bold. 
Destruction with creation might have mixed ; 
Not that they durst without his leave attempt, 
But us he sends upon his high behests 
For state, as sovereign King, and to insure 
Our prompt obedience. Fast we found, fast shut 
The dismal gates, and barricadoed strong; 
But long ere our approaching heard within 
Noise other than the sound of dance or song. 
Torment, a«d loud lament, and furious rage. 
Glad we returned up to the coasts of light 
Ere sabbath evening : so we had in charge. 
But thy relation now; for I attend. 
Pleased with thy words no less than thou with 
mine." 

So spake the godlike power, and thus our sise : 
" For man to tell how human life began. 
Is hard; for who himself beginning knew? 
Desire with thee still longer to converse 
Induced me. As new waked from soundest sleep, 
Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid. 
In balmy sweat, which with his beams the sun 
Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed. 
Straight toward Heaven my wondering eyes I 

turned 
And gazed awhile the ample sky; till, raised 
By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung. 
As thitherward endeavouring, and upright 
Stood on my feet: about me roui^ I saw 



Book viri. 



PARADISE LOST. 



59 



Hill, dale, and shady woods, an<l sunny plains, 
And liquid lapse of murmuring streams; by these. 
Creatures that lived and moved, and walked, or 

flew; 
Birds on the branches warbling; all things smiled; 
With fragrance and with joy my heart o'erflowed. 
Myself I then perused, and limb by limb 
Surveyed, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran 
With supple joints, as lively vigour led: 
But who I was, or where, or from what cause, 
Knew not; to speak I tried, and forthwith spalie; 
My tongue obeyed, and readily could name 
Whate'er I saw, ' Thou sun,' said I, ' fair light, 
And thou enliglitened earth, so fresh and gay, 
Yc hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains, 
And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell, 
Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here"? 
Not of myself; by some great Maker then, 
In goodness and in power pre-eminent: 
Tell me, how may I know him, how adore, 
From whom I have that thus I move and live, 
And feel that I am happier than I know.' 
While thus I called, and strayed, I knew not whi- 
ther, 
From where I first drew air, and first beheld 
This happy light, when, answer none returned, 
On a green shady bank, profuse of flowers 
Pensive I sat me down ; there gentle sleep 
First found me, and with soft oppression seized 
My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought 
I then was passing to my former state 
Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve: 
When suddenly stood at my head a dream. 
Whose inward apparition gently moved 
My fancy to believe I yet had being. 
And Hved: one came, methought, of shape divine. 
And said, ' Thy mansion wants thee Adam; rise. 
First man, of men innumerable ordairted 
First father! called by thee, I come thy guide 
To the garden of bliss, thy seat prepared.' 
So saying, by the hand he took me raised, 
And over fields and waters, as in air 
Smooth sliding without step, last led me up 
A woody mountain ; whose high top was plain, 
A circuit wide, enclosed, with goodliest trees 
Planted, with walks, and bowers, that what I saw 
Of earth before scarce pleasant seemed. Each 

tree, 
Leaden with fairest fruit that hung to the eye 
Tempting, stirred in me sudden appetite 
To pluck and eat; whereat I waked, andfound 
Before mine eyes all real, as the dream 
Had lively sliadowed : here had new begun 
My vi'andering, had not he, who was my guide 
Up hitlicr, from among the trees a])pearcd. 
Presence divine. Rejoicing, but with awe. 
In adoration at his feet I fell 
Submiss : he reared me, ' and whom thou sought'st 
I ajn,' 



Said mildly, ' Author of all this thou seest 
Above, or round about thee, or beneath. 
This Paradise I give thee, count it thine 
To till and keep, and of the fruit to eat: 
Of every tree that in the garden grows 
Eat freely with glad heart; fear here no dearth: 
But of the tree whose operation brings 
Knowledge of good and ill, which I have set ' 
The pledge of thy obedience and thy faith. 
Amid the garden by the tree of life. 
Remember what I warn thee, shun to taste, 
And shun the bitter con,sequence : for know. 
The day thou eat'st thereof, my sole command 
Transgressed, inevitably thoushalt die, 
From that day mortal, and this happy state 
Shalt lose, expelled from hence into a world 
Of wo and sorrow.' Sternly he pronounced 
The rigid interdiction, which resounds 
Yet dreadful in mine ear, though my choice 
Not to incur; but soon his clear aspect 
Returned, and gracious purpose thus renewea. 
' Not only these fair bounds, but all the earth 
To thee and to thy race I give : as lords 
Possess it, and all things that therein live. 
Or live in sea, or air ; beast, fish, and fowl. 
In sign whereof each bird and beast behold 
After their kinds ; I bring them to receive 
From thee their names, and pay thee fealty 
With low subjection ; understand the same 
Of fish within their watery residence. 
Not hither summoned, since they can not change 
Their element, to draw the thinner air.' 
As thus he spake, each bird and beast behold 
Approaching two and two ; these cowering low 
With blandishment; each bird stooped on his 

wing. 
I named them, as they passed, and understood 
Their nature, with such knowledge God endued 
My sudden apprehension: but in these 
I found not what methought I wanted still : 
And to the heavenly vision thus presumed. 

" ' O by what name, for thou above all these, 
Above mankind, or aught than mankind higher, 
Surpasseth far my naming, how may I 
Adore thee. Author of this universe, 
And all this good to man 1 for whose well being 
So amply, and with hands so liberal. 
Thou hast provided all things: but with me 
I see not who partakes. In solitude 
What happiness, who can enjoy alone, , 
Or, all enjoying, what contentment find *?' 
Thus I presumptuous; and the vision bright, 
As with a smile more brightened, thus replied: 

" ' What call'st thou sohtude] is not the earth 
With various living creatures, and the air, 
Replenished, and all these at thy command 
To come and plav before thee 1 knowcst thou not 
Their language and their ways 1 they also know, 
And reason not contemptibly : with these 



60 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book viii. 



Find pastime, and bear rule ; thy realm is large.' 
So spake the universal Lord, and seemed 
So ordering. I, with leave of speech implored, 
And humble deprecation, thus replied. 

" ' Let not my words offend thee, heavenly 
power : 
My Maker, be propitious while I speak. 
Hast thou not made me here thy substitute, 
And these inferior far beneath me setl 
Among unequals what society 
Can sort, what harmony or true delight*? 
Which must be mutual, in proportion due 
Given and received ; but in disparity, 
The one intense, the other still remiss, 
Can not well suit with cither, but soon prove 
Tedious alike ; of fellowship I speak 
Such as I seek, fit to participate 
All rational delight, wherein the brute 
Can not be human consort ; they rejoice 
Each with their kind, lion with lioness; 
So fitly them in pairs thou hast combined : 
Much less can bird with beast, or fish with fowl 
So well converse, nor with the ox the ape : 
Worse then can man with beast, and least of all.' 

" Whereto th' Almighty answered, not dis- 
pleased. 
• A nice and subtle happiness, I see, 
Thou to thyself proposes!, in the choice 
Of thy associates, Adam, and wilt taste 
No pleasure, though in pleasure, solitary. 
What think 'st thou then of me, and this my statel 
Seem I to thee sufficiently possessed 
Of happiness, or not 1 who am alone 
From all eternity ; for none I know 
Second to me or like, equal much less. 
How have I then with whom to hold converse, 
Save with the creatures which I made, and those 
To me inferior, infinite descents 
Beneath what other creatures are to thee ?' 

" He ceased ; I lowly answered. ' To attain 
The height and depth of thy eternal ways 
All human thoughts come short. Supreme of 

things ! 
Thou in thyself art perfect, and in thee 
Is no deficience found ; not so is man, 
But in degree; the cause of his desire 
By conversation with his like to help. 
Or solace his defects. No need that thou 
Should'st propagate, already infinite. 
And through all numbers absolute, though one ; 
But man by number is to manifest 
His single imperfection, and beget 
Like of his like, his image multiplied, 
In unity defective, which require 
Collateral love, and dearest amity 
Thou in thy secrecy, although alone, 
Best with thyself accompanied, seek'st not 
Social communication ; yet, so pleased. 
Canst raise thy creature to what height thou wilt 



Of union or communion, deified: 

I, by conversing, can not these erect 

From prone ; nor in their ways complacence find. 

Thus I emboldened spake, and freedom used 

Permissive, and acceptance found ; which gained 

This answer from the gracious voice divine. 

" ' Thus far to try thee, Adam, I was pleased; 
And find knowing, not of beasts alone. 
Which thou hast rightly named, but of thyself; 
Expressing well the spirit within thee free. 
My image, not imparted to the brute ; 
Whose fellowship therefore unmeet for thee 
Good reason wast thou freely shouldst dislike; 
And be so minded still : I, ere thou spak'st, 
Knew it not good for man to be alone. 
And no such company as then thou saw'st 
Intended thee, for trial only brought. 
To see how thou could'st judge of fit and meet: 
What next I bring shall please thee, be assured, 
Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy other self. 
Thy wish exactly to thy heart's desire.' 

" He ended, or I heard no more; for now 
My earthly by his Heavenly overpowered. 
Which it had long stood under, strained to th' 

height 
In that celestial colloquy sublime. 
As with an object that excels the sense. 
Dazzled and spent, sunk down, and sought repair 
Of sleep, which instantly fell on me, called 
By nature, as in aid, and closed mine eyes. 
Mine eyes he closed, but open left the cell 
Of fancy, my internal sight, by which, 
Abstract as in a trance, methought I saw, " 

Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the shape 
Still glorious before whom awake 1 stood ; 
Who, stooping, opened my left side, and took 
From thence a rib, with cordial spirits warm, 
And life-blood streaming fresh; wide was the 

wound, 
But suddenly with flesh filled up and healed : 
The rib he formed and fashioned with his hands; 
Under his forming hands a creature grew. 
Manlike, but different sex ; so lovely fair. 
That what seemed fair in all the world, seemed 

now 
Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained 
And in her looks, which from that time infused 
Sweetness into my heart, unfelt before, 
And into all things from her air inspired 
The spirit of love and amorous delight. 
She disappeared, and left me dark ; I waked 
To find her, or for ever to deplore 
Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure : 
When out of hope, behold her, not fiir off, 
Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned 
With what all earth or Heaven could bestow 
To make her amiable : on she came. 
Led by her Heavenly Maker, though unseen, 
And guided by his voice ; nor uninformed 



Book vin. 



PARADISE LOST. 



61 



Of nuptial sanctity, and marriage rites : 
Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye, 
In every gesture dignity and love. 
I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud. 

" ' This turn hath made amends ; thou hast ful- 
filled 
Thy words, Creator bounteous and benign, 
Giver of all things ftiir ! but fairest this 
Of all thy gifts ! nor cnvicst. I now see 
Bone of my bone, flesli of my Hesh, myself 
Before me ; woman is her name, of man 
Extracted: for this cause he shall forego 
Father and mother, and to his wife adhere; 
And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul.' 

" She heard me thus, and, though divinely 
brought. 
Yet iimocencc and virgin modesty. 
Her virtue and the conscience of her worth. 
That would be wooed, and not unsought be won, 
Not obvious, not obstrusive, but retired. 
The more desirable ; or, to say all. 
Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought. 
Wrought in her so, that, seeing me, she turned: 
I followed her ; s!ie what was honour knew, 
And with obsequious majesty approved 
My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower 
I led her blushing like the morn : all Heaven, 
And happy constellations, on that hour 
Shed their selectest influence ; the earth 
Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill; 
Joyous the birds ; fresh gales and gentle airs 
Whispered it to the woods, and from their wings 
Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub, 
Disporting, till the amorous bird of night 
Sung spousal, and bid haste the evening star 
On his hill top, to light the bridal lamp. 

" Thus have I told thee all my state, and brought 
My story to the sum of earthly bliss. 
Which I enjoy; and must confess to find 
In all things else, delight indeed, but such 
As, used or not, works in the mind no change, 
Nor vehement desire ; these delicacies, 
I mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits, and 

flowers. 
Walks, and the melody of birds : but here 
Far otherwise, transported I behold. 
Transported touch ; here passion first I felt, 
Commotion strange ! in all enjoyments else 
Superior and unmoved; here only weak 
Against the charm of beauty's powerful glance. 
Or nature failed in me, and left some part 
Not i)roof enough such object to sustain; 
Or, from my side subducting, took perhaps 
More than enough ; at least on her bestowed 
Too much of ornament, in outward show 
Elaborate, of inward less exact. 
For well I understand in the prime end 
Of nature her th' inferior in the mind 
And inward faculties, wliich most excel; 



In outward also her resembling less 
His image who made botli, and less expressing 
The character of that dominion given 
O'er other creatures : yet when I approach 
Her loveliness, so absolute she seems. 
And in herself complete, so well to know 
Her own, that what she wills to do or say, 
Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best; 
All higher knowledge in her jjresence falls 
Degraded; wisdom in discourse with her 
Loses discountenanced, and like folly shows; « 
Authority and reason on her wait, 
As one intended first, not after made 
Occasionally; and, to consunnnate all, 
Greatness of mind, and nobleness, their seat 
Build in her loveliest, and create an awe 
About her, as a guard angelic placed." 

To whom the angel, with contracted brow, 
" Accuse not nature, she hath done her part ; 
Do thou but thine ; and be not diffident 
Of wisdom ; she deserts thee not, if thou 
Dismiss not her, when most thou nced'st her nigh, 
By attributing over much to things 
Less excellent, as thou thyself perceiv'st. 
For what admirest thou, what transports thee so,, 
An outside ? fair, no doubt, and worthy well 
Thy cherishing, thy honouring, and thy love; 
Not thy subjection : weigh with her thyself; 
Then value: ofltimes nothing profits more 
Than self-esteem, grounded on just and right 
Well managed ; of that skill the more thou know- 

est, 
The more she will acknowledge thee her head,, 
And to realities yield all her shows : 
Made so adorn for thy deliget the more. 
So awful, that with honour thou may'st love 
Thy mate, who sees when thou art seen least wise: 
But if the sense of touch, whereby mankind 
Is propagated, seem such dear delight 
Beyond all other, think the same vouchsafed 
To cattle and each beast; which would not be 
To them made common and divulged, if aught 
Therein enjoyed were worthy to subdue 
The soul of man, or passion in him move. 
What higher in her society thou find'st 
Attractive, human, rational, love still ; 
In loving thou dost well, in passion not. 
Wherein true love consists not; love refines 
The thoughts, and heart enlarges ; hath his se£rt 
In reason, and is judicious; is the scale 
By which to heavenly love thou may'st ascend, 
Not sunk in carnal pleasure ; for which cause 
Among the beasts no mate for thee was found." 

To whom thus, half abashed, Adam replied. 
" Neither her outside, formed so fair, nor aught 
In procreation common to all kinds 
(Though higher of the genial bed by far, 
And with mysterious reverence 1 deem) 
So much delights me, as those graceful acts. 



62 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book ix. 



Those thousand decencies, that daily flow 
From all her words and actions, mixed with love 
And sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned 
Union of mind, or in us both one soul ; 
Harmony to behold in wedded pair 
More grateful than harmonious sound to the ear. 
Yet these subject not ; I to thee disclose 
What inward thence I feel, not therefore foiled, 
Who meet with various objects, from the sense 
Variously representing: yet, still free, 
Approve the best, and follow what I approve. 
To love tliou blam'st me not, for love, thou say'st. 
Leads uj) to Heaven, is both the way and guide : 
Bear with me tiien, if lawful what I ask : 
Love not the heavenly spirits, and how their love 
Express they 1 by looks only 1 or do they mix 
Irradiance, virtual or inunediate touch 1" 

To whom tlie angel, with a smile that glowed 
Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue. 
Answered. " Let it suflice thee that thou knowest 
Us ha])py, and without love no happiness. 
Whatever pure thou in the body enjoy'st, 
(And pure thou wert created) we enjoy 
In eminence, and obstacle find none 
Of membrane, joint, or limb, exclusive bars ; 
Easier than air with air, if spirits embrace, 
Total they mix, union of pure with pure 
Desiring; nor restraitied conveyance need. 
As flesh to mix with flesh, or soul with soul. 
But I can now no more; the parting sun 
Beyond the earth's green cape and verdant isles 
Hesperean sets, my signal to depart. 
Be strong, live happy, and love ! but, first of all, 
Him, whom to love is to obey, and keep 
His great command ; take heed lest passion sway 
Thy judgment to do aught, which else free will 
Would not admit : thine, and of all thy sons, 
The weal or wo in thee is placed ; beware ! 
I in thy persevering shall rejoice. 
And ail the blest : stand fast ; to stand or fall 
Free in thine own arbitrement it lies. 
Perfect within, no outward aid require; 
And all temptation to transgress, repel." 

So saying, he arose; whom Adam thus 
Followed with benediction. " Since to part, 
Go, heavenly guest, ethereal messenger. 
Sent from whose sovereign goodness I adore ! 
Gentle to me and aflable hath been 
Thy condescension, and shall be honoured ever 
With grateful memory : thou to mankind 
Be good and friendly still, and oil return." 

So parted they ; the angel up to Heaven 
From the thick shade, and Adam to his bower. 

BOOK IX. 



pent slecpingr. Ailam and Eve in the mnniing go forth to 
their liibouis, wtiicli Eve proposes to iliviiic in several places, 
earli lahourini; apart; Adam conseiila not, allesini;! the daJi- 
ger, lest that cnoniy, of whom they were forcwained, slioiild 
attempt her, Ibiiiid alone; Eve, loath to he thought not cir- 
cumspect or firm enough, urgea her going a[)ar(, the rather 
desirous to make trial of her sirenglh ; Adam at last yields; 
the serpent finds her alone ; liis mihlle approach, first gazing, 
then s|x;aking; with mucli flattery c.\tolliiig Eve above all 
other creatures. Eve, wondering to hear ihe serpent speak, 
asks how he atlained to human speech and such understand- 
ing not till now; ihe serpent an.swei-?, thai by tasling of a certain 
tree in the garden he attained Iwili to speech anil reason, (ill 
then void of bolh ; Eve requires him lo bring lier lo that Iree, 
and finds it to be the Iree of knowledge fi)rbidden : the scr- 
penl, now grown bolder, with many wiles and argumenls in- 
duces her at lengdi to eat; she, pleased with the taste, delibe- 
rates a while whether lo imparl thereof to Adam or nol ; at last 
brings him of tlie fruit ; relates what persuaded her to eat 
thereof; Adam, at first amazed, but perceiving her lost, re- 
solves, Oirough vehemence of love, to perish with her; and, 
extenuating the iresi)a.ss, eats also of tlie fruit ; the etTecta 
thereof in them both; they seek lo cover tlieir nakedness; 
then fall to variance and accusation of one another. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Satan, having compassed the earth, with meditated guile 
returns, as a mist by night, into Paradise; enters into the 8er- 



No more of talk, where God or angel guest 
With man, as with his friend, familiar used 
To sit indulgent, and with him partake 
Rural repast : permitting him the while 
Veniid discourse unblamed : I now must change 
Those notes to tragic ; foul distrust, and breach 
Disloyal ; on the part of man, revolt, 
And disobedience : on the part of Heaven, 
Now alienated, distance and distaste. 
Anger and just rebuke, and judgment given, 
That brought into this world a world of wo, 
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery, 
Death's harbinger: sad task ! yet argumtMit 
Not less, but more heroic than the wrath 
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued 
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall ; or rage 
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespoused ; 
Of Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long 
Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son; 
If answerable style I can obtain 
Of my celestitd patroness, who deigns 
Her nightly visitation unimplored. 
And dictates to me slumbering, or inspires 
Easy my unpremeditated verse : 
Since first this subject for heroic song 
Pleased me, long choosing, and beginning late ; 
Not sedulous by nature to indite 
Wars, hitherto the only argument 
Heroic deemed ; chief mastery to dissect 
With long and tedious havoc, fabled knights 
In battles feigned; the better fortitude 
Of patience and heroic martyrdom 
Unsung ; or to describe raci^s and games. 
Or tilting furniture, emblazoned shields. 
Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds ; 
Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous kniglits 
At joust and tournament; then marshalled feast 
Served up in hall with sewers, and seneschals ; 



Book ix. 



PARADISE LOST. 



63 



The skill of artifice or oftico moan, 
Not that which justly gives heroic name 
To jierson or to |)oein. Mo of these 
Nor skilled nor studious, hijfhcr argument 
Remains, suflicient of itself to raise 
That name, unless an ago too late, or cold 
Climate, or years, damp my intended wing 
Depressed; and much they may, if all be mine, 
Not hers, who brings it nightly to my car. 

The sun was sunk, and after him the star 
Of Hesperus, whose oflice is to bring 
Twilight upon the earth, short arbiter 
'Twixt day and night, and now from end to end 
Night's hemisphere had veiled the horizon round 
Wlien Satan, who late fled before the threats 
Of Gabriel out of Elden, now improved 
In meditated fraud and malice, bent 
On man's destruction, maugrc what might hap 
Of heavier on himself, fearless returned. 
By night he fled, and at midnight returned 
From compassing the earth, cautious of day. 
Since Uriel, regent of the sun, descried 
His entrance, and forewarned the cherubim 
That kept their watch; thence, full of anguish 

driven, 
TliP space of seven continued nights he rode 
With darkness; thrice the equinoctial lino 
He circled ; four times crossed the car of night 
From pole to pole, traversing each colurc ; 
On the eighth returned, and, on the coast averse 
From entrance or cherubic watch, by stealth 
Found unsuspected way. There was a place, 
Now not, though sin, not time, first wrought the 

change. 
Where Tigris, at the foot of Paradise, 
Into a gulf shot under ground, till part 
Rose uj) a fountain by the tree of life; 
In with the river sunk, and with it rose 
Satan, involved in rising mist, then sought 
Where to lie hid; sea he had searched and land, 
From Eden over Pontus, and the pool 
Mffotis, up beyond the river Ob ; 
Downward as far antarctic; and in length 
West from Orontes to the ocean barred 
At Darien; thence to the land where flows 
Ganges and Indus: thus the orb he roamed 
With narrow search, and. with inspection deep, 
Considered every creature, which of all 
Most opportune might serve his wiles, and found 
The serpent subtlest beast of all the field. 
Him, after long debate, irresolute 
Of thoughts resolved, his final sentence chose 
Fit vessel, fittest imp of fraud in whom 
To enter, and his dark suggestions hide 
From sharpest sight: for, in the wily snake, 
Whatever sleights none would suspicious mark. 
As from bis wit and native subtlety 
Proceeding, which, in other beasts observed, 
Doubt might beget of diabolic power 



Active within, beyond the sense of brute. 
Thus he resolved, but first, from inward grief, 
His bursting passion into plaints thus poured. 

" O earth, how hkc to Heaven, if not preferreJ 
More justly, seat worthier of gods, as built 
With second thoughts, reforming what was old! 
For what God, after better, worse would build'? 
Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other Hea. 

vens 
That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps. 
Light above light, for thee alone, as seems, 
In thee conccnt'ring all their precious beams 
Of sacred influence ! As God in Heaven 
Is centre, yet extends to all, so thou, 
Centering, rcceivest from all those orbs; in thee, 
Not in themselves, all their known virtue, appears 
Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth 
Of creatures animate with gradual life 
Of growth, sense, reason, all summed \ip in man. 
Willi what delight could I have walked thee round, 
If I could joy in aught, sweet interchange 
Of hill and valley, rivers, woods, and plains, 
Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crowned. 
Rocks, dens, and caves ! but I in none of these 
Find place or refuge; and the more I see 
Pleasures about mc, so much more I feel 
Torment within mc, as from the hateful siege 
Of contraries; all good to me becomes 
Bane, and in Heaven much worse would be my 

state. 
But neither here seek I, no nor in Heaven 
To dwell, unless by mastering Heaven's Supreme , 
Nor hope to be myself less miserable 
By what I seek, but others to make such 
As I, though thereby worse to me redound : 
For only in destroying I find ease 
To my relentless thoughts; and, him destroyed, 
Or won to what may work his utter loss. 
For whom all thin was made, all this will soon 
Follow, as to him linked in weal or wo; 
In wo then; that destruction wide may rage: 
To me shall be the glory sole among 
The infernal powers, in one day to have marred 
What he. Almighty styled, six nights and days 
Continued making, and who knows how long 
Before had been contriving 7 though perhaps 
Not longer than since I, in one night, freed 
From servitude inglorious well nigh half 
The angelic name, and thinner left the throng 
Of his adorers: he, to be avenged. 
And to repair his numbers thus impaired. 
Whether such virtue spent of old now failed 
More angels to create, if they at least 
Are his created, or to spite us more. 
Determined to advance into our room 
A creature formed of earth, and him endow, 
Exalted from so base original, 
With Heavenly spoils, our spoils: what he de- 
creed 



M 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book ix 



He ('Hcitt'd; 111,111 ho iiiadi", and lor liini built 

Majfiiilii'ciit tills world, and earth his scat, 

Him Itird prononncoii; and, O indignity! 

Suhjectod to liiH service ani;el win>;H, 

And llaiuiiiif ministers, to watch and tend * 

'I'heii' oartiily clinr^e: of these the viirilanco 

I dread; and, to elude, thus wrapt in niitit 

Of niidniijht vajionr, jrlitio obscure, and jny 

In every imsli ami brake, where liaj) may find 

The serpent sh'eping, in whose nia/.y folds 

To hide me, and the dark intent I bring. 

Of foul d(>seentl that 1, who erst contended 

With gods to sit the highest, am now constrained 

Into a beast, and, mixed with bestial slime, 

This rsseiiee to incarnate and imbrhte, 

That to the htiglit of Deity aspired! 

But what will not ambition and revenge 

Descend tol who asjiires, must down as low 

As high he soared, olmoxious first or last 

To basest things. Revenge, at first, though sweet, 

Bitter ere long, back on itself recoils; 

Let it; I reck not, so it light well aimed. 

Since higlier I fall short, on him who next 

Provokes my envy, this new favourite 

CM' Heaven, this man of clay, son of despite, 

Whom, us the more to spile, his Maker raised 

From dust: spile then with spite is best repaid." 

So saying, tlu-ongh each thicket dank or dry, 
Like a black mist low creeinng, he held on 
His midnight search, where soonest he might find 
The serpent: him fast sleeping soon he found 
In labyrinth of many a round self rolled, 
His head the midst, well stored with subtle wiles: 
Nor yot in horrid shade or dismal den, 
Nor nocent yet, but on tlie grassy herb 
Fearless unfean-d he slept ; in at his mouth 
The Devil entered, and his brutal sense. 
In heart or head, possessing, soon inspired, 
Willi act iiilelligenlial; but his sleep 
Disturbed not, WiUting close th' approach of morn. 

Now when as sacred light began to dawn 
In Kden on tlie humid flowers, that breathed 
Their morning incense, when all things that 

breathe 
From the earth's great nJtar send up silent praise 
To the Creator, and his nostrils fill 
With grateful smell, forth came the luimon pair. 
And joined their vocal vvorsliip to the choir 
Of creatures wanting voice; that done, partake 
The season, prime for sweetesi scents and airs; 
Then commune how that day they best may ply 
Their growing work ; for much their work outgrew 
The hands' despatch of two gardening so wide, 
And F.ve first to her husband thus began. 

" Adam, well may we labour still to dress 
This garden, still to tend plant, herb and flower. 
Our pleasant task enjoined ; but, till more hands 
Aid us, the work under our labour grows, 
Luxurious by restr;uiit; what wo by dtiy 



Lo|) overgrown, or prune, or prop, or l)ind. 
One night or two with wanton growtli diTides, 
Tending to wilil. Thou therefore now adviso, 
Or bear what to my mind first thouglits present: 
Let us divide our labours; thou where choice 
Leads thee, or where most needs, whether to wind 
The woodbine round this arbour, or direct 
The clasping ivy where to climb; while I, 
In yonder spring of roses intermixed 
With myrtle, find what to redress till mwn; 
For while so near each other thus all day 
Our task we choose, what wonder if so near 
Looks intervene and smiles, or object new 
Casual discourse draw on, which intermits 
Our day's work, brought to little, tliougii begun 
Early, and the hour of supper comes unearned !" 

To whom mild answer Adam thus returned : 
" Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond 
Compare above all living creatures dear, 
Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughts em- 
ployed, 
TTow we might best fulfil the work which here 
God hath assigned us, nor of me shalt pass 
Unpraised : for nothing lovelier can be iound 
In woman, than to study household good. 
And good works in her husband to iiromote. 
Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposed 
Labour, as to debar us when we need 
nefreshment, whether food, or talk In'tween, 
Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourse 
Of looks and smiles: for smiles from reason flow. 
To brute denied, and are of love the food; 
Love, not the lowest end of human life. 
For not to irksome toil, but to delight 
Tie made us, ond delight to reason joined. 
These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint 

hands 
Will keep from wilderness with ease, as wide 
As we need walk, till younger hands ere long 
Assist us; but if much converse perhaps 
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield; 
For solitude sometimes is best scx'iety. 
And short retirement urges sweet return. 
But other doubt possesses me, lest harm 
Hefall thee sevenxl from me; for thou knowest 
What hath been warned us, what malicious foe, 
Envying our happiness, and of his own 
Despairing, seeks to work us wo and shame 
Ry sly assault; and somewhere nigh at hand 
Watches, no doubt, with greedy lioj^e to find 
His wish and best advantage, us asunder, 
Hopeless to circumvent us joined, where each 
To other sjieedy aid might lend at need : 
Whether his first design be to withdraw 
Our fealty from Cod, or to disturb 
Conjugal love, than which pcrhajis no bliss 
Enjoyed by us excites his envy more ; 
Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful side 
That gave thee being, still shades thee and protect* 



Book it. 



PARADISE LOST. 



G5 



Tlio v/U\', whcro (Innj^cr or dishniiour lurks, 
Salt-Kt and si'(Miili(»t by lior husliand Ktuys, 
Who fiiiards licr, or witli lior the worat endures." 
To whom tlic virjjin ni.ijesty of Kve, 
Aboiic who lovoH, and houic unkindncss meets, 
With Bweet austere coriipoHure thus replied. 

" Ollspringol' Heaven and i^artli, and all earth's 
lord, 
That such an enemy wc have, who seeks 
C)ur ruin, both hy thee informed I learn 
And Iroin tlic purlinj; anifcl overheard. 
As in a shady nook 1 stood behind, 
Just tiien returned at shut oC ev(!niiiir flowers. 
But that tliou slioiiidst my llrnmess tlu>reforc doubt 
To (Jod or thee, because wc have a foo 
May tempt it, I c^xpt^cte^d not to iiear. 
His violence thou feare.st not, beinj; such 
As we, not cajcdile of death or pain, 
Clan either not receive, or can repel. 
His fraud is then thy fear, which plain infers 
Thy e<iual fear that my firm faitii and love 
Can by his fraud be shaken or seduced; 
Thouffhts, which how found tiiey harbour in thy 

breast, 
Adam, misthought of her to thcc so dear?' 

To whom with healing words Adam rejjlicd. 
" Duuirhter of Ciod and man, immortal K\c\ 
For such Ihou art, from sin and blame entire; 
Not diUident of thee do I dissuade 
Thy absence from my siiflit, but to avoid 
Th' alteM)|)t itself intenihul by our foe. 
For he who temjits, tho' in vain, at least asperses 
The tcmjited with dishonour foul, supposed 
Not incorru[)tible of faith, not proof 
Against temptation: thou thyself with scorn 
And anger wouldst resent the olfered wrong, 
Though inefFectual found; misdeem not then, 
If such affront 1 labour to avert 
From thee alone, which on us both at once 
The enemy, though bold, will hardly dare. 
Or daring, first on me tlu; assault shall light. 
Nor thou his malice and falser guili! contenm; 
Subtle he needs nmst be, who could seduce 
Angels : nor think superfluous others' aid. 
1 from the inliuence of thy looks receive 
Access in every virtue; in thy siglit 
More wise, more watchfid, stronger, if need were 
Of outward strength; while shame, thou looking 

on. 
Shame to be overcome or overreached. 
Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite. 
Why should'st not thou like sense within thcc 

feel 
When I am present, and thy trial choose 
With me, best witness of thy virtu(; tri(^dT' 

So spake domestic Adam in his care 
And matrimonial love; but Eve, who thought 
Less attriliuted to h(!r faith sincere. 
Thus her reply with accents sweet renewed. 
7 I 



" If this be our condition thus to dwell 
In narrow circuit straitened by a foo, 
Sul)lle or violent, we not endued 
Single with light (h^fiMice, wherever met, 
1 low an; we happy, still in fear of harmf 
J'ut harm precedes not sin: only our foe, 
Tempting, allVonts ns with his foul esteem 
Of ourint<'grily; liis Ibul esteem 
Sticks no dishonour on our front, hut turns 
Foul on himself; tlien wiierefore shunned or feared 
I!y us'.' wlio ratlier douliii^ honour gain 
From his surmise proved false, find peace within, 
Favour from 1 heaven, our witness, from th' event. 
And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayed 
Alone, without exterior help suslainc^d] 
Let us not then suspect our luipi)y state 
Left so imperfect by the Maker wise;. 
As not secure to single or combined. 
l<'rail is our happiness, if this be so, 
And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed." 
To whom thus Adam fervently re])lied. 
" O woman, best an! all tilings as the will 
Of God ordained thera; his creating hand 
Nothing imperfect or deficient lefl 
Ofalltir.it he created, much less man. 
Or aught that might his ha[)py state secure, 
Secure from outward force; vvitliin himself 
The danger lies, yi't lies within his powerj 
Against his will Ik; can receive no harm. 
But (Jod lefl free the will ; for what obeys 
Reason is free; and n-ason liiis made right, 
But bid her well beware, and still erect. 
Lest, by some fair-appearing good surprised, 
She dictate false, and misinform tlic will 
To do what God ex[)ressly hath forbid. 
Not then mistrust but tender love enjoins, 
That I should mind thcc ofl, and mind thou me. 
Firm we subsist, yet possiiile to swerve 
Since reason not imjiossibly may meet 
Some 8|)ecious obj(!ct hy the foe suborned. 
And fall into deception unaware. 
Not keeping strictc^st watch as slie was warned. 
Seek not temptation then, which to avoid 
Were better, and most likely if from me 
Thou sever not; trial will come unsought. 
Would'st tliou ajiprove thy constancy, ajijirovo 
First thy ol)edicn(U!; the other who can know, 
Not seeing tliee attempted, who attest 1 
But if thou tiiiiik trial unsought may (ind 
Us both securer than tiius warned thou secm'st, 
Go: for thy Bt.ay, not free, absents thee more; 
Go, in thy native innocence, rely 
On what thou hast of virtue; summon all! 
l-'or God towards thee hath done his part, do 
thine.' 

So spake the patriarcli of mankind ; but Eve 
Persisted, yet submiss, thougli last reiilic^d. 

" With thy permission then, and thus fore- 
warned, 



GO 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book fx. 



Chiefly l>y what thy own Inst reasoning words 

Toucht'il only, that mir trial, when least sou<fht, 

May hiid MS both perhaps I'ar less prepared, 

The willinger 1 go, nor niiieh expeet 

A foe so jiroud will first tl\o weaker seek; 

So hent, the more shall shame him his repulse." 

Thus saying, from her husband's h;in(l her hand 
Sort she vvithdrrw, and, like a vvood-nynipii light 
Oread or dryad, or of Delia's train. 
Retook her to tlie grov(>s; hut Defia's self 
In gait surpassed, anil goddess like deport, 
Though not as she with bow and quiver armed, 
Kut with sueli gardening tools as art, yet rnde, 
Ouillless of fire, had formed, or angels brought. 
To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorned, 
liikest she seemed Pomona, when she fled 
Vertninnus, or to Ceres in her })rime. 
Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove. 
Her loni: witli ardent look his eye pursued 
Delighted, but tlesiring more her stay. 
( )ll he to her his charge o( quick return 
llepeated; she to him as oil engaged 
To be returned by noon amid the bower, 
And all things in best order to invite 
JNoontide repast, or allernoon's repose. 
O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve, 
(^t'tliv presumed return! event perverse! 
Thou never from that hour in Parailiso 
Found'st either sweet repast, or sound repose; 
Such amhusli, hid among sweet flowers and 

sliades, 
Waited with hellish rancour imminent 
To intercept thy way, or send thee back 
Despoiled of innocence, t>f faith, of bliss ! 
For now, and since flrst break of dawn, the fiend, 
Mere serpent in ajipearance, forth was come. 
And on his quest, wiicre likeliest he might liiul 
The only two of mankind, but in tiiein 
The whole included race, his purposed prey. 
In bower and field he sought, where any tull 
Of grove or garden-plot more plcsant lay. 
Their tendance, or plantation of delight; 
By fountain or by shady rivulet 
He sought them both, but wished his hap might 

find 
Eve separate ; he wished, hut not with hope 
Of what so seldom chanced ; when to his wish, 
Beyond his hope, Kve separate he spies. 
Veiled in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood. 
Half spied, so thick the roses blushing round 
About her glowed, oft stiniping to support 
Each llower of slender stalk, whose head, though gay 
Carnation, purple, azure, or siH'cked with gold, 
Hung drooping unsustained; them she njistays 
Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while 
Herself, though fairest unsupported llower. 
From her best prop so far, and storm so nigli. 
Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed 
Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm; 



Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen, 
Among thick-woven arborets and (lowers 
Imbordered on each bank, the hand of Eve: 
Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned 
t)r of revived Adonis, or renowned 
Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son ; 
Or th;it, not mvstic, where the sapient king 
Held dalliance with his fair Egy|)tian si)0use. 
Much he the place admired, the person nioro. 
As one who, long in populou.s city pent, 
Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air, 
l-'orth issuing on a summer's morn, to breathe 
Among the })Ieasant villages and farms 
Adjoined, from each tiling met conceives delight; 
The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine, 
Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound; 
If chance with nyin])h like stei) fair virgin pass. 
What pleasing seemed, for her now pleases more; 
Slie most, and in her look sums all delight: 
Such pleasure took the serpent to heliold 
This llovvcry plat, the sweet recess of l'2vc 
Thus early, tiuis alone; her hea\enly form 
Angelic, hut more soil, and feminine, 
ller graceful innocence, her every air 
Of gesture, or least action, overawed 
His malice, and with rapine sweet hei-caved 
riis tierceness of the fierce intent it brought; 
That space tiie evil-one abstracted stood 
From his own evil, and for the time remained 
Stupidly good, of enmity disarmed, 
( M' guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge: 
Hut the hot hell that always in him burns, 
Though in mid Heaven, soon ended his deligtit, 
And tortures him now more, the more he sci's 
Of pleasure, not for him ordained : then sixm 
Fierce hate lie recollects, and all his thoughts 
Of mischief gratulating, thus excites. 
" Thoughts, whither have ye led me ! witli what 
sweet 
Compulsion thus transported, to forget 
What hitiier brought us; hate, not love, nor hope 
Of Paradise for hell, hoiie there to taste 
Of pleasure, hut, all pleasure to destroy, 
Save what is in destroying: other joy 
To me is lost. Then let mo not let pass 
Occasion which now smiles ; behold alone 
The woman, opportune to all attempts, 
Her husband, for 1 view far round, not nigh, 
Whose higher intellectual more 1 shun, 
And strength, of courage haughty, aaid of lunb 
1 leroic built, though of terrestrial mould ; 
Foe not in formidable' exempt from wound, 
I not ; so much hath hell debased, and pain 
F.nfeehled me, to what I was in Heaven. 
She fair, divinely fair, (it love for gods! 
Not terrible, though terror he in love 
And lieauty, not approached by stronger hate. 
Hate stronger, under show of love well feigned; 
The way which to her ruin now 1 tend," 



Book ix. 



PARADISE LOST. 



fi7 



SoKpako the oncmy of inankind, enclosed 
In 8('r|icnt, inmate bail ! and towiinl Kvc 
Addressed liis way: not with indented wave, 
Prone on the j;round, as since: l)ut on his rca(, 
Cireiihir huso of risinij )()lds, tliat towered 
l'"old aiiovc fold, asnririnif maze! his head 
CreKtcd idoO, and e;irhnni'le his eyes; 
With burnished neck of verduiit f.;«ld, erect 
Amidst his circling S[)irc9, that on the grass 
Floiited redundiint; pieiiKiiig was his shape, 
Anil lovely; never since of Her]ient kind 
LoveliiT; not those that in lllyria changed 
Ilerminne and ( 'admus, or tlu! i^od 
In I'ljiidaurus ; nor to whicii transformed 
Anunonian Jovo, or Ca[)itolinc was seen ; 
He with f)lyMi|)ias, this with her who horc 
Scipio, the heij^ht of Rome. With tract oitliquo 
At first, as one who sought access, but feared 
To interrupt, sidelong he works his way. 
As when a siii|), by skilful steersman vvrougbt, 
Nigh river's mouth or foreland, when; the wind 
Veers o(t, as oil so sUmts, and shifts her nails ; 
So varied he, and of his tortuous train 
Curled many a wanton wreath in sight of Kve, 
To lure hisr eye; slic, busied, hi^ard the sound 
Of rustling icavcm, but minded not, as used 
To such (lis|)ort before her through the field, 
From every txsast, more duteous at her call, 
Than at Circean call the herd disguised. 
He, bolder now, uncalled before her stood, 
But as in gaze admiring: oft he bowed 
His turret crest, and sleek enamelled neck, 
Fawning, and licked the ground whereon she trod. 
His gentle! dumb expression turned at length 
The eye of Eve to mark his i)lay ; he, glad 
Of her attention gained, with serpent tongue 
Organic, or im|)ulse of vocal air. 
His frandnlent temptation thus l)egan. 

" Wonder not, sovc^reign mistress, if perha[)S 
Thou canst, who art sole wonder! much less arm 
Thy looks, the Heaven of mildness, with disdain. 
Displeased that 1 approach tlice thus, and gaze 
Insatiate; I thus single, nor have feared 
Thy awful brow, more awful thus retired. 
Fairest resi'mblaric(! of thy Maker fair. 
Thee all things living gaze on, all things thine 
By gift, and thy celestial beauty adori; 
With ravishment beheld, there best beheld 
Where universally admired ; but hero 
In this enclosure wild, these beasts among, 
Beholders rude, anil shallow to discern 
Half what in thee is fair, one man except, 
Who sees thee 1 (and what is one ?) who should'st 

be seen 
A goddess among gods, adored and served 
By angels nurnl)erl( ss, thy daily train." 

So glozed the tempter, and his proem tuned : 
Into the heart of Evo his words made way 



Though at the voice much marvelling ; at length, 

Not uriamazed, she thus in ;uiswer spake. 

" Wli.it may liiis mean '! language of man pro- 
nouru-ed 

IJy tongue of brute, and human sense exjiresscd? 

The first, at least, of thesi; I tliought denied 

To beasts, whom (loil, on their creation-duy, 

Crciated mule to all articulate sound; 

The latter I demur; for in their looks 

IVlucii reason, ami in their actions, oft ajipears. 

Thee, serpent, subtlest beast of all the field 

I knew, but not with human voice endued; 

Redoubli! then this miriieje, and say. 

Mow eain'st thou speakiible of imite, and now 

To m(! so friiuidly grown aboviHlu! rest 

Of brutal kind, thai daily are in sight'! 

Say, for such wonder ehiims alteiitioii duiv" 
To whom the guileful tempter thus rejilied. 

" I'lmpress of this fair world, resplendent lOvel 

l'!asy to me it is to tell thee all 

What thou commandcst, and right thou shouldst 
he obeyed ; 

I was at first as other beasts that graze 

I'he trodden lierii, of abject thoughts and low. 
As was my food ; nor aught but foi«l discerned 
Or sex, and apjirehenchnl notiiing high: 
Till, on a day roving the field, I chanced 
A goodly tree far distant to l)ehold, . - ««^ 

Loaden with fruit of fairest colours mixed, , J5?** 
Ruddy and gold : I nearer drew to gaze ; 
When from thi; boughs a savoury odour blown. 
Grateful to ai)[)etite, more pleased my sense 
Thau smell of sweetest fennel, or the teats 
Of ewe or goat drop[)ing with milk at (;ven, 
Unsucked of lamb or kid, that tend their play, 
T» satisfy the sharp desire I had 
( >f tasting those fair apples, I resolved 
Not to deli:r ; hunger and thirst at once, 
Powerful i)ersuaders, (piickened at the scent 
Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen. 
About the mossy trunk 1 wound mc^ soon. 
For, high from ground, the branches would re- 
quire 
Thy utmost reach or Adam's: round the tree 
All other beasts that saw, with like desire 
Longing and envying stood, but could not reach. 
Amid the tri'c now got, where plenty hung 
Tempting so nigh, to pluck and eat my fill 
I spared not ; for such pleasure till that hour, 
At feed or fountain nirver had I found. 
Sated at length, en; long I might |)erceive 
Strange alteration in me, to degree 
Of reason in my inward [lowers, and speech 
Wanted not long, though to this shape retained. 
Thenceforth to s[)eculations high or deep 
I turned my thoughts, and with capacious mind 
Considered all things visible in Heaven, 
Or earth, or middle, all things fair and good : 



«► 



68 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book xi. 



But all that fair and good in thy divine 
Semblance, and in thy beauty's heavenly ray, 
United I beheld ; no fair to thine 
Equivalent or second, which compelled 
Me thus, though inijiortune perhaps, to come 
And gaze, and worship thee, of right declared 
Sovereign of creatures, universal dame !" 

So talked the spirited, sly snake ; and Eve, 
Yet more amazed, unwary thus replied. 
" Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt 
The virtue of that fruit, in thee first proved : 
But say, where grows the tree 1 from hence how 

farl 
For many are the trees of God that grqw 
In Paradise, and various, yet unknown 
To us ; in such abundance lies our choice, 
As leaves a greater store of fruit untouched, 
Still hanging incorruptible, till men 
Grow up to their provision, and more hands 
Help to disburden Nature of her birth." 

To whom the wily adder, blithe and glad 
" Empress, the way is ready, and not long ; 
Beyond a row of myrtles, on a flat. 
Fast by a fountain, one small thicket past 
Of blowing myrrh and balm; if thou accept 
My conduct, I can bring thee thither soon." 

"Lead then," said Eve. He, leading, swiftly 
rolled 
In tangles, and made intricate seem straight, 
To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy 
Brii'htens his crest ; as when a wandering fire, 
Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night 
Condenses, and the cold environs round. 
Kindled through agitation to a flame, 
Which oft, they say, some evil spirit attends, 
Hovering and blazing with delusive light, 
Misleads the amazed night wanderer from his way 
To bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool; 
There swallowed up and lost, from succour far. 
So glistered the dire snake, and into fraud 
Led Eve, our credulous mother to the tree 
Of prohibition, root of all our wo ; 
Which when she saw, thus to her guide she Rpake. 
" Serpent, we might have spared our coming hither. 
Fruitless to me, though fruit be here to excess. 
The credit of whose virtue rests with thee; 
Wondrous indeed, if cause of such eflects. 
But of this tree we may not taste nor touch; 
God so commanded, and left that command 
Sole daughter of his voice ; the rest, we live 
Law to ourselves ; our reason is our law." 

To whom the tempter guilefully replied. 
" Indeed ! hath God then said that of the fruit 
Of all these garden trees ye shall not eat. 
Yet lords declared of all in earth or air V 

To whom thus Eve, yet sinless. " Of the fruit 
Of each tree \\\ the garden we may eat ; 
But of the fruit of tlus fair tree amidst 



The garden, God hath said, ' Ye shall not eat 
Thereof, nor shall ye touch it, lest ye die.'" 

She scarce had said, though brief, when now 
more bold 
The tempter, but with show of zeal and love 
To man, and indignation at his wrong. 
New parts put on; and, as to passion moved, 
Fluctuates disturbed, yet comely and in act 
Raised, as of some gre.Tt matter to begin. 
As when of old some orator renowned. 
In Athens or free Rome, where eloquence 
Flourished, since mute, to some great cause ad- 
dressed. 
Stood in himself collected ; while each part, 
Motion, each act, won audience ere the tongue; 
Sometimes in height began, as no delay 
Of preface brooking, through his zeal of right : 
So standing, moving, or to height up grown, 
The tempter, all impassioned, thus began. 

" O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving plant, 
Mother of science I now I feel thy power 
Within me clear, not only to discern 
Things in their causes, but to trace the ways 
Of highest agents, deemed however wise. 
Clucen of this universe! do not believe 
Those rigid threats of death; ye shall not die: 
How should yel by the fruit 1 it gives you hfe 
To knowledge: by the threatenerl look on me, 
Mc who have touched and tasted, yet both live, 
And life more perfect have attained than fate 
Meant me, by venturing higlier than my lot. 
Shall that be shut to man, which to the beast 
Is open 1 or will God incense his ire 
For such a petty trespass 1 and not praise 
Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain 
Of death denounced, whatever thing death be, 
Deterred not from acliieving what might lead 
To happier life, knowledge of good and evil; 
Of good, how just 1 of evil, if what is evil 
Be real, why not known, since easier shunned 1 
God therefore can not hurt ye, and be just ; 
Not just, not God ; not feared then, nor obeyed: 
Your fear itself of death removes the fear. 
Why then was this forbid] Why, but to awe"? 
Why, but to keep ye low and ignorant. 
His worshippers'? He knows that in the day 
Ye cat thereof, your eyes that seem so clear, 
Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then 
Opened and cleared, and ye shall be as gods, 
Knowing both good and evil, as they know. 
That ye shall be as gods, since I as man, 
Internal man, is but proportion meet; 
I, of brute, human; ye, of human, gods. 
So ye shall die perhaps, by putting oflf 
Human, to put on gods; death to be wished. 
Though threatened, which no worse than this can 

bring. 
And what are gods, that man may not become 



■W- 



Book tx. 



PARADISE LOST. 



69 



As they, participating godlike food 1 
The gods are first, and that advantage use 
On our belief, that all from thein proceeds : 
I question it ; for this fair earth I see. 
Warmed by the sun, producing every kind ; 
Them, nothing ; if they all things, who enclosed 
Knowledge of good and evil in tliis tree, 
That whoso eats thereof, forthwith attains 
Wisdom without their leave 1 and wherein lies 
The ofience, that man should thus attain to know? 
What can your knowledge hurt him, or this tree 
Impart against his will, if all be his ? 
Or is it envyl and can envy dwell 
In heavenly breasts 1 These, these and many more 
Causes import your need of this fair fruit. 
Goddess humane, reach then, and freely taste!" 

He ended ; and his words, replete with guile, 
Into her heart too easy entrance won: 
Fixed on the fruit she gazed, which to behold 
Might tempt alone ; and in her ears the sound 
Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregned 
With reason, to her seeming, and with truth : 
Meanwhile the hour of noon drew on, and walied 
An eager appetite, raised by the smell 
So savoury of that fruit, with which desire, 
Inclinable now grown to touch or taste, 
Solicited her longing eye ; yet first 
Pausing a while, thus to herself she mused. 

" Great are thy virtues, doubtless, best of fruits. 
Though kept from man, and worthy to be admired : 
Whose taste, too long forborne, at first assay 
Gave elocution to the mute, and taught 
The tongue not made for speech, to speak thy 

praise : 
Thy praise he also, who forbids thy use, 
Conceals not from us, naming thee the tree 
Of knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil; 
Forbids us then to taste! but his forbidding 
Commends thee more, while it infers the good 
By thee communicated, and our want: 
For good unknown, sure is not had ; or, had 
And yet unknown, is as not had at all. 
In plain then, what forbids he but to know. 
Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise 7 
Such prohibitions bind not. But, if death 
Bind us with after-bands, what profits then 
Our inward freedoml In the day we eat 
Of this fair fruit, our doom is, we shall die. 
How dies the serpent 1 he hath eaten and lives, 
And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns, 
Irrational till then. For us alone 
Was death invented "? or to us denied 
This intellectual food, for beasts reserved 1 
For beasts it seems : yet that one beast which first 
Hath tasted, envies not, but brings with joy 
The good befallen him, author unsuspect, 
Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile. 
What fear 1 then? rather, what know to fear 
Under this ignorance of good and evil, 

i2 



Of God or death, of law or penalty 1 

Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine, 

Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste. 

Of virtue to make wise: what hinders then 

To reach, and feed at once both body and mindl'' 

So saying, her rash hand in evil hour 
Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat I 
Earth felt the wound ; and Nature from her seat, 
Sighing through ail her works, gave signs of wo. 
That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk 
The guilty serpent; and well migiit; for Eve, 
Intent now wholly on her taste, nauglit else 
Regarded; such delight till then, as seemed. 
In fruit she never tasted, whether true 
Or fancied so, through expectation high 
Of knowledge, nor was Godhead from her thought. 
Greedily she ingorged without restraint. 
And knew not eating death : satiate at length, 
And heightened as with wine, jocund and boon. 
Thus to herself she pleasingly began. 

" O sovereign, virtuous, precious of all trees 
In Paradise! of operation blest 
To sapience, hitherto obscured, infamed. 
And thy fair fruit let hang, as to no end 
Created; but henceforth my early care, 
Not without song, each morning, and due praiso, 
Shall tend thee, and the fertile burden ease 
Of thy full branches offered free to all; 
Till, dieted by thee, I grow mature 
In knowledge, as the gods, who all things know; 
Though others envy what they can not give; 
For, had the gift been theirs, it had not here 
Thus grown. Experience, next to thee I owe, 
Best guide; not following thee, I had remained 
In ignorance; thou openest wisdom's way. 
And giv'st access, though secret she retire. 
And I perhaps am secret : Heaven is high, 
High, and remote to see from thence distinct 
Each thing on earth; and other care, perhaps, 
May have diverted from continual watch 
Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies 
About him. But to Adam in what sort 
Shall I appear? shall I to make him known 
As yet my change, and give him to partake 
Full happiness with me, or rather not, 
But keep the odds of knowledge in my power 
Without copartner? so to add what wants 
In female sex, the more to draw his love. 
And render me more equal ; and perhaps, 
A thing not undesirable, sometime 
Superior; for, inferior, who is free? 
This may be well: but what if God haveseen„ 
And death ensue? then I shall be no morel 
And Adam, wedded to another Eve, 
Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct ; 
A d(iath to think! Confirmed then I resolve^ 
-Ad am shall share with me in bliss or wo: 
So dear I love hiin, that with him all deaths- 
I could endure, without him live ao life." 



w 



70 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book xi. 



So saying, from the tree her steps slie turned ; 
But first low reverence done, as to the power 
That dwelt within, whose presence had infused 
Into the plant sciential sap, derived 
From nectar, drink of gods. Adam, the while, 
Waiting desirous her return, had wove 
Of choicest flowers a garland, to adorn 
Her tresses, and her rural labours crown; 
As reapers oft are wont their harvest queen. 
Great joy he promised to his thoughts, and new 
Solace in her return, so long delayed : 
Yet oft his heart, divine of something ill. 
Misgave him ; he the faltering measure felt ; 
And forth to meet her went, the way she took 
, That morn when first they parted ; by the tree 
iff* Of knowledge he must pass ; there he her met, 
Scarce from the tree returning ; in her hand 
A bough of fairest fruit, that downy smiled, 
New gathered, and ambrosial smell ditfused. 
To him she hasted , in her face excuse 
Came prologue, and apology too prompt ; 
Which, with bland words at will, she thus ad- 
dressed. 
" Hast thou not wondered, Adam, at my stayl 
Thee I have missed, and tliought it long, deprived 
Thy presence ; agony of love till now 
Not felt, nor shall be twice ; for never more 
Mean 1 to try, what rasli untried I sought. 
The pain of absence from thy sight. But strange 
Hath been the cause, and wonderful to hear : 
This tree is not, as we are told, a tree 
Of danger tasted, nor to evi! unknown 
Opening the way, but of divine effect 
To open eyes, and make them gods who taste; 
And hath been tasted such : tlie serpent wise, 
Or not restrained as we, or not obeying, 
Hath eaten of the fruit, and is become. 
Not dead, as we are threatened, but thenceforth 
Endued with human voice and human sense, 
Reasoning to a(hiiiration ; and with me 
Per.suasively hath so prevailed, that I 
Have also tasted, and have also found 
The effects to correspond ; opener mine eyes, 
Dim erst, dilated spirits, ampler heart, 
And growing up to Godhead ; which for thee 
Chiefly I sought, without thee can despise. 
For bliss, as thou hast part, to me is bliss ; 
Tedious, unshared with thee, and odious soon. 
Thou therefore also taste, that equal lot 
May join us, equal joy, as equal love ; 
Lest, thou not tasting, diflTerent degree 
Disjoin us, and I then too late renounce 
Deity for thee, when fate will not permit." 

Thus Eve with countenance blithe her gtory 
told ; 
But in her cheek distemper flushing glowed. 
On the other side, Adam, soon as he heard 
The fatal trespass done by Eve, amazed, 
Astonished stood and blank, wlijle horror chill 



Ran through his veins, and all his joints relaxed; 
From his slack hand the garland wreathed for Eve 
Down dropt, and all the faded roses shed : 
Speechless he stood and pale, till thus at length 
First to himself he inward silence broke. 

" O fairest of creation, last and best 
Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled 
Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, 
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet ! 
How art thou lost ! how on a sudden lost, 
Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote! 
Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress 
The strict forbiddance, how to violate 
The sacred fruit forbidden! some cursed fraud 
Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown. 
And me with thee hath ruined ; for with thee 
Certain my resolution is to die: 
How can I live without thee ! how forego 
The sweet converse, and love so dearly joined. 
To live again in these wild woods forlorn ! 
Should God create another Eve, and I 
Another rib afford, yet loss of thee 
Would never from heart : no, no ! I feel 
The link of nature draw me : flesh of flesh. 
Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state 
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or wo." 

So having said, as one from sad dismay 
Recomforted, and, after thoughts disturbed, 
Submitting to what seemed remediless. 
Thus in calm mood his words to Eve he turned. 

" Bold deed thou hast presumed, adventurous 
Eve, 
And peril great provoked, who thus hast dared, 
Had it been only coveting to eye 
That sacred fruit, sacred to abstinence. 
Much more to taste it under ban to touch. 
But past who can recall, or done undo? 
Not God omnipotent, nor Fate ; yet so 
Perhaps thou shalt not die, perhaps the fact 
Is not so heinous now, foretasted fruit, 
Profiined first by the serpent, by him first 
Made common and unhallowed, ere our taste; 
Nov yet on him found deadly; he yet lives; 
Lives, as thou saidst, and gains to live, as man, 
Higher degree of life, inducement strong 
To us, as likely tasting to attain 
Proportional ascent, which can not be 
But to be gods, or angels, de mi-gods. 
Nor can 1 think that God Creator wise. 
Though threatening, will in earnest so destroy 
Us his prime creatures, dignified so high. 
Set over all his works, which in our fall, 
For us created, needs with us must fail. 
Dependent made ; so God shall uncreate. 
Be frustrate, do, undo, and labour lose; 
Not well conceived of God, who, though his powei 
Creation could repeat, yet would be loath 
Us to abolish, lest the adversary 
Triumph, and say ; ' Fickle their state whom God 



Book ix. 



PARADISE LOST. 



71 



Most favours ; who can please him long 1 Me first 
He ruini'd, now mankind ; whom will he next?" 
Matter of scorn, not to be given the foe. 
However I with thee have fixed my lot, 
Certain to undergo like doom: if death 
Consort with thco, death is to me as life; 
So forcible within my heart I feel 
The bond of nature draw me to my own; 
]\1 y own in thee, for what thou art is mine; 
Our state can not be severed ; we are one, 
One flesh ; to lose thee were to lose myself." 

So Adam ; and thus Eve to him replied. 
" O glorious trial of exceeding love. 
Illustrious evidence, example high! 
Engaging me to emulate ; but, short 
Of thy i)orfection, how shall I attain, 
Adam 7 from whose dear side I boast me sprung, 
An<l gladly of our union hear thee speak, 
One heart, one soul in both ; whereof good proof 
This day aflbrds, declaring thee resolved. 
Rather than death, or aught than death more 

dread, 
Shall separate us, linked in love so dear. 
To undergo with me one guilt, one crime, 
If any be, of tasting this fair fruit. 
Whose virtue (for of good still good proceeds, 
Direct, or by occasion) hath presented 
This happy trial of thy love, which else 
So eminently never had been known. 
Were it I thought death menaced would ensue 
This my attempt, I would sustain alone 
The worst, and not persuade thee, rather die 
Deserted, than oblige thee with a fact 
rcriiicious to thy peace ; chictly assured 
Remarkably so late of thy so true. 
So faithful love unequalled ; but I feel 
Far otherwise the event; not death, but life 
Augmented, opened eyes, new hopes, new joys. 
Taste so divine, that what of sweet before 
Had touched my sense, flat seems to this, and harsh. 
On my experience, Adam, freely taste. 
And fear of death deliver to the winds." 

So saying, she embraced liim, and for joy 
Tenderly wept ; much won that he his love 
Had so ennobled, as of choice to incur 
Divine displeasure for her sake, or death 
In recomjx^nse (for such compliance bad 
Such recompense best merits) from the bough 
She gave him of that fair enticing fruit 
With liberal hand : he scrupled not to eat. 
Against liis better knowledge; not deceived, 
But fondly overcome with female charm. 
Earth trembled from her entrails, as again 
In pangs; and Nature gave a second groan; 
Sky lowc^red ; and, muttering thunder, some sad 

dn>|)s 
Wept iit completing of the mortal sin 
Original : while Adam took no thouglit. 
Eating his fill; nor Eve to iterate 



Her former trespass feared, the more to sooth 

Him with her loved society; that now, 

As with new wine intoxicated both, 

They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel 

Divinity within them breeding wings, 

Wherewith to scorn the earth : but tliat false fruit 

Far other operation first displayed, 

Carnal desire inflaming; he on Ere 

Began to cast lascivious eyes ; she him 

As wantonly repaid ; in lust they burn : 

Till Adam thus 'gan Eve to dalliance move. 

" Eve, now I see thou art exact of taste, 
And elegant, of sapience no small part ; 
Since to each meaning savour we apply. 
And palate called judicious; I the praise 
Yield thee, so well tliis day thou hast purveyed. 
Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstained 
From this delightful fruit, nor known till now 
I True relish, tasting ; if such pleasure be 
In things to us forbidden, it might be wished, 
For this one tree had been forbidden ten. 
But come, so well refreshed, now let us play. 
As meet is, after such delicious fare, 
For never did thy beauty, since the day 
I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorned 
With all perfections, so inflame my sense 
With ardour to enjoy thee, fairer now 
Than ever; bounty of this virtuous tree!" 

So said he, and forbore not glance or toy 
Of amorous intent, well understood 
Of Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire, 
Her hand he seized, and to a shady bank. 
Thick overhead with verdant roof embov/ered. 
He led her, nothing loath ; flowers were the couch, 
Pansies, and violets, and asphodel. 
And hyacinth, earth's freshest softest lap. 
There they their fill of love and love's disport 
Took largely, of their mutual guilt the seal. 
The solace of their sin ; till dewy sleep 
Oppressed them, wearied with their amorous play, 
Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit. 
That with exhilarating vapour bland 
About their spirits had played, and inmost power9 
Made err, was now exhaled; and grosser sleep. 
Bred of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreams 
Encumbered, now had left them; up they rose 
As from unrest; and, each the other viewing, 
Soon found t'aeir eyes how opened, and their minds 
I How darkened; innocence, that as a veil 
Had shadowed them from knowing ill, was gone; 
Just confidence and native righteousness. 
And honour, from about them, naked left 
' To guilty shame ; he covered, but his robe 
j Uncovered more. So rose tiie Danite strong, 
Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap 
Of Philistean Dalilah, and waked 
Shorn of his strength, tliey destitute and bare 
I Of all tlieir virtue: silent and in face 
Confounded, long they sat, as stricken mute, 



72 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book ix. 



Till Adam, though not less than Eve abashed, 
At length gave utterance to these words constrained. 

" O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give car 
To that false w\>im, of whomsoever taught 
To counterfeit man's voice; true in our fall, 
False in our promised rising; since our eyes 
Opened we lind indeed, and lind we know 
Both good and evil; good lost, and evil got ; 
Bad fruit of knowledge;, if this be to know, 
Which leaves us naked thus, of honour void, 
Of innocence, of faith, of purity, 
Our wonted ornaments now soiled and stained, 
And in our faces evident the signs 
Of foul concupiscence; whence evil store; 
Even shame, the last of evils; of the first 
Be sure then. How shall 1 behold the face 
Henceforth of God or angel, erst with joy 
And rapture so oil beheld! those heaviuily shapes 
Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze 
Insuflerably bright. O might I here 
Iii solitude live savage; in some glade 
Obscured, where highest woods, impenetrable 
To star or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad 
And brown as evening: cover me, yc pines! 
Ye cedars with innumerable boughs 
Hide me, where I may never see them more ! 
Bat let us now, as in bad plight, devise 
What best may for tiie present serve to hide 
The parts oi' each from other, that seem most 
To shame obnoxious, and unseeniliest seen: 
Some tree, whose broad smooth leaves together 

sew'd. 
And girded on our loins, may cover round 
Thosfi niiddle parts; that this new coiner, shame, 
There sit not, and reproach us as unclean." 
So counselled he, and both together went 
Into the tluckest wood ; there soon they chose 
The fig tree; not that kind for fruit renowned. 
But such as at this day to Indians known, 
In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms 
Brandling so broad and long, that in the ground 
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow 
About the mother tree, a pillared siiade 
High over-arclied, and echoing walks between: 
There oil the Indian herdsinaii, shunning heat. 
Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds 
At loop-holes cut through thickest shade: Those 

leaves 
They gathered, broad as Amazonian targe. 
And, with what skill they had, together sewed. 
To gird their waist; vain covering, if to hide 
Their guilt and dreaded shame! (J how unlike 
To that first naked glory! Such of late 
Columbus found th' American, so girt 
Willi feathered cincture, naked else, and wild 
Among the trees on isles and woody shores. 
Thus fenced; and as they thought, their shame in 

part 
Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind, 



They sat them down to weep; nor only tears 
Rained at their eyes, but high winds worse within 
Began to rise, high passions, anger, hate, 
Mistrust, suspicion, discord, and siiook sore 
Their inward state of mind, calm region once 
And full of peace, now tost and turbulent: 
For understanding ruled not, and the will 
Heard not her lore; both in subjection now 
To sensual ai)pctite, who from beneath. 
Usurping over sovereign reason, claimed 
Superior sway: from thus distempered breast 
Adam, estranged in look and altered style. 
Speech intermitted thus to Eve renewed. 

" Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and 
stayed 
With me, as I besought thee, when that strange 
Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn, 
I know not whence possessed thee; we had then 
Remained still happy; not as now desjioilcd 
Of all our good; shamed, naked, miserable! 
Let none henceforth seek needless cause t' approve 
The faith they owe ; when earnestly they seek 
Such proof, conclude, they then begin to fail." 

To whom, soon moved with touch of blame, thus 
Eve. 
" What words have passed thy lips, Adam, severe! 
Imputest thou that to my default, or will 
Of wandering, as thou call'st it, which who knows 
But might as ill have happened thou being by, 
Or to thyself perhaps 1 hadst thou been there, 
Or here th' attempt, thou couldst not have dis- 
cerned 
Fraud in the serpent, speaking as he spake, •" 
No ground of enmity between us known. 
Why he should mean me ill, or seek to harm. 
Was I to have never parted from thy side 1 
As good have grown there still a lifeless rib. 
Being as I am, why didst not thou, the head, 
Coimnand me absolutely not to go, 
Goinsr into such danger as thou saidst? 
Too facile then tiiou didst not much gainsay. 
Nay, didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss. 
Hadst thou been firm and fi.xed in thy dissent, 
Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me." 

To whom then first incensed Adam replied. 
" Is this tile love, is this the recomi)eiise 
Of mine to thee, ingratcful Eve, expressed 
Immutable, when thou wcrt lost, not I ; 
Who might have lived and joyed immortal bliss, 
Yet willingly chose rather death with thee 1 
And am 1 now upliraided as the cause 
Of thy transgressing '! not enough severe. 
It seems, in thy restraint : what could I more 1 
I warned thee, I admonished thee, foretold 
The danger, and the lurking enemy 
That lay in wait; beyond this had been force, 
And force upon free will hath here no place 
But confidence then bore thee on ; secure, 
Either to meet no danger, or to find 



Book x. 



PARADISE LOST. 



73 



Matter of glorious trial ; and perhaps 
1 also erred, in over much admiring 
What seemed in thee so perfect, that I thought 
No evil diiist attempt thee ; hut I rue 
That error now, which is become my crime, 
And thou the accuser. Thus it shall befall 
Ilim, who, to worth in woman ovcrtrusting, 
LeUs her will rule : restraint slie will not brook ; 
And, left to herself, if evil thence ensue, 
She first his weak indulgence will accuse." 

Thus tliey in mutual accusation spent 
The fruitless hours, but neither self-cimdemning, 
And of tlieir vain contest appeared no end. 



BOOK X. 



TIIE ARGUMENT. 

Man's transgression known, tlie guarJian angels forsake 
PiUiiili.-ip, Hiul reiurn up to Heaven to a|)prove their vigilance, 
aiiiJ arc aiipiovril; God declaring that the entrance of Satan 
could not be hy tliem prevented. He sends his Son to judge 
the transgressors, who descends and gives sentence accord- 
inely ; then in pity clothes them botli, and reascends. Sin 
and Death, silting till then at the gates of hell, hy wondrous 
eynipathy feeling the success of Satan in this new world, and 
tlie sin hy man there committed, re.solve to sit no longer con- 
fined in licll, but to follow Satan tlieir sire up to the place of 
man ; to make the way ea.sier from hell to this world to and 
fro, they pave a broad highway or bridge over chaos, accord- 
ing to the track that Satan first made; then, preparing for 
eartli, they meet him, proud of his success, returning to hell ; 
their mutual gratulation. Satan arrives at Pandemonium; in 
full asseiiil)ly relates with boasting his success against man; 
instead of applause is entertained with a general hiss by all 
liis audience, transformed with himself also suddenly into 
Berpents. according to his doom given in Paradise ; then de- 
ludexl with a show of the forljidden tree S[)ringing up before 
them, they, greedily reaching to take of the fruit, chew dust 
and bilter ashes. The proceedings of Sin and Death; God 
foretells the final victory of his Son over them, and the renew- 
ing of all things; but, for the present, conntiands his angels 
t/i make several alterations in the Heav jns and elements. 
Adam, more and more perceiving his fallen condition, heavily 
ticwails, rejects the condolement of Eve ; she persists, and at 
Irngth appeases him ; then to evade the curse likely to fall on 
tlieir ofTsja-ing, proposes to Adain violent ways, which he ap- 
proves not ; but, conceiving better hope, puts her in mind of 
tlie late promise made them, that the .seed should be revenged 
on the 8<'r|)cnt. and exhorts her with him to seek peace of the 
oflended Deity, by repentance and supplication. 



Meanwhile, the heinous and despiileful act 
Of Satan done in Paradise, ami how 
He in the serpent had perverted Eve, 
Ilcr husband she, to taste tiie fatal fruit, 
Was known in Heaven; for what can 'scape the 

eye 
Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart 
Omniscient "? who, in all things wise and just, 
liiiulered not Satan to attempt the mind 
Of man, with strength entire and free will armed, 
Complete to have discovered and repulsed 
Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend. 



For still they knew, and ought to have still re- 
membered 
The high injunction not to taste that fruit, 
Whoever tem[)ted ; which they not obeying. 
Incurred (what could they less!) the penalty 
And, manifold in .sin, deserved to fall. 
Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste 
The angelic guards ascended, mute and sad 
For man, for of liis state by this they knew. 
Much wondering how the subtle fiend had stolen 
Entrance unseen. Soon as the unwelcome news 
From earth arrived at Heaven gate, di.spleased 
All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare 
That time ceiestial visages, yet, mixed 
With i)ity, violated not their bliss. 
About the new-arrived, in multitudes 
Th' ethereal jjeople ran, to hear and know 
How all befell: (hey towards the throne supreme. 
Accountable, made haste to make appear, 
With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance, 
And easily approved ; when the most High 
Eternal Father, from his secret cloud, 
Amidst in thunder uttered thus his voice, 

" Assembled angels, and ye powers returned 
From unsuccessful charge, be not dismayed, 
Nor troubled at these tidings from the earth, ^ 
Which your sincercst care could not prevent j,^^ 
Foretold so lately what would come to pass, 
When first this tempter crossed the gulf from Hdll. 
I told ye then he should prevail, and speed 
On his bad errand; man should be seduced, 
And flattered out of all, believing lies 
Against his Maker; no decree of mine 
Concurring to necessitate his fall. 
Or touch with lightest moment of impulse 
Flis free will, to her own inclining left 
In even scale. But ftiUen he is ; and now 
What rests, but that the morttd sentence pass 
On his transgression, — death denoimced that day T 
Which he presumes already vain and void, 
Because not yet inflicted, as he feared. 
By some immediate stroke; but soon shall find ■ 
Forbearance no acquittance, ere day end. 
Justice shall not return as bounty scorned. 
But whom send I to judge them 1 whom but thee, 
Vicegerent Son % to thee I have transferred 
All judgment, whether in Heaven, or earth, or 

hell. 
Easy it may be seen that I intend 
Mercy colleague with justice, sending thee, 
Man's friend, his mediator, his designed 
Both ransom and Redeemer voluntary. 
And destined man himself to judge man fallen." 

So spake the Father, and unfolding bright 
Toward the right-hand his glory, on the Son 
Blazed forth unclouded Deity ; he full 
Rcs[)lendeat all his Father manifest 
Expressed, and tlius divinely answered mild. 

" Father eternal, tliine is to decree ; 



74 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book x. 



Mine, both in Heaven and earth, to dc thy will 
Supreme ; that thou in me, thy Son beloved, 
Maycst ever rest well pleased. I go to judge 
On earth these thy transgressors; but thou know- 

est, 
Whoever judged, the worst on me must light, 
When time shall be; for so I undertook 
Before thee ; and, not repenting, this obtain 
Of right, tluit I may mitigate their doom 
On me derived ; yel I shall temper so 
Justice with mercy, as may illustrate most 
Them fully satisfied, and thee appease. 
Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none 
Are to behold the judgment, but the judged. 
Those two ; the third best absent is condemned, 
Convict by flight, and rebel to all law: 
Conviction to the serpent none belongs." 

Thus saymg, from his radiant scat he rose 
Of high collateral glory : him thrones, and powers, 
Princedoms, and dominations ministrant. 
Accompanied to Heaven gate ; from whence 
Eden and all the coast in prospect lay. 
Down he descended straight ; the speed of gods 
Time counts not, though with swiftest minutes 

winged. 
Now was the sun in western cadence low 
From noon, and gentle airs, due at their hour, 
To fan the earth now waked, and usher in 
The evening cool ; when he, from wrath more cool. 
Came the mild Judge, and Intercessor both. 
To sentence man : the voice of God they heard, 
Now walking in the garden, by soft winds 
Brought to their ears, while day declined; they 

heard, 
And from his presence hid themselves among 
The thickest trees, both man and wife; till God, 
Approaching, thus to Adam called aloud. 
" Where art thou, Adam, wont with joy to meet 
My coming seen far oin I miss thee here. 
Not pleased, thus entertained with solitude. 
Where obvious duty erewhile appeared unsought: 
Or come Mess conspicuous, or what change 
Absents thee, or what cliance detains '? Come 

forth." 
He came, and with him Eve, more loath, though 

first 
To offend ; discountenanced both, and discomposed: 
Love was not in their looks, either to God 
Or to each other, but apparent guilt. 
And shame, and perturbation, and despair. 
Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile. 
Whence Adam, faltering long, thus answered brief: 
" I heard thee in the garden, and of thy voice 
Afraid, being naked, hid myself" To whom 
The gracious Judge without revile replied: 
" My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not feared, 
But still rejoiced ; how is it now become 
60 dreadful to thee 1 that thou art naked, who 
Hath told thee 1 hast thou eaten of the tree 



Whereof I gave thee charge thou should'st not 
eat V 

To whom thus Adam, sore beset, replied. 
" O Heaven ! in evil strait this day I stand 
Before my Judge, either to undergo 
Myself tlie total crime, or to accuse 
My other self, the partner of my lile ; 
Whose faiUng, while her faith to me remains, 
I should conceal, and expose to blame 
By my complaint ; but strict necessity 
Subdues me, and calamitous constraint, 
Lest on my head both sin and punishment, 
However insupportable, be all 
Devolved; though, should I hold my peace, yet thou 
Wouldst easily detect what I conceal. 
This woman, whom thou mad'st to be my help, 
And gav'st me as thy perfect gift, so good, 
So fit, so acceptable, so divine. 
That from her hand I could suspect no ill, 
And what she did, whatever in itself. 
Her doing seemed to justify the deed ; 
She gave nie of the tree, and I did eat. 

To whom the sovereign Presence thus replied. 
" Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey 
Before his voice, or was she made thy guide, 
Superior, or but equal, that to her 
Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place 
Wherein God set thee above her made of thee, 
And for thee, whose perfection far excelled 
Hers in all real dignity 1 Adorned 
She was indeed, and lovely, to attract 
Thy love, not thy subjection; and her gifts 
Were such as under government well seemed, 
Unseemly to bear rule, which was thy part 
And person, hadst thou known thyself aright." 

So having said, he thus to Eve in few. 
" Say, woman, what is this which thou hast done"?'' 

To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh over- 
whelmed. 
Confessing soogi, yet not before her Judge 
Bold or loquacious, thus abashed replied. 
" The serpent me beguiled, and I did cat." 

Which when the Lord God heard, without delay 
To j udgment he proceeded on the accused 
Serpent, though brute, unable to transfer 
The guilt on him who made him instrument 
Of mischief, and polluted from the end 
Of his creation : justly then accursed p 

As vitiated in nature : more to know 
Concerned not man (since he no further knew 
Nor altered his offence ; yet God at last 
To Satan, first in sin, his doom applied. 
Though in mysterious terms, judged as then best 
And on the serpent thus his curse let fall. 

" Because thou hast done this, thou art accursed 
Above all cattle, each beast of the field; 
Upon thy belly grovelling thou shalt go, 
And dust thou shalt eat all the days of thy life. 
Between thee and the woman I will put 



Book x. 



PARADISE LOST. 



75 



Enmity, and- between thine and her seed; 
Her seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his 
heel." 

So spake this oracle, then verified 
When Jesus, son of Mary, second Eve, 
Saw Satan fall, like lightning, down from Heaven, 
Prince of the air; then, rising from his grave, 
Spoiled principalities and powers, triumphed 
In open show, and, with ascension bright, 
Captivity led captive through the air. 
The realm itself of Satan long usurped, 
"Whom he shall tread at last under our feet; 
Even he who now foretold his fatal bruise; 
And to the woman thus his sentence turned. 

" Thy sorrow I will greatly multiply 
By thy conception: children thou shalt bring 
In sorrow forth; and to thy husband's will 
Thine shall submit; he over thee shall rule." 

On Adam last thus judgment he pronounced: 
•' Because thou hast hearkened to the voice of thy 

wife, 
And eaten of the tree concerning which 
I charged thee, saying, ' Thou shalt not eat thereof:' 
Cursed is the ground for thy sake; thou in sorrow 
Shalt eat thereof all the days of thy life ; 
Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forth 
Unbid; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field; 
In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, 
Till thou return unto the ground; for thou 
Out of the ground wast taken, know thy birtli, 
For dust thou art, and shalt to dust return." 

So judged he man, both Judge and Saviour sent ; 
And the instant stroke of death denounced that 

day 
Removed far off; then, pitying how they stood 
Before him naked to the air, that now 
Must suffer change, disdained not to begin 
Thenceforth the form of servant to assume, 
As when he washed his servants' feet; so now. 
As father of his family, he clad 
Their nakedness with skins of beasts, or slain; 
Or as the snake with youthful coat repaid; 
And thought not much to clothe his enemies: 
Nor he their outward only with the skins 
Of beasts, but inward nakedness much more 
Opprobrious, with his robe of righteousness 
Arraying, covered from his Father's sight. 
To him with swift ascent he up returned, 
Into his blissful bosom reassumed 
In glory, as of old ; to him appeased 
All, though all-knowing, what had passed with 

man 
Recounted, mixing intercession sweet. 

Meanwhile ere thus was sinned and judged on 
earth, 
Within the gates of hell sat Sin and Death, 
In counterview within the gates, that now 
Stood open wide, belching outrageous flame 
Far into Chaos, since the fiend passed through, 



Sin opening ; who thus now to Death began. 

" O son, why sit we here each other viewing 
Idly, while Satan, our great author, thrives 
In other worlds, and happier seat provides 
For us, his offspring dearl It can not be 
But that success attends him; if mishap, 
Ere this he had returned, with fury driven 
By his avengers, since no place like this 
Can fit his punishment or their revenge. 
Methinks I feel new strength within me rise, 
Wings growing, and dominion given me large 
Beyond this deep; whatever draws me on. 
Or sympathy, or some unnatural force. 
Powerful at greatest distance to unite. 
With secret amity, things of like kind. 
By secretest conveyance. Thou my shade 
Inseparable, must with me long: 
For Death from Sin no power can separate. 
But lest the difficulty of passing back 
Stay his return perhaps over this gulf 
Impassable, impervious, let us try 
Adventurous work, yet to thy power and mine 
Not unagreeable, to found a path 
Over this main from hell to that new world. 
Where Satan now prevails; a monument 
Of merit high to all the infernal host, 
Easing their passage hence, for intercourse. 
Or transmigration, as their lot shall lead. 
Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawn 
By this new felt attraction and instinct." 

Whom thus the meagre shadow answered soon. 
" Go whither fate and inclination strong 
Leads thee ; I shall not lag behind, nor err 
The way, thou leading; such a scent I draw 
Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste 
The savour of death from all things there that live; 
Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest. 
Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid." 

So saying, with delight he snuffed the smell 
Of mortal change on earth. As when a flock 
Of ravenous fowl,. though many a league remote. 
Against the day of battle, to a field. 
Where armies lie encamped, come flying, lured 
With scent of living carcasses designed 
For death, the following day, in bloody fight: 
So scented the grim feature, and upturned 
His nostril wide into the murky air, 
Sagacious of his quarry from so far. 
Then both from out hell gates into the waste 
Wide anarchy of Chaos, damp and dark, 
Flew diverse, and with power (their power was 

great) 
Hovering upon the waters, what they met 
Solid or slimy, as in raging sea 
Tost up and down, together crowded drove 
From each side shoahng towards the mouth of hell; 
As when two polar winds, blowing adverse 
Upon the Cronian sea, together drive 
Mountains of ice, that stop th' imagined way 



76 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book x 



Beyond Petsora eastward, to the rich 
Cathaian coast. The aggregated soil 
Death with his mace petrific, cold and dry, 
As with a trident smote, and fixed as firm 
As Delos, floating once; the rest his look 
Bound with Gorgonian rigour not to move ; 
And with asphaltic slime, broad as the gate, 
Deep to tlie roots of hell the gathered beach 
They fastened, and the mole immense wrought on 
Over the foaming deep high arched, a bridge 
Of length prodigious, joining to the wall 
Immoveable of this now fenceless world, 
Forfeit to Death ; from hence a passage broad, 
Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to hell. 
So, if great things to small may be compared, 
Xerxes, the liberty of Greece to yoke, 
From Susa, his Memnonian palace high. 
Came to the sea, and, over Hellespont 
Bridging his way, Europe with Asia joined. 
And scourged with many a stroke the indignant 

waves. 
Now had they brought the work by wondrous art 
Pontifical, a ridge of pendent rock, 
Over the vexed abyss, following the track 
Of Satan to tlie selfsame place where he 
First lighted from his wing, and landed safe 
From out of Chaos, to the outside bare 
Of this round world : with pins of adamant 
And chains they made all fast, too fast they made 
And durable ; and now in little space 
The confines met of empyrean Heaven, 
And of this world, and, on the left hand, hell 
With long reach interposed; three several ways 
In sight, to each of these three places led. 
And now their way to earth they had descried, 
To Paradise first tending, when, behold! 
Satan, in likeness of an angel bright, 
Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion steering 
His zenith, while the sun in Aries rose: 
Disguised he came ; but those his children dear 
Their parent soon discerned, though in disguise. 
He, after Eve seduced, unminded slunk 
Into the wood fast by, and, changing shape 
To observe the sequel, saw his guileful act 
By Eve, though all unweeting, seconded 
Upon her husband, saw their shame that sought 
Vain covertures; but when he saw descend 
The Son of God to judge them, terrified 
He fled ; no* hoping to escape, but shun 
The present; fearing, guilty, what his wrath 
Might suddenly inflict ; that past, returned 
By night, and listening where the hapless pair 
Sat in their sad discourse, and various plaint. 
Thence gathered his own doom, which understood 
Not instant, but of future time, with joy 
And tidings fraught, to hell he now returned ; 
And at the brink of Chaos, near the foot 
Of this new wondrous pontifice, unhoped 
Met, who to meet him came his oflTspring dear. 



Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight 
Of that stupendous bridge his joy increased. 
Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair 
Enchanting daughter, thus the silence broke. 

" O parent, these are thy magnific deeds. 
Thy trophies, which thou viewest as not thine 

own; 
Thou art their author and prime architect: 
For I no sooner in my heart divined ; 
My heart, which by a secret harmony 
Still moves with thine, joined in connexion sweet, 
That thou on earth had'st prospered, which thy 

looks 
Now also evidence, but straight I felt, 
Though distant from thee worlds between, yet 

felt. 
That I must after thee, with this thy son ; 
Such fatal consequence unites us three ! 
Hell could no longer hold us in her bounds, 
Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscure 
Detain from following thy illustrious track. 
Thou hast achieved our liberty, confined 
AVitliin hell gates till now ; thou us empowered 
To fortify thus far, and overlay 
With this portentous bridge the dark abyss. 
Thine now is all this world ; thy virtue hath won 
What thy hands builded not, thy wisdom gained 
With odds what war hath lost, and fully avenged 
Our foil in Heaven; here thou shalt monarch 

reign. 
There didst not ; there let him still victor sway ; 
As battle hath adjudged ; from this new world 
Retiring, by his own doom alienated ; 
And henceforth monarchy with thee divide 
Of all things, parted by th' empyreal bounds. 
His quadrature, from thy orbicular world. 
Or try thee now more dangerous to his throne." 
Whom thus the prince of darkness answered 
glad, 
" Fair daughter, and thou son and grandchild 

both, 
High proof ye now have given to be the race 
Of Satan (for I glory in the name. 
Antagonist of Heaven's almighty King,) 
Amply have merited of me, of all 
Th' infernal empire, that so near Heaven's door 
Triumphal with triumphal act have met. 
Mine with this glorious work, and made one realm 
Hell and this world, one realm, one continent 
Of easy thoroughfare. Therefore, while I 
Descend through darkness, on your road with 

ease. 
To my associate powers, them to acquaint 
With these successes, and with them rejoice; 
You two this way, among these numerous orbs, 
All yours right down to Paradise descend; 
There dwell and reign in bliss; thence on the 

earth 
Dominion exercise and in the air, 



Book x. 



PARADISE LOST. 



77 



Chiefly on man, sole lord of all declared; 
Him first m*ke sure your thrall, and lastly kill. 
My substitutes I send ye, and create 
PIenij)otcnt on earth, of matcliless might 
Issuing from me: on your joint vigour now 
My hold of this new kingdom all depends, 
Through Sin to Death exposed by my exploit. 
If your joint power prevail, th' affairs of hell 
No detriment need fear; go, and be strong!" 

So saying, he dismissed them; they with speed 
Their course through thickest constellations held. 
Spreading their bane; the blasted stars looked wan, 
And planets, planet-struck, real eclipse 
Then sullered. Th' other way Satan went down 
The causey to hell gate: on either side 
Dis[)arted Chaos overbuilt exclaimed, 
And with rebounding surge the bars assailed, 
That scorned his indignation : through the gate, 
AVide open and unguarded Satan passe<l, 
And all about found desolate ; for those 
Appointed to sit there had left their charge, 
Flown to the upper world ; the rest were all 
Far to the inland retired about the walls 
Of Pandemonium, city and proud seat 
Of Lucifer, so by allusion called 
Of that bright star to Satan paragoned. 
There kept their watch the legions, while the grand 
In council sat, solicitous what chance 
Might intercept their emperor sent ; so he 
Departing gave command, and they observed 
As when the Tartar from his Russian foe, 
By Astracan over the snowy plains 
Retires, or Bactrian sophi, from the horns 
Of Turkish crescent, leaves all waste beyond 
The realm of Aladule, in his retreat 
To Tauris or Casbeen : so these, the late 
Heaven banished host, left desert utmost hell 
Many a dark league, reduced in careful watch 
Round their metropolis, and now expecting 
Each hour their great adventurer, from the search 
Of foreign worlds : he through the midst unmarked 
In show plebeian angel militant 
Of lowest order, passed ; and from the door 
Of that Plutonian hall, invisible 
Ascends his high throne ; which, under state 
Of richest texture spread, at th' upper end 
Was placed in regal lustre. Down awhile 
He sat, and round about him saw unseen : 
At last as from a cloud, liis fulgent head 
And shape star bright appeared, or brighter; clad 
With what permissive glory since his fall 
Was left him, or false glitter : all amazed 
At that so sudden blaze, the Stygian throng 
Bent their aspect, and whom they wished beheld, 
Their mighty chief returned : loud was the acclaim: 
Forth rushed in haste the great consulting peers, 
Raised from their dark divan, and with like joy 
Congratulant approached him, who with hand 
Silence and with these words attention, won. 

K 



" Thrones, dominations, princedoms, virtues, 
powers. 
For in possession such not only of right, 
1 call ye, and declare ye now ; returned, 
Successful beyond hope, to lead ye forth 
Triumphant out of this infernal pit 
Abominable, accursed, the house of wo. 
And dungeon of our tyrant : now possess 
As lords, a spacious world, to our native Heaven 
Little inferior, by my adventure hard 
With peril great acliieved. Long were to tell 
What I have done, what suffered, with what pain 
Voyaged the unreal, vast, unbounded deep 
Of horrible confusion, over wliich 
By Sin and Death a broad way now is paved, 
To expedite your glorious march ; but I 
Toiled out my uncouth passage, forced to ride 
The untractable abyss, plunged in the womb 
Of unoriginal night and Chaos wild, 
That, jealous of their secrets fiercely opposed 
My journey strange, with clamorous uproar 
Protesting Fate supreme ; thence how I found 
The new created world, which fame in Heaven 
Long had foretold, a fabric wonderful 
Of absolute perfection ; therein man 
Placed in a Paradise, by our exile 
Made happy : him by fraud I have seduced 
From his Creator, and, the more to increase 
Your wonder, with an apple ; he, thereat 
Offended, worth your laughter ! hath given up 
Both his beloved man and all his world, 
To Sin and Death a prey, and so to us, 
Without our hazard, labour, or alarm. 
To range in, and to dwell, and over man 
To rule, as over all he should have ruled. 
True is, me also he hath judged, or rather 
Me not, but the brute serpent in whose shape 
Man I deceived : that which to me belongs 
Is enmity, which he will put between 
Me and mankind ; I am to bruise his heel ; 
His seed, when is not set, shall bruise my head : 
A world who would not purchase with a bruise, 
Or much more grievous pain ] Ye have the account 
Of my performance ; what remains, ye gods, 
But up, and enter now into full bliss !" 

So having said, awhile he stood, expecting 
Their universal shout, and high applause, 
To fill his ear ; when, contrary, he hears 
On all sides, from innumerable tongues, 
A dismal universal hiss, the sound 
Of public scorn; he wondered, but not long 
Had leisure, wondering at himself now more 
His visage drawn he felt to sharp and spare ; 
His arms clung to his ribs ; his legs intwining 
Each other, till supplanted down he fell 
A monstrous serpent on his belly prone. 
Reluctant, but in vain ; a greater powe' 
Now ruled him, punished in the shape he sinned, 
According to his doom : he would have spoke, 



78 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book x 



But hiss for hiss returned with forked tongue 
To forked tongue ; for now were all transformed 
Alike, to serpents all, as ar.ccssorics 
To this bold riot: dreadl'ul was the din 
Of hissing tlirougti the liall, thiek swarming now 
Witli comi)licated monsters head and tail, 
Scorpion, and asp, and ami)lnsba3na dire, 
Cerastes horned, Hydrus and Elops drear, 
And Dipsas (not so tliick swarmed once the soil 
Bcdropt with blood of Gorgon, or the isle 
Oplnusa,) but still greatest he the midst, 
Now dragon grown, larger than whom the sun 
Engendered in the Pythian vale on slime, 
Huge Python, and his |)ower no less he seemed 
Above the rest still to retain ; they all 
Hnn followed, issuing forth to the open field, 
Where all yet left of that revolted rout, 
Heaven fallen, in station stood or just array, 
Sublime with expectation when to see 
In trmmph issuing forth their glorious chief: 
They saw, but other sight instead ! a crowd 
Of ugly scri)er.ts; horror on them fell. 
And horrid sympatliy ; for what they saw 
Thev felt themselves now changing ; down their 

arms, 
Down fell botli spear and shield, down they as fast. 
And the dire hiss renewed, and the dire form, 
Catched by contagion, like in punishment. 
As in their crime. Thus was the applause they 

meant. 
Turned to exploding hiss, triumpli to shame. 
Cast on tliemselves from their own mouths. There 

stood 
A grove hard by, sprung up with this their change, 
His will who reigns above, to aggravate 
Their penance, laden with fair fruit, like that 
Which grew in Paradise, the bait of Eve 
Used by the tempter ; on that prosi)ect strange 
Their earnest eyes they fixed, imagining 
For one forbidden tree a nmltitude 
Now risen, to work them further wo or sliame; 
Yet, parched with scalding thir.st and hunger fierce. 
Though to delude theni sent, could not abstain; 
But on they rolled in heaps, and, up the trees 
Climbing, sat thicker than the siudiy locics 
That curled Mega^ra: greedily tliey j)!uckcd 
The fruitage fair to sight, like that which grew 
Near that bituminous lake where Sodom flamed; 
This more delusive, not the touch, but taste 
Deceived ; they, fondly thinking to nllay 
Their appetite with gust, instead of fruit 
Chewed bitter ashes, which the oficnded taste 
With spatteruig noise rejected : oft they assayed, 
Hunger and thirst constraining ; drugged as oi\, 
With hatefullcst disrelish writhed their jaws. 
With hoot and cinders tilled ; so oft they fell 
Into the same, illusion, not as man 
Whom they triumphed once lapsed. Thus were 

they plagued 



And worn witli famine, long and ceaseless hisa, 
Till their lost shape, permitted, tliey resumed; 
Yearly enjoined, some say, to undergo 
This annual humbling certain numbered days, 
To dash their pride, and joy for man seduced 
However, so'.ne tradition they dispersed 
Among the heathen of their purchase got. 
And fabled how the serpent, whom they called 
Opiiion, with Eurynome, the wide 
Encroaching Eve perhaps, had first the rule 
Of high Olympus, thence by Saturn driven 
And C^ps, ere yet Dictn\an Jove was born. 

Meanwhile in Paradise the hellish pair 
Too soon arrived ; Sin, there in power before, 
Once actual, now in bo<ly, and to dwell 
Plabitual habitant ; behind her Death, 
Close following pace for pace, not mounted yet 
On his pale horse : to whom Sin tluis began. 

" Secondof Satan sprung, all-conquering Dcatli! 
What thinkest thou of our empire now, though 

earned 
With travel difllculf, not better fixr 
Than still at hell's dark threshold t' have sat watch, 
Unnamed, undreaded, and thyself half starved V 

Whom thus the sin-born monster answered soon: 
" To nie, who with eternal famine pine, 
Alike is hell, or Paradise, or Heaven ; 
There best, where most with ravin I may meet ; 
Which here, though plenteous, all too little seems 
TostutTthis maw, this vast unhidebound corpse." 

To whom the incestuous mother thus replied. 
" Thou therefore on these herbs, and fruits and 

flowers 
Feed first ; on each beast next, and fish, and fowl ; 
No homely morsels ! and whatever thing 
The scythe of Time mows down, devour unsparcd ; 
Till I, in man residing, through the race. 
His thoughts, his looks, words, actions all infect, 
And season him thy last and sweetest prey." 

This said, they both betook them several veays, 
Both to destroy, or uniminortal make 
All kinds, and for destruction to mature 
Sooner or later: which the Almighty seeing. 
From his transcendent seat the saints among, 
To those bright orders uttered thus his voice. 

" Sec with what heat these dogs of hell advance 
To vi'aste and havoc yonder world, which I 
So fair and good created, and had still 
Kept in that state, had not the folly of man 
Let in these wasteful furies, who impute 
Folly to me ; so doth the prince of hell 
And his adherents, that with so much ease 
I sufler them to enter and possess 
A place so heavenly, and, conniving, seem 
To gratify my scornful enemies, 
That laugh, as if, transported with some fit 
Of passion, I to them had quitted all, 
At random yielded up to their misrule; 
And know not that I Called, and drew them thither, 



Book x. 



PARADISE LOST. 



79 



My lu'Il-Iiouiuls, to lick u[) tlio <lraframl filth 
Wliich nuiii's polluting sin with taint hath shed 
On what was pure ; till, crammed and gorged, nigh 

burst 
With sucked and glutted ofTal, at one sling 
Of thy victorious arm, weIl-|)loartinir Son, 
Both Sin, and Death, and yawning grave, at last, 
Through Chaos hurlrd, obstruct the mouth of hell 
For ev(!r, and seal up his raveno-us jaws. 
Then Ileuven and earth renewed sliall be made 

pure 
To sanctity, that shall receive no stain : 
Till then, the curs(; pronounced on both precedes." 

He ended and the Heavenly audience loud 
Sung hallelujah, as the sound of seas, 
Through imiltitudt- that sung : " Just are thy ways. 
Righteous are thy decrees on all thy works ; 
Who can extenuate theel" Next, to tlic Son, 
" Destined Restorer of mankind, liy vviioin 
New Heaven and earth shall to the ages rise. 
Or down from Heaven descend." Such was their 

song; 
While tlic Creator, calling fortli by name 
His mighty angels, gave them several charge, 
As sorted best with present things. The sun 
Had first his precept so to move, so shine, 
As might affect the earth with cold and heat 
Scarce tolerable, and from the north to call 
Decrepit winter, from the south to bring 
Solstitial summer's heat. To the blank moon 
Her office they prescribed ; to th' other five 
Their planetary motions and aspects. 
In sextiie, square, and trine, and oi)positc, 
Of noxious efficacy, and when to join 
In synod unbeiiign ; and taught the fixed 
Their influence malignant when to shower, 
Which of them rising with the sun, or falling, 
Should prove tempestuous : to the winds they set 
Their corners, when with bluster to confound 
Sea, air, and shore ; the thunder when to roll 
With terror through the dark aerial hall. 
Some say he bid his angels turn askance 
The jwles of earth twice ten degrees and more 
From the sun's axle; they with labour pushed 
Oblique the centric globe : sorne say the sun 
Was bid turn reins from th' equinoctial road 
Like distant breadth to Taurus with the seven 
Atlantic Sisters, and the Spartan Twins, 
Up to the Tropic Crab ; thence down amain 
By Leo, and the Virgin, and the Scales, 
As deep as Capricorn, to bring in change 
Of seasons to each clime ; else had the spring 
Perpetual smiled on earth with vcrnant flowers, 
Equal in days and nights, excej)t to those 
Beyond the polar circl(!s ; to them day 
Had unbenighted shone, while the low sun. 
To recompen.se his distance, in their sight 
Had rounded still the horizon, and not known 
Or east or westj which had forbid the snow 



From cold Estotiland, and south as far 
Beneath xMagellan. At that tasted fruit 
The sun, as from Thyestian banquet, turned 
His course intended ; else, how had the world 
Inhabited, though sinless, more tlian now, 
Avoided pinching cold and scorching heaf? 
These changes in the Heavens, though slow, pro* 

duced 
Like change on sea and land ; sidoral blast, 
Vapour, and mist, and exhalation hot. 
Corrupt and pestilent : now from the north 
Of Norumbega, and the Sainoed shore. 
Bursting their brazen dungeon, armed with ice, 
And snow, and hail, and stormy gust and flaw, 
Boreas, and Ciccias, and Argestes loud. 
And Thrascias, rend the woods, and seas upturn i 
With adverse blast u[)turns them from the south 
Notus, and Afer black with thunderous clouds , 
From Serraliona ; thwart of these, as fierce 
Forth rush the Levant and Ponent winds, 
Eurus and Zephyr, with their lateral noise, 
Sirocco, and Libecchio. Thus began 
Outrage from lifeless things ; but Discord first, 
Daughter of Sin, among th' irrational 
Death introduced, through fierce antipathy; 
Beast now with beast 'gan war, and fowl with 

fowl. 
And fish with fish ; to graze the herb all leaving, 
Devoured each other; nor stood much in awe 
Of man, but fled him, or, with countenance grim, 
Glared on him passing. These were from withoiw 
The growing miseries, which Adam saw 
Already in part, though hid in gloomiest shade, 
To sorrow abandoned, but worse felt within; 
And, in a troubled sea of passion tossed. 
Thus to disburden sought with sad complaint. 

"O miserable of happy ! is this the end 
Of this new glorious world, and me so lato 
The glory of that glory, who now become 
Accursed of blessed! hide me from the face 
Of God, whom to behold was then my height 
Of happiness ! yet well, if here would end 
The misery ; I deserved it, and would ])ear 
My own deservings ; but this will not serve: 
All that I eat or drink, or shall beget. 
Is propagated curse. O voice, once heard 
Delightfully, Increase and viuUiphj, 
Now death to hear ! for what can 1 increase 
Or multiply, but curses on my head ? 
Who of all ages to sucrceed, but, feeling 
The evil on him brought by me, will curse 
My headl 111 fare our ancestor impure. 
For this we may thank Adam ! but his thanks 
Shall be the execration : so, besides 
Mine own that bide upon me, all from me 
Shall with a fierce reflux on mc rebound, 
On me, as on their natural centre light 
Heavy, though in their place. O fleeting joy» 
Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes! 



80 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book x. 



Dia I request thee, Maker, from my clay- 
To mould mc mail? did I solicit tlicc 
From diirkiicss to promote mc, or here place 
In tliis delicious garden 1 as my will 
Concurred not to my being, it were but right 
And c((ual to reduce me to my dust; 
Desirous to resign and render back 
All 1 received ; unid)le to perform 
Thy terms too hard, by which I was to hold 
Tlie good 1 souglit not. To the loss of that, 
Sulhcient penally, why hast thou adiled 
The sense of endless woes'! inexplicable 
Thy justice seems; yet, to say truth, too late 
I thus contest; then should have been refused 
Those terms, whatever, when they were proposed : 
Thou didht accept them; wilt thou enjoy the good, 
Tlien cavil the conditions'! and, though God 
Made thee without thy leave, what if thy son 
Prove disobedient, and, reproved, retort, 
'Wherefore didi't thou beget me! 1 sought it not.' 
Wouldst thou admit for his contempt of thee 
That proud excuse? yet him not thy election, 
But natural necessity, begot. 
God made thee of choice his own, and of his own 
To serve iiim; thy reward was of his grace, 
Thy punishment then justly is at his will. 
Be it so, for I submit; his doom is i'air. 
That dust I am, and shall to dust return : 
O welcome hour whenever! why delays 
His hand to execute what his decree 
Fixed on this day! who do I overlive 't 
Why am I mocked with death, and lenglhcncd 

out 
To deathless pain ■? how gladly would I meet 
Mortality my sentence, and be earth 
Insensible! how glad would lay me down 
A« in my mother's lai)! there I should rest 
And sleep secure; his dreadful voice no more 
Would tbunder in my ears ; no fear of worse 
To mc and to my offspring would torment me 
With cruel expectation. Yet one doubt 
Pursues me still, lest all I can not die; 
Lest that pure breath of life, the spirit of man 
Wliich God inspired can not (ogether perish 
With this corporeal clod ; then in the grave, 
Or in some other dismal place, who knows 
But I shall divi a living death'! O thought 
Horrid, if true! yi't why! it was hut breath 
Of life that sinned; what dies but what had life 
And sin 1 the body properly hath neither. 
All of me then shall die: let this ap|)ease 
The doubt, since human reach no further knows. 
For though the Lord of all be infinite. 
Is his wrath also'! be it, man is not so, 
But mortal doomed. How can he exercise 
Wrath without end on man, whohi death must 

end '! 
Can he make deatldess death '! th.Tt wore to make 
Strange contradiction, which to God himself 



Impossible is held, as argument 

Of W(-akness, not of power. Will he draw out, 

For anger's sake, finite to infinite 

in punished man, to satisfy his rigour, 

Satisfied never "! that were to extend 

His sentence beyond dust and nature's law. 

By which all causes else, according still 

To the reception of their matter, act. 

Not to the extent of their own sphere. But say 

That death be not one stroke, as 1 supposed. 

Bereaving sense, but endless misery 

From this day onward, which I feel begun 

Roth in me, and without me, and so last 

To perpetuity; ay me I that fear 

Comes thundering back with dreadful revolution 

On my defenceless head ; both death and I 

Am found eternal, and incorporate both; 

Nor I on my part single; in me all 

Posterity stands cursed : fair |)atrimony 

That I must leave ye, sons! O were I able 

To waste it all myself, and leave ye none ! 

So disiidierited, how would ye bless 

Me, now your curse! Ah, why should all mankind; 

For one man's fault, thus guiltless be condemned, 

If guiltless'! But from me what can j)roceed. 

But all corrupt ; both mind and will depraved, 

Not to do only, but to will the same 

With me'! how can they then acquitted stand 

In sight of God 1 Him, after all disputes. 

Forced I ab.«()lve: all my evasions vain. 

And reasonings, though through mazes, lead me 

still 
Rut to my own conviction: finst and last 
(.)n me, me oidy, as the source and spring 
Of all corruption, all the blame lights due . 
So might the wrath! Fond wish! couldst thou 

support 
That burden, heavier than the earth to bear; 
'J'han all the world nmch heavier, though divided 
With that bad woman? I'hus, what thou de- 

sirest. 
And what thou fear'st, alike destroys nil hope 
Of refuge, and concludes thee miserable 
Beyond all past exam])le and future ; 
To Satan only like both crime and doom. 

conscience! into what abyss of fears 

And horrors hast thou driven me; out of which 

1 find no way, from deep to deeper plunged!" 

Thus Adam to himself lamented loud 
Through tlie still night, not now, as ere man fell 
Wholesome, and cool, and mild, but witli black air 
Accompanied; with damps and dreadful gloom; 
Which to his evil eon.sclenee reiire.-^ented 
All things with double terror: on the ground 
Outstretched he lay, on the cold ground, and oft 
Cursed his creation; death as oft accused 
(>f tardy execution, since denounced 
'I'lie day of his otVenee. " Why comes not death," 
Said he, " with one thrice-acceptable stroke 



Book x. 



PARADISE LOST. 



81 



To end mc 1 shall trutli fail to keep her word, 
Justice divine not hasten to be just1 
But Death conies not at call, Justice divine 
Mends not her slowest pace for jtrayers or cries. 

woods, O fountains, hillocks, dales, and bowers 
With other echo late I taught your shades 

To answer, and resound far other song." 
Whom thus atHicted when sad Eve beheld, 
Desolate where she sat, approaching nigh, 
Soft words to his fierce passion she assayed: 
But her witii stern regard he thus rejielled. 

" Out of my sight, thou serpent ! that name best 
Befits thee with him leagued, thyself as false 
And hateful; notliing wants, but that thy shape. 
Like his, and colour serpentine, may show 
Thy inward fraud, to warn all creatures from thee 
Hena.'fbrtli; lost that too heavenly form, pretended 
To hellish falsehood, snare them. But for thee 

1 had persisted happy; had not thy pride, 
And wandering vanity, when least was safe, 
Rejected my forewarning, and disdained 
Not to be trusted ; longing to be seen, 
Though by the devil himself; him overweening 
To overreach ; but with the ser()ent meeting. 
Fooled and beguiled ; by him thou, I by thee, 
To trust thee from my side, imagined wise. 
Constant, mature, proof against all assaults, 
And understood not all was but a show 
Rather than solid virtue; all but a rib 
Crooked, by nature, lient, as now ap[)car.q. 
More to the part sinister, from me drawn ; 
Well if thrown out, as supernumerary 

To my just number found. O ! why did God, 
Creator wise, that peopled highest Heaven 
With spirits masculine, create at last 
This novelty on earth, this fair defect 
Of nature, and not fill the world at once 
With men, as angels, without feminine. 
Or find some other way to generate 
Mankind 1 This mischief had not then befallen. 
And more that shall befall; innumerable 
Disturbances on earth through female snares, 
And straight conjunction with this .sex: for cither 
He never shall find out fit mate, but such 
As some misfortune brings him, or mistake; 
Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain 
Through her perverseness, but shall see her gained 
By a far worse; or, if she love, withheld 
By parents; or his happiest choice too late 
Shall meet, already linked and wedlock-bound 
To a fell aiiversary, his hate or shame : 
Which infinite calumny shall cause 
To human life, and household peace confound." 
He added not, and from her turned; but Eve, 
Not so repulsed, with tears that ceased not flow- 
in"' 
And tresses all disordered, at his feet, 
Fell humble; and, embracing them, besought 
His peace and thus proceeded in her plaint. 
H k3 



" Forsake me not thus, Adam ! witness Heaven 
What love sincere, and reverence in my heart 
I l)car thee, and unweeting have ollcnded, 
Unhappily deceived! thy suppliant 
1 beg, and clasp thy knees; bereave me not, 
Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid. 
Thy counsel in this uttermost distress, 
My oidy strength and stay : forlorn of thee. 
Whither shall I betake me, where subsist 1 
While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps, 
Between us two let there be peace, both joining. 
As joined in injuries, one enmity 
Against a foe by doom express assigned us. 
That cruel serpent: onmc exercise not 
Thy hatred for this misery befallen ; 
On me already lost, me than thyself 
More miserable; both have sinned; but thou 
Against God only, I against God and thee; 
And to the place of judgment will return. 
There with my cries importune Heaven, that all 
The sentence, from thy head removed, may light 
On me, sole cause to thee of all this wo, 
Me, me only, just object of his ire!" 

She ended weeping ; and her lowly plight. 
Immoveable, till peace obtained from fault 
Acknowledged and deplored, in Adam wrought 
Commiseration : soon his heart rijleuted 
Towards her, his life so late and sole delight, 
Now at his feet submissive in distress ; 
Creature so fair his reconcilement seeking, 
His counsel, whom she had displeased, his aid: 
As one disarmed, his anger all he lost. 
And thus with peaceful words upraised her soon. 

" Unwary, and too desirous, as before. 
So now of what thou know'st not, who desir'st 
The punishment all on thyself; alas ! 
Bear thine own first, ill able to sustain 
His full wrath, whose thou feel'st as yet least 

part, 
And my displeasure bear'st so ill. If prayer 
Could altar high decrees, I to that place 
Would speed before thee, and be louder heard, 
That on my head all might be visited ; 
Thy frailty and infirmcr sex forgiven. 
To me committed, and by me exposed. 
But rise ; let us no more contend, nor blame. 
Each other, blamed enough elsewhere ; but strive 
In offices of love, how ine may lighten 
Each other's burden, in our share of wo; 
Since this day's death denounced, if ought I see, , 
Will prove no sudden, but a slow paced evil, 
A long day's dying, to augment our i)ain. 
And to our seed (O hapless seed!) derived." 

To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, replied. 
" Adam, by sad experiment I know 
How little weight my words with thee can find, 
Found so erroneous; thence, by just event, 
Found so unfortunate; nevertheless, 
P^estorcd by thee, vile as I am, to place 



82 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book x. 



Of new acceptance, hopeful to regain 

Thy love, the sole contentment of my heart 

Living or dying, from tliec I will not hide 

What thoughts in my unquiet breast are risen, 

Tending to some relief of our extremes. 

Or end ; though sharp and sad, yet tolerable, 

As in our evils, and of easier choice. 

If care of our descent perplex us most. 

Which must ho horn to certain wo, devoured 

By Death at last ; and miserable it is 

To be to others cause of misery,. 

Our own begotten, and of onr loins to bring 

Into tills cursed world a wol'ul race. 

That after wretched life must be at last 

Pood for so foul a monster ; in thy power 

It lies, yet ere conception to prevent 

The race unblest, to behig yet unbegot. 

Childless tliou art, childless remain : so Death 

Shall be deceived his glut, and with us two 

Be forced to satisfy his ravenous maw. 

But if tlwu judge it hard and difficult, 

Conversing, looking, loving, to abstain 

From love's due rites, nuptial embraces sweet; 

And with desire to languish without hope, 

Before the piesent object languishing 

With like desire; which would he misery 

And torment lees than none of what we dread ; 

Then both oursf-lves and seed at once to free 

From what we fear for both, let us make sliort, 

Lot us seek Death, or, he not found, supply 

'With our own hands his office on ourselves ; 

Why stand we longer shivering under fears, 

That show no end but death, and have the power, 

Of many ways to die tiic shortest choosing, 

Destruction with destruction to destroy 7" 

She ended here, or vehement despair 
Broke off the rest ; so much of death her thoughts 
Had entertained, as dyed her cheeks with pale. 
But Adam, with such counsel nothing swayed, 
To better hopes his more attentive mind 
Labouring had raised, and thus to Eve replied. 

" Eve, thy contempt of life and pleasure seems 
To argue in thee something more sublime 
And excellent, than what thy mind contemns ; 
But self destruction therefore sought, refutes 
That excellence thought in thee, and implies. 
Not thy contempt, but anguish and regret 
For loss of life and pleasure overloved. 
Or if thou covet death, as utmost end 
Of misery, so thinking to evade 
The penalty pronounced ; doubt not but God 
Hath wiselier armed his vengefvd ire, than so 
To be forestalled ; much more I fear lest death, 
So snatched, will not exempt us from the pain 
We are by doom to pay; rather such acts 
Of contumacy will provoke the Highest 
To make death in us live : then let us seek 
Some safer resolution, which methlnks 
I hftve in view, calling to mind with heed 



Part of our sentence, that thy seed shall bruise 
The serpent's head; piteous amends ! unless 
Be meant, whom I conjecture, our grand foe, 
Satan, who, in the serpent, hath contrived 
Against us this deceit : to crush his head 
Would be revenge indeed ! which will be lost 
By death brought on ourselves, or childless days 
Resolved, as thou proposest; so our foe 
Shall 'scape his punishment ordained, and we 
Instead shall double ours upon our heads. 
No more be mentioned then of violence 
Against ourselves, and wilful barrenness. 
That cuts us oft' from hope, and savours only 
Rancour and pride, impatience and des})ite. 
Reluctance against God and his just yoke 
Laid on onr necks. Remember with what mild 
And gracious temper he both heard and judged 
Without wrath or reviling ; we expected 
Innnediate dissolution, which we thought 
Was meant by death that day ; when lo, to thee 
Pains only in child-bearing were foretold. 
And bringing forth; soon recompensed with joy 
Fruit of thy womb : on me the curse asloiw 
Glanced on the ground : with labour I must earn 
My bread ; what harm ? Idleness had been worse; 
My labour will sustain me ; and, lest cold 
Or heat should injure us, his timely care 
Hath, unbesought, provided, and his hands 
Clothed us unworthy, pitying while he judged; 
How much more, if we pray him, will his ear 
Be open, and his heart to pity incline, 
A nd teach us further by what means to shun 
Th' inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow! 
Which now the sky with various face begins 
To show us in this mountain, while the winds 
Blow moist and keen, shattering the graceful locks 
Of these fair spreading trees : which bids us seek 
Some better shroud, some better warmth to cherish 
Our limbs benumbed, ere this diurnal star 
Leave cold the night, how we his gathered beams 
Reflected may with matter sere foment; 
Or, by collision of two bodies grind 
The air attrite to fire : as late the clouds 
Justling or pushed with winds, rude in their shock 
Tine the slant lightning ; whose thwart flame, 

driven down 
Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine 
And sends a comfortable heat from far, 
Which might supply the sun: such fire to use. 
And what may else be remedy or cure 
To evils which our own misdeeds have wrought, 
He will instruct us praying, and of grace 
Beseeching him, so as we need not fear 
To pass commodiously this life, sustained 
By him with niany comforts, till we end 
In dust, our final rest and native home. 
What better can we do, than to th(; place 
Repairing where he judged us, prostrate fall 
Before him reverent; and there confess 



Book xi. 



PARADISE LOST, 



83 



Humbly our faults, and pardon beg ; with tears 
Watering the ground, and with our Kighs the air 
Fnvjuotiting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign 
Of sorrow unfeigned, and humiliation meekl 
Undoubtedly he will relent and turn 
From his displeasure; in whose look serene, 
When angry most he seemed and most severe. 
What else but favour, grace, and mercy shone']" 

ISo spake our father penitent, nor Eve 
Fell less remorse; they, forthwith to the place 
Repairing where he judged them, prostrate fell 
Before hiin reverent ; and both confessed 
Humbly tlu'ir faults, and i)ardon begged with tears 
Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air 
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign 
Of sorrow unfeigned, and humiliation meek. 



BOOK XI. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The San of God presents lo his Falher (he prayers of our 
firet parents now reijentinj, and intercedes fi)r them ; God ac- 
cepts them, but declares that they must no longer abide in Pa- 
radise; sends Michael with a band of clierubirn lo dispossess 
them; but flrsl to reveal to Adam future things: Micliael's 
coming down. Adam shows to Eve certain ominous signs; 
lie didcerns Micliael's approacli ; goes out to meet him ; the 
angel denounces tlieir departure. Eve's lamentation. Adam 
plead.s, l)ut submits: the angel leads him up to a high hill; 
Bets before hiin in vision what shall happen till the Hood. 



Thus they, in lowli(!st plight, repentant stood 
Praying; for from the mercy-seat above 
Prcvenient grace descended had removed 
The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh 
Regenerate grow instead, that sighs now breathed 
Unutterable; which the Spirit of prayer 
Insjjired, and winged for Heaven with sjjeedier 

flight 
Than loudest oratory : yet their sport 
Not of mean suitors, nor important less 
Seemed their petition, than when the ancient pair 
In fables old, less ancient yet than these, 
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha, to restore 
The race of mankind drowned, before the shrine 
Of Themis stood devout. To Heaven their prayers 
Flew U|), nor missed the way, by envious winds 
Blown vagabond or frustrate: in they passed 
Dimcnsionless through heavenly doors; then, clad 
With incense, where the golden altar fumed. 
By their great Intercessor, came in sight 
Before the Father's throne : them the glad Son 
Presenting, thus to intercede began: 

" See, Father, what first fruits on earth are 

sprung 
From thy implanted grace in man, these sighs 
And ])rayers, which in this golden censer mixed 
With incense, I thy priest before thee bring: 
Fruits of more pleasing savour from thy seed 



Sown with contrition in his heart than those 
Which, his own hand manuring, all the trees 
Of Paradise could have produced, i^re fallen 
From innocence. Now therefore bend thine ear 
To supplication; hear his sighs, though mute; 
Unskilful with what words to pray, let me 
Interpret lor him, me, his advocate 
And propitiation; all his works on mo. 
Good or not good, ingraft; my merit those 
Shall perfect, and for these my death shall pay. 
Accept me; and in me, from these receive 
The smell of peace toward mankind : let him live 
Before thee reconciled, at least his days 
Numbered, though sad, till death, his doom, (which I 
To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse,) 
To better life shall yield him; wlu^re with me 
All my redeemed may dwell in joy and bliss; 
Made one with me as I with thee am one." 

To whom the Father, without cloud, serene: 
" All thy request for man, accepted Son, 
Obtain; all thy request was my decree: 
But longer in that Paradise to dwell. 
The law I gave to nature him forbids: 
Those pure immortal elements, that know 
No gross, no unharmonious mixture foul, 
Eject him, tainted now; and purge him off 
As a distemper, gross, to air as gross, 
And mortal food ; as may disjwse him best 
For dissoluticm wrought by sin, that first 
Distempered all things, and of incorru|)t 
Corrupted. I, at first, with two fair gifts 
Created him endowed; with happiness 
And immortality: that fondly lost. 
This other served but to eternize wo. 
Till I provided death : so death becomes 
His final remedy; and, after life 
Tried in sharp tribulation, and refined 
By faith and faithful works, to second life. 
Waked in the renovatian of the just. 
Resigns him up with Heaven and earth renewed. 
But let us call to synod all the blest 
Through Heaven's wide bounds; from them I will 

not hide 
My judgments; how with mankind I proceed, 
As how with peccant angels late they saw. 
And in their state, though firm, stood more con- 
firmed." 

He ended, and the Son gave signal high 
To the bright minister that watched; he blew 
His trumjiet, heard in Oreb since perhaps 
When God descended, and perhaps once more 
To sound at general doom. The angelic blast 
Filled all the regions ; from their blissful bowers 
Of amaranthine shade, fountain or spring. 
By the waters of life, where'er they sat 
In fellowships of joy, the sons of light 
Hasted, resorting to the summons high 
And took their seats; till from his throne supreme 
Th' Almighty thus pronounced his sovereign will. 



84 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book xi, 



" O sons, like one of us man is become 
To know both good and evil, since his taste 
Of that defended fruit; but let him boast 
His knowledge of good lost, and evil got; 
Happier! had it sufficed him to have known 
Good by itself, and evil not at all. 
He sorrows now, repents, and prays contrite, 
My motions in him; longer than they move, 
His heart I know, how variable and vain, 
Self-left. Lest therefore his now bolder hand 
Reach also of the tree of life, and eat, 
And live for ever, dream at least to live 
For ever, to remove him I decree, 
And send him from the garden forth to till 
The ground whence he was taken, fitter soil. 
Michael, this my beliest have thou in charge; 
Take to tliee from among the cherubim 
Thy choice of flaming warriors, lest the fiend, 
Or in behalf of man. or to invade 
Vacant possession, some new trouble raise: 
Haste the*, and from the Paradise of God 
Without revenge drive out the sinful pair ; 
From hallowed ground the unholy ; and denounce 
To them, and to their progeny, from thence 
Perpetual banishment. Yet, lest they fiunt 
At the sad sentence rigorously urged, 
For I behold them softened and with tears 
Bewailing their excess, all terror hide. 
If patiently thy bidding tliey obey, 
Dismiss them not disconsolate; reveal 
To Adam what shall come in future days, 
As I shall thee enlighten; intermix 
My covenant in the woman's seed renewed , 
So send them forth, though sorrowing, yet in peace 
And, on the east side of the garden, place, 
Where entrance up from Eden easiest climbs, 
Cherubic watch ; and of a sword the flame 
Wide-waving ; all approach far oft" to fright. 
And guard all passage to the tree of life ; 
Lest Paradise a receptacle prove 
To spirits foul, and all my trees their prey, 
With whose stolen fruit man once more to delude." 

He ceased ; anil the archangelic power prepared 
For swift descent; with him the cohort bright 
Of watchful cherubim : four faces each 
Had, like a double Janus ; all their shape 
Spangled with eyes, more numerous than those 
Of Argus, and more wakeful than to drowse, 
Charmed with Arcadian yii[^, the pastoral reed 
Of Hermus, or his opiate rod. Meanwhile, 
To resalutc the world with sacred light, 
Leucothea waked, and with fresh dews embalmed 
The earth ; when Adam and first matron Eve 
Had ended now their orisons, and found 
Strength added from above, new hope to spring 
Out of despair; joy, but with fear yet linked; 
Which thus to Eve his welcome words renewed. 

"Eve, easily may faith admit, that all 
The good which we enjoy from Heaven descends ; 



But that from us aught should ascend to Heaven 
So prevalent as to concern the mind 
Of God high-blest, or to incline his will. 
Hard to belief may seem ; yet this will prayer, 
Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne 
Even to the seat of God. For since I sought 
By prayer the oflended Deity to appease, 
Kneeled, and before him humbled all my heart, 
Methought I saw hun placable and mild. 
Bending his ear ; persuasion in me grew 
That I was heard with favour; peace returned 
Plome to my breast, and to my memory 
His promise, that thy seed shall bruise our foe : 
Which, then not minded in dismay, yet now 
Assures me that the bitterness of death 
Is past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee. 
Eve rightly called, mother of all mankind. 
Mother of all things living, since by thee 
Man is to live, and all things live for man." 

To whom thus Eve with sad demeanour meek. 
" 111 worthy I such title should belong 
To me transgressor, who, for thee ordained 
A help, became thy snare ; to me reproach 
Rather belongs, distrust, and all dispraise : 
But infinite in pardon was my Judge, 
That I, who first brought death on all, am graced 
The source of life ; next unfavourable thou. 
Who highly thus to entitle me vouchsaf'st 
Far other name deserving. But the field 
To labour calls us, now with sweat inifMised, 
Though after sleepless night ; for see! the morn, 
All unconcerned with our unrest, begins 
Her rosy progress smiling ; let us forth ; 
I never from thy side henceforth to stray. 
Where'er our day's work lies, though now en- 
joined 
Laborious, till day droop ; while here we dwell, 
What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks 1 
Here let us live, though in fallen state, content." 

So spake, so wished much humbled Eve; but 
fate 
Subscribed not; Nature first gave signs, impressed 
On bird, beast, air ; air suddenly eclipsed 
After short blush of morn ; nigh in her sight 
The bird of Jove, stooped from his aery tour, 
Two birds of gayest pluuie before him drove ; 
Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods, 
First hunter then, pursued a gentle brace, 
Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind ; 
Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight. 
Adam observed, and, with his eye the chase 
Pursuing, not unmoved, to Eve thus spake. 

" O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh, 
Which Heaven, by these mute signs in nature, 

shows 
Forerunners of his purpose ; or to warn 
Us, haply too secure, of our discharge 
From penalty, because from death released 
Some days : how long, and what till then our life, 



Book xi. 



PARADISE LOST. 



85 



Who knows 1 or more than this, that we are dust, 
And thither must return, and l)e no more'? 
Why else this douhle object in our si<rht 
Of fliifiit pursued in the air, and o'er the ground, 
One way tlie sell-sanie hour] why in tlie east 
Dtirkncss ere day's mid course, and inorning light 
More orient in yon western cloud, that draws 
O'er the blue linnament a radiant white, 
And slow descends, with something Heavenly 
fraufrhtr' 

He errctj not ; tor by this the heavenly bands 
Down from a sky of jasper lighted now 
In Paradise, and on a hill made halt: 
A glorious apparition, had not doubt 
And carnal tear that day dimmed Adam's eye. 
]Mot that more glorious, when the angels met 
Jacob in Mahanaim, where lie saw 
The field jjavilioned with his guardians bright; 
Nor that, which on the (laming mount appeared 
In Dothan, covered with a camp of fire. 
Against the Syrian king, who to surprise 
One man, assassin-like, had levied war, 
War unproclaimed. The princely Hierarch 
In their bright stand there left his powers, to seize 
I'ossscssion of the garden ; he alone, 
To find where Adam sheltered, took his way, 
Not unperceived of Adam; who to Eve, 
While the great visitant ap[)roached. thus spake. 

" Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps. 
Of us will soon determine, or impose 
New laws to be observed ; for 1 descry, « 
From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill. 
One of the Heavenly host, and, by his gait, 
None of the meanest; some great potentate, 
Or of the thrones above, such majesty 
Invests him coming ! yet not terrible, 
That I should fear, nor sociably mild. 
As Raphael, that I should much confide; 
But solenui and sublime, whom not to offend. 
With reverence I must meet, and thou retire." 

He ended ; and the archangel soon drew nigh, 
Not in his shape celestial, but as man 
Clad to meet man; over his lucid arms 
A military vest of purple flowed. 
Livelier than Meliboean, or tlie grain 
Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old 
In time of truce; Iris had dipped the woof; 
His starry h<'hn unbuckled showed him prime 
In manhood where youth ended ; by his side, 
As in a glisU^ring zodiac hung the sword, 
Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear. 
Adam bowed low; he, kingly, from his state 
Inclined not, but his coming thus declared. 
"Adam, Heaven's high behest no preface needs: 
Sufl'icicnt that thy prayers are heard ; and Death, 
Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress. 
Defeated of his seizure many days 
Given thee of grace ; whereni thou may'st repent. 
And one bad act with many deeds well done 



May'st cover : well may then thy Lord, appeased, 
Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim; 
But longer in this Paradise to dwell 
Permits not ; to remove thee I am come. 
And send thee from the garden l()Vth to till 
The ground wlience thou wast taken, fitter soil.' 

II (Padded not, for Adam at the news 
Heart-struck with chilling gripe of sorrow stood, 
That all his senses bound : Eve, who unseen, 
Yet all had heard, wilh audible lament 
Discovered soon thi; place of her retire. 

" O unexpected stroke, worse than of death ! 
Must I thus leave thee. Paradise? thus leave 
Thee, native soil, these ha[)py walks and shades, 
Fit haunt of gods 1 where 1 had hope to spend, 
Quiet though sad, the respite of tliatd:iy 
That must be mortal to us both. O (lowers, ^ 
That never will in other climate grow. 
My early visitation, and my last 
At even, which I bred up with tender hand 
From the first 0|>ening bud, and gave ye names! 
Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank 
Your tribes, and water from th' ambrosial fount 1 
Thee, lastly, nuptial bower, by me adorned 
With what to sight or smell was sweet ! from theo 
How shall I part, and whither wander down 
Into a lower world, to this obscure 
And wild 7 how shall we breathe in other air 
Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits'?" 

Whom thus the angel interrupted mild. 
"Lament not. Eve, but p.diently resign 
What justly thou hast lost ; nor set thy heart, 
Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine: 
Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes 
Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound: 
Where he abides, thiidc there thy native soil." 

Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp 
Recovering, and his scattered spirits returned. 
To Michael thus his humble words addressed. 

" Celestial, whether among the thrones, or named 
Of them the highest, for such of sluqie may seem 
Prince above princes ! gently hast thou told 
Thy message, which might else in telling wound. 
And in performing end us; what besides 
Of sorrow, and dijection, and des[)uir 
Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring 
Departure from this happy jjlace, our sweet 
Recess, and only consolation left 
Familiar to our eyes! all hapjiy else 
Inhospitable appear, and desolate. 
Nor knowing us, nor known: and, if by prayer 
Incessant I could hope to change the will 
Of Him who all things can, 1 wouKl not cease 
To weary him with n)y assiduous cries: 
But prayer against his absolute decree 
No more avails than breath against the wind. 
Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth; 
Therefore to his great bidding I submit, 
This most afflicts me, that, departing hence. 



86 



MILTON'S WORKS 



Book xi. 



As from his face I shall be hid, deprived 
His blessed countenance : here I could frequent 
With worship place by place where he vouch- 
safed 
Presence divine ; and to my sons relate, 
' On this mount he appeared; under this tree 
Stood visible ; among these pines his voice 
I heard; here with him at this fountain talked : 
So many grateful altars I would rear 
Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone 
Of lustre from the brook, in memory, 
Or monument to ages; and thereon 
Ofler swcct-sinelling gums, and fruits, and flowers: 
In yonder nether world where shall I seek 
His bright appearances, or footstep trace 1 
For though I tied him angry, yet, recalled 
To life prolonged and promised race, I now 
■Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts 
Of glory, and far off his steps adore." 

To whom thus Michael with regard benign. 
*'Adam, thou knowest Heaven his, and all the 

ea rth -, 
Not this rock only ; his omnipresence fills 
Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives, 
Fomented by his virtual power and warmed : 
All the earth he gave thee to possess and rule, 
J^o despicable gift ; surmise not then 
His presence to these narrow boutjds confined 
"Of Paradise or Eden^ this had been 
Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread 
All generations, and had hither come 
From all the ends of the earth, to celebrate 
And reverence thee, their great progenitor. 
But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought 

down 
To dwell on even ground now with thy sons : 
Yet doubt not but in valley, and in plain, 
God is, as here ; and will found alike 
Present ; and of his presence many a sign 
Still following thee, still compassing thee round 
With goodness and paternal love, his face 
Express, and of his steps the tract divine. 
Which that thou may'st believe, and be confirmed 
Ere thou from hence depart; know I am sent 
To show tliee what shall come in future days 
To thee and to thy ofispring; good with bad 
Expect to hear; supernal grace contending 
With sinfulness of men ; thereby to learn 
True patience, and to temper joy with fear 
And pious sorrow ; equally innured 
By moderation either state to bear. 
Prosperous or adverse : so shalt thou lead 
Safest thy life, and best prepared endure 
Thy mortal passage when it comes. Ascend 
This hill; let Eve (for I have drenched her eyes) 
Here sleep below while thou to foresight wak'st ; 
Afe once thou sleep'st, while she to life was 
formed." 

To whom thus Adam gratefully replied. 



" Ascend, I follow thee, safe guide, the path 
Thou lead'st me; and to the hand of Heaven 

submit. 
However chastening; to the evil tuni 
My obvious breast; arming to overcome 
By sufltjring, and earn rest from labour won, 
If so I may attain." So both ascend 
In the visions of God: It was a hill, 
Of Paradise the highest, from whose top 
The hemisphere of eartli, in clearest ken, 
Stretched out to the amplest reach of prospect lay 
Not higher that hill, nor wider looking round. 
Whereon, for diilerent cause, the tempter set 
Our second Adam, in the wilderness. 
To show him all earth's kingdoms, and their glory. 
His eye might there command wherever stood 
City of old or modern fame, the scat 
Of mightiest empire, from the destined walls 
OfCambalu, seat of Cathaian Can, 
And Samarchand by Oxus, Temir's throne, 
To Paquin of Sinaean kings ; and thence 
To Agra and Labor of great Mogul, 
Down to the golden Chersonese; or where 
The Persian in Echatan sat, or since 
In Hispaha^; or where the Russian ksar 
In Mosco; or the sultan in Bizance, 
Turchestan-born; nor could his eye not ken 
The empire of Negus to ins utmost port 
Ercoco, and the less maritime kings, 
Mombaza, and CLuiloa, and Melind, 
And Sof^la, thought Ophir, to the realm 
Of Congo, and Angola farthest south ; 
Or thence from Niger flood to Atlas mount 
The kingdoms of Almansor, Fez, and Sus, 
Morocco, and Algiers, and Tremisen; 
On Europe thence, and where Rome was to sway 
The world: in spirit perhaps he also saw 
Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezume, 
And Cusco in Peru, the richer seat 
Of Atabalipa; and yet unspoiled 
Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons 
Call El Dorado. But to nobler sights 
Michael from Adam's eyes the fihn removed. 
Which that false fruit that promised clearer sigh*. 
Had bred; then purged with euphrasy and rue 
The visual nerve, for he had much to see; 
And from the well of life three drops instilled. 
So deep the power of these ingredients pierced. 
Even to the inmost seat of mental sight, 
That Adam now enforced to close his eyes, 
Sunk down, and all his spirits became entranced; 
But him the gentle angel by the hand 
Soon raised, and his attention thus recalled. 

" Adam, now ope thine eyes: and first heboid 
The effects which thy original crime hath wrought 
In some to spring from thee; who never touched 
The excepted tree ; nor with the snake conspireJ^ 
Nor sinned thy sin ; yet from that sin derive 
Corruption, to bring forth more violent deeds." 



Book xi. 



PARADISE LOST. 



87 



His eyes he opened, and beheld a field, 
Part arable and tilth, whereon were sheaves 
New rrapcd, the other part sheep-walks and folds; 
I' th' midst an altar as the land-mark stood, 
Rustic, of grassy sord; thither anon 
A sweaty reaper from his tillage brought 
First fruits, the green ear, and the yellow sheaf, 
Unculled, as came to hand ; a shepherd next. 
More meek, came with the firstlings of his flock 
Choicest and best; then, sacrificing, laid 
The inwards and their fat, with incense strowed, 
On the cleft wood, and all due rites performed. 
Hio offering soon propitious fire from Heaven 
Consumed with nimble glance, and grateful steam; 
The other's not, for his was not sincere: 
Whereat he inly raged, and, as they talked, 
Smote him into the midriff with a stone 
That beat out life; he fell; and, deadly pale, 
Groaned out his soul with gushing flood effused. 
Much at that sigiit was Adam in his heart 
Dismayed, and thus in haste to th' angel cried. 

" O teacher, some great mi.schief hath befallen: 
To that meek man wlio well had sacrificed ; 
Is piety thus and pure devotion paid 1" 

To whom Michael thus, he also moved, replied. 
" These two are brethren, Adam, and to come 
Out of thy loins; th' unjust the just hath slain. 
For envy that his brother's oflfering found 
From Heaven acceptance ; but the bloody fact 
Will be avenged ; and the other's faith approved, 
Lose no reward ; though here thou see him die, 
Rolling in dust and gore." To which our sire: 

" Alas ! both for the deed and for the cause! 
But have I now seen Death 1 Is this the way 
I must return to native dust 1 O sight 
Of terror, foul and ugly to behold. 
Horrid to think, how horrible to feel !" 

To whom thus Michael. " Death thou hast 
seen 
In his first shape on man ; but many shapes 
Of Dc.ith, and many arc the ways that lead 
To liis grim cave, all dismal ; yet to sense 
Move terrible at th' entrance than within. 
Some, as thou sawest, by violent stroke shall die ; 
By fire, flood, famine, by intemperance more 
In meats and drinks, which on the earth shall 

bring 
Diseases dire, of which a monstrous crew 
Before thee shall appear ; that thou mayest know 
What misery the inabstinence of Eve 
Shall bring on men." Immediately a place 
Before his eyes appeared, sad, noisome, dark: 
A lazar-house it seemed ; wherein were laid 
Numbers of all diseased ; all maladies 
Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms 
Of heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds, 
Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs, 
Intestine stone and ulcer, colic pangs. 
Demoniac phrenzy moping melancholy, 



And moonstruck madness, pining atrophy, 
Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence, 
Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint racking rheums. 
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans ; Despair 
Tended the sick busiest from couch to couch ; 
And over them triumphant Death his dart 
Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invoked 
With vows, as their chief good, and final hope 
Sight so deform what heart of rock could long 
Dry-eyed behold '? Adam could not, but wept, 
Though not of woman born ; compassion quelled 
His best of man, and gave him up to tears 
A space, till firmer thoughts restrained excess; 
And, scarce recovering words, his plaint renewed. 

" O miserable mankind, to what fall 
Degraded, to what wretched state reserved ! 
Better end here unborn. Why is life given 
To be thus wrested from us 1 rather, why 
Obtruded on us thus 1 who, if we knew 
What we receive, would either not accept 
Life offered, or soon beg to lay it down ; 
Glad to be so dismissed in peace. Can thus 
The image of God in man, created once 
So goodly and erect, though faulty since. 
To such unsightly sufferings be debased 
Under inhuman pains'? Why should not man 
Retaining still divine similitude 
In part, from such deformities be free. 
And, for his Maker's image sake, exempt!" 

" Their Maker's image," answered Michael, 
" then 
Forsook them, when themselves they vilified 
To serve ungoverned appetite, and took 
His image whom they served, a brutish vice, 
Inductive mainly to the sin of Eve. 
Therefore so abject is their punishment. 
Disfiguring not God's likeness, but their own; 
Or if his likeness, by themselves defaced ; 
While they pervert pure nature's healthful rules 
To loathsome sickness ; worthily, since they 
God's image did not reverence in themselves." 

" I yield it just," said Adam, " and submit. 
But is there yet no other way, besides 
These painful passages, how we may come 
To death, and mix with our connatural dust!" 

" There is," said Michael, " if thou well ob- 
serve 
The rule of Not too much; by temperance taught, 
In what thou eat'st and drink'st; seeking from 

thence 
Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight, 
Till many years over thy head return : 
So may'st thou live, till, like ripe fruit, thou drop 
Into thy mother's lap ; or be with ease 
Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature: 
This is old age ; but then thou must outlive 
Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty ; which will 

change 
To withered, weak, and gray ; thy senses then 



Pfl 



MILTON'S W0rxTv3. 



Rook xf. 



(Mitusc, nil tasto of |)lon9imi iiuist fort'jfo, 
To wliat (lion linst; iind, for tlii'iiir of youth, 
l.lo|ifrui :<iul i-lu'crful, in lliy Mood will ri'iijn 
A lufliiiu-lioly t|iiin|) of colli iind dry 
To wt'ii;li tliy Hpiril;* down, ivnd last consuino 
I'hc Itiilni of lifo." To whom our aiioi'slor. 

" I liiiccl'orlli 1 (ly not di'iitli, nor would |)roloMjj 
Life niuih ; liciit nilhor how I inny bo ijuit 
Vuirost and oasiost of this ouuihrous charfjo; 
AVIiich 1 must keep till my iipjiniMli'd day 
Of ri'udoriu^ uj), and jiaticutly altoiul 
My dissolution.'' Michaol ropliwl. 

'' Nor loYO thy lifr, nor hato ; hut what thou 
livVt 
Livo woll; how ionit or short, ^xirinit to Ilonvoti: 
And n(>w pr(>|iiiri' Ihci' lor anolhrr siijht." 

lli> liHikt'd, and saw a spai'ions plain, whoroon 
"\Von< touts of various huo; by sonio, wore herds 
(>f i'attl(> !,';n\/in!» ; olhci's, wlu-ui-o tlio sound 
Ol' iuslrunu'uls that madi' mi-lmlious rliimc 
Was hoard, of harp and orjjan ; and, who moved 
Their stops and ehords, was seen ; his volant touch, 
Instinct llu'ouijh all proportions, low and hiijli, 
I'Mcd and pursued transverse the resonant fui;ue. 
In other part stood »)ne who, at the torjjo 
I .ahouriuij, two massy clods of iron and brass 
1 lad milled, (whelher found where casual tiro 
I lad wastcil woods i)n mountain or in vale, 
Pown to the veins of earth; thcueo }il''l'''!I 'i*'*^ 
To some cave's mt>uth; or wht^tlier wash'd by 

stream 
From under tjiMUud ;") the liquid ore he draiuc<l 
lnti> 111 moulds prepaivd ; Irom which he formed 
i'irst his i<wn tools ; then, what mi^jht else be 
* wrought 

Fusil or "graven in nietal. Afler these, 
Mut on the hither side, a dillerent sort 
I'rom the hiijh iieijjhliourinar hills, w liieh was tlieir 

sent, 
Hown to the plain descended: by their jjuise 
Just men they seen\ed, and all their study lient 
Ti> worship (<od ariijlif, and know his works 
JS'ot hivl ; nor those thimjs last which niijiht prp- 

serve 
Freedom and peace to men : they on the i)lain 
Louii iiad not walked, when from the tents, U'hold' i 
A bevy of lair women, richly jvav 
In <;cms niul wanton divss; to the harp they sung 
Soil amorous ditties, and in danco ciune on: 
'i'he men, though grave, eyed them, and let their 

eyes 
i\o\c without rein; till in tlie amorous net 
J'ast caught, tliey liked ; nuil each his likin<r chose; 
And now (>t' love they treat, till tiie evening star, 
Love's harbinger, appear»>d; then, all in heat 
Tlu>y light the nuptial toiX'h, and bid invi>ko 
Hymen, then tii-st to n\arriage rites invoked; 
With least and n»usic all the tents resound. 
►?ucli happy interview, and fair event 



Of love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, tlowora, 
And charming symphonies, attnclu-d the heart 
Of Adau\,soon inclined to admit deligiit, 
'I'hc bent of nature; which he thus expressed. 

" 'I'rue opener of mine eyes, prime angel blest, 
IVluch better seems this vision, and more hope 
Of peae(>ful days portends, than those two past; 
'I'hose were of hate and death, or pain imich worse; 
Here nature seems fullllled in all h<>r ends.'' 

To whom thus Michael. "Judge not what is 
best 
By jileaauro, though to nature seeming meet ; 
Created, as thou art, to nobler end. 
Holy and pure, conformity divine. 
Those teutsthou saw'st so pleasant, were the tents 
Of wickedness, wherein shall dwell his race 
Who sli>w his brother; studious they api)ear 
Of arts that polish life, inventors rare; 
ITiunindful of their Maker, though his spirit 
Tanglit them; but they his gills acknowledged 

none. 
Yet they a beauteous oflsin-ing shall beget , 
For that t'air female troop thou saw'st, that seemed 
C H' goddesses, so blithe, so smooth, so gay, 
Yet empty of all gooil wherein consists 
AV Oman's domestic honour and chief praise; 
Hrcd oidy and completed ti> the taste 
Of Instl'ul appetance, to sing, to dance, 
To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye: 
To these that sober race i>f men, whose lives 
llcligi()us titled them the sons of Ciod, 
Shall yield up ail their virtue, all their liuno 
Ignobly, to the trains and to the smiles 
Of these lair atheists; and now swim in jov, 
Kre long to swim at large ; and laugh, for which 
The worKl ere long a world of tears nnist weeii." 

To whom thus Adam, of short jiiy berell. 
"O pity and shame, that they, who to live well 
I-'.ntercd so fair, should turn aside to tread 
Paths indirect, or in the mid wuy faint! 
Hut still I see the tenor of man's wo 
Holds on the same, fron> woman to begin." 

" From man's elVeminate slackness it begins,'' 
Said the angel, " who slu>uld better hold his place 
l>y wisdom, and suiHM'ior gitls received. 
But now pn^pan> thee for another scene. 

He looked, ai\d saw wide territory spread 
Hetore him, towns, and rural works between 
Cities of men with lolly gates and towers, 
t^oncourse in arms, tierce faces threatening war, 
Oiants of mighty bone, ami bold emprise; 
Part wield their arms, part curb the foaming steed, 
Single, or in array of battle ranged, 
I'oth hoi-se and toot, nor idly mustering stood; 
Ouo way ft band s<>leet from I'oragi^ drives 
A herd of beeves, lair oxen and t'air kiiie, 
l''ron\ a t'at meailow ground ; or lleecy t!i>ck, 
Kwes and their bleating lambs, over the plain. 
Their booty; scan'c with life the shepherds lly, 



Book xr. 



PARADISE LOST. 



89 



l?iil cull ill niii,wliicli iiinkcH ii lildnily IVay; 

Willi cruel touriiiuiiciit tim HfiiimlrDiiH juiii ; 

WliiTii ciitllc pHHtiircd liil((, now Hciitlcrcd lies 

Willi iMrciirtMcM unci iiriiiHllio ciiHiiii^niiind (iciil, 

J Jt'Hci'U'd : otlirro to iicily H(n)ii<( 

Lay Bic'ge, eiicaiiiiu'cl ; l»y ImtliTy, ficnlo, and mino, 

AHMiuiiliii;^; odii'iH I'roiii till' Willi (Icffiid 

Willi diirl, iiiiil jiivcliii, sloMi's iiikI siil|iliiir()iiH firo, 

(In ciicli liiiiid slaujjjlitcr, iind (ii<TaT»tic doi'dn. 

Ill otlli'l' |i:il'l till- si-i'|ilrt'd lirriddrt call 

'I'o coiiiK-il, it) tlic cily ^alcs ; anon 

(<ray liciidcd men and grave, with warriorH niix'd, 

AhhciiiIiIc, and liaran)f|ien arc heard; hut hooii 

In rai'liiiiiH <)]i|iosiliiiii ; lili nl liiHt 

or middle Mjri^ one riHiiifr, iMiiiniMit 

In wIhc de|)(irl, Himlte much of rii,'ht and wroiif^ 

( )f jimlic.e, of icIij^iDii, truth, and praco, 

And judi^iiii'iil iVoin nhitvc: him old and yoiiiiir 

h'.X|ilodcd, and had Kci/.ed with violent hands, 

1 fad not a cloud (leHCcn<liii<r Miiate.lied liini tluMicc 

iriiHicii amid the throm^ : mo violence 

I'roceeded, niid oiijircKsion, and HwonI l.ivv, 

Tlirough all the |)laiii, and reliiire none was found. 

Adam wart all in learrt, and In his ;riiidi) 

Lameiitiiijf tiirnid lull Had; "<)! what are (hewr, 

Death'H ininiKterH, nut incti'i wlio thutt deal death 

InhuiiKinly to men and mnlti|ily 

'J'en tlioilM.ind liild liie nin ol' him wilo nlew 

I lis hrolher; lor of whom hiicIi iiiaHHiici'M 

Make llii-y, hut of their hrethren; men of iikmi'/ 

Hut who waH that just man, whom had not ireaven 

RcHcued, had in hiw ri^hteoimncHH lii'en IohI'!" 

'I'll whom thus Michael. " 'J'Ik^kc ariitho product 
Of those ill-mated inarriiif^eH thou Kawcst; 
Where (tihhI with had wero niutchcd, who of tlicni- 

Belves 
Ahlior to join; and, hy iinprudenco mixed, 
J'roduce prodinioiiH births of hody or mind. 
Such were thesis ;rianln, iiienof liij^li renown; 
For in those days nii^lit only shall ho admired, 
And valour and heroic virtue cidled ) 
'J'o overcome in h.iltle, anil siilidiio 
Nations, and hnnj^ home spoils with infinito 
Manslau^'hler, shall he held the hi^'hest pitch 
Of human t^lory ; and liir {{lory done 
Of triumph, to he styltd ureal conipierors, 
I'atroiis of mankind, (j;ods, and sons of i^ods; 
l)estroyers riijrhllier called, and phif^iies of men. 
'J'lilis fame shall lii^ achieved, renown on earth; 
And what most merits faiix! in silciK^e hid. 
JJut he, tlio Hcveiilh from thee, whom thou Ixs- 

Iieldest 
The only righteous in a world pervorHO, 
And thereliire hated, therefore bo heHct 
With foes, fordariiii; siiit;le to he just, 
A nil ullcr odious truth, thatCiod would comn 
Tojudfr«th(!m with his saints; hiin the most Iiiiil, 
Kiipt in a hiilmy cloud, with winijed steeds 
Did, us thou suw'st, receive, to walk with (Jod 



I li^rli in Hulvution and the climes of hliss, 
I'lxempt from death; to show thee what ri^wiird 
Awiiils thcijood, the rest what punishment; 
Which now direct lliiiie eyes and soon heliold." 
Jie looked, and saw tlio face of things (juito 

chanijed; 
'I'he hra/.eii throat of war had ceased to ronr ; 
All now was turned to jollity and K'"""') 
To luxury and riot, feast and dance, 
Marrying or proNlitiitin^, as hefcll, 
|{iipe or mhiltery, where jiassini^ fair 
Allured them; thence from cups to civil broils. 
At lennlli n rev(>n'nd sire iimon^f them came, 
And of their doiiliTS ;rreat di.slike dechiri-d, 
And lestined ii/^ainst their ways; he oil 
frcipienlcd their assemhiies, whereso mi^t. 
Triumphs or festivals; and to them preached 
C^onversioii and repentance, as to souls 
in prison under judirinents immiiu^nt: 
i>ut all in vain : which when hi; saw, he ceased. 
( 'oiitendinif, and removed his tents far oil'; 
Then, from the mounlain hewing limher tall, 
Heifaii to liuild a vessel of lin;^e hulk. 
Measured hy cuiiit, length, ;ind hreadth, and 

lieijrht, 
Smeared round with jiitcli, and in the side a door 
t'onlrived, and of ))rovisions laid in lar^^e 
I'dr niMii and licast: when lo, a wonder stranfjrs! 
()l'(!very hiwist, and liird, and insect Hiriall, 
( Jaine sevens, and pairs, and entered in as taught 
'I'lieir ord(!r; last the sire and his three sons. 
With their four wives; and Giod niudu faut tha 

door. 
Meanwhile the southwind roso, and, with block 

wiufTH 
Wide lioverinjj, all the clouds togi'ther drove 
From under IJeaven ; the hills to their Hup[)ly 
Vapour, and exhalation dusk and moist. 
Sent U|i amain ; and now llii! thickened sky 
Like a dark ceilinij stood; down rushed the rain 
Impetuous, and eoiitiiiiied till lixt earth 
INo more was seen; the lloatiiij^j vessel swum 
llplilled, and secure with heaked prow 
Itodc tilliii|^ o'er l\w Waves; all dwelliii'^s else 
flood overwhelmed, and them with all their [loinp 
Deep under water rolled ; si^a coveriid sea. 
Sea without shore; and in their palacen. 
Where luxury late reii;ned, sea nionstiirs wheli)Cil 
And htalilcd; of mankind, so nmnerous late, 
All leit, in one small hottom swum emharkctd. 
I low didst thou fjrieve then, Adam, to heholJ 
The end of all thy ollhiprini^, end so sad, 
Depojmlation I tliei; another Hood, 
Of t<!ars and Horrow a (lood thee also drowned, 
And sunk thee as thy sons ; till, ^jently reared 
l!y the !in(rel,on thy li'ct thou sti^od'st at last, 
'J'houjrh comfortless; as when a father mourns 
I lis I'hildri'ii, all in view destroyed at once; 
And scarce lo tlio ungel uttercdsl thus thy {iloint. 



90 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book xi. 



" O visions ill foreseen ! better had I 
Lived ignorant of future ! so had borne 
My part of evil only, each day's lot 
Enough to bear ; those now that were dispensed 
The burden of many ages, on me light 
At once, by my foreknowledge gaining birth 
Abortive, to torment me ere their being, 
With thought that they must be. Let no man 

seek 
Henceforth to be foretold what shall befall 
Him or his children ; evil he may be sure, 
Which neither his foreknowing can prevent, 
And he the future evil shall no less 
In apprehension than in substance feel 
Grievous to bear : but that care now is past, 
Man is not whom to warn : those few escaped, 
Famine and anguish will at last consume, 
Wandering that watery desert : I had hope, 
When violence was ceased, and war on earth, 
All would have then gone well ; peace would have 

crown'd 
With length of happy days the race of man ; 
But I was far deceived ; for now I see 
Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste. 
How comes it thus ] unfold, celestial guide. 
And whether here the race of man will end." 
To whom thus Michael. " Those whom last 

thou saw'st 
In triumph and luxurious wealth, are they 
First se«n in acts of prowess eminent 
And great exploits, but of true virtue void ; 
Who, having spilt much blood, and done much 

waste 
Subduing nations, and achieved thereby 
Fame in the world, high titles, and rich prey; 
Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, and 

sloth, 
Surfeit, and lust; till wantonness and pride 
Raise out of friendship hostile deeds in peace. 
The conquered also, and enslaved by war. 
Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose 
And fear of God ; from whom tlicir jiiety feigned 
In sharp contest of battle found no aid 
Against invaders; therefore, cooled in zeal. 
Thenceforth shall practise how to live secure, 
Worldly or dissolute, on what their lords 
Shall leave them to enjoy ; for the earth shall bear 
More than enough, that temperance may be tried: 
So all shall turn degenerate, all depraved ; 
Justice and temperance, truth and faith forgot ; 
One man except, the only son of light 
In a dark age, against example good. 
Against allurement, custom, and a world 
Oflended ; fearless of reproach and scorn. 
Or violence, he of their wicked ways 
Shall them admonish, and before them set 
The paths of righteousness, how much more safe. 
And full of peace; denouncing wrath to come 
On their impenitence ; and shall return 



Of them derived, but of God observed 
The one just man alive ; by his command 
Shall build a wondrous ark, as thou beheld'st, 
To save himself and household from amidst 
A world devote to universal wrack. 
No sooner he, with them of man and beast 
Select for life, shall in the ark he lodged. 
And sheltered round, but all the cataracts 
Of Heaven set open on the earth shall pour 
Rain, day and night ; all fountains of the deep, 
Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurp 
Beyond all bounds ; till inundation rise 
Above the highest hills : then shall this mount 
Of Paradise by might of waves be moved 
Out of his place, pushed by the horned flood. 
With all his verdure spoiled, and trees adrift, 
Down the great river to the opening gulf, 
And there take root, an island salt and bare. 
The haunt of seals and ores, and seamews clang : 
To teach thee that God attributes to place 
No sanctity, if none be thither brought 
By men who there frequent or therein dwell. 
And now, what further shall ensue, behold." 

He looked, and saw the ark hull on the flood, 
Which now abated ; for the clouds were fled, 
Driven by a keen northwind, that, blowing dry. 
Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decayed; 
And the clear sun on his wide watery glass , 
Gazed hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew. 
As after thirst ; which made their flowing shrink 
From standing lake to tripping ebb, that stole 
With soft foot tovvards the deep, who now had stopt 
His sluices, as the Heaven his windows shut. 
The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground 
Fast on the top of some high mountain fixed. 
And now the tops of hills as rocks appear : 
With clamour, thence the rapid currents drive 
Towards the retreating sea their furious tide. 
Forthwith from out the ark a raven flies, 
And after liim the surer messenger, 
A dove sent forth once and again to spy 
Green tree or ground whereon his foot may light; 
The second time returning, in his bill 
An olive leaf he brings, pacific sign: 
Anon dry ground appears, and from his ark 
The ancient sire descends with all his train; 
Then with uplifted hands, and eyes devout. 
Grateful to heaven, over his head beholds 
A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow 
Conspicuous with three listed colours gay. 
Betokening peace from God, and covenant new. 
Whereat the heart of Adam, erst so sad. 
Greatly rejoiced, and thus his joy broke forth. 

" O thou, who future things canst represent 
As present, heavenly instructor ! I revive 
At this last sight, assured that man shall live, 
With all the creatures, and their seed preserve. 
Far less I now lament with one whole world 
Of wicked sons destroyed, than I rejoice 



Book xir. 



PARADISE LOST. 



91 



For one man found so perfect and so just, 
That God vouchsafes to raise anotlier world 
From him, and all iiis anger to forget. 
But say, what mean those coloured streaks in Hea- 
ven 
Distended, as the brow of God appeased 1 
Or srrvc they as a flowery verge, to bind 
The fluid skirts of that same watery cloud. 
Lest it again dissolve, and shower the earth?" 
To wliom the archangel. " Dexterously thou 
aiin'st; 
So willingly doth God remit his ire. 
Though late repenting, him of man depraved; 
Grieved at his heart, vvlien looking down he saw 
The whole earth filled with violence, and all flesh 
Corrupting each their way; yet, those removed, 
Such grace shall one just man find in his sight 
That he relents not to blot out mankind; 
And makes a covenant never to destroy 
The earth again by flood; nor let the sea 
Surpass his bounds; nor rain to drown the world. 
With man therein or beast; but when he brings 
Over the earth a cloud, will therein set 
His triple-coloured bow, whereon to look, 
And call to mind his covenant: day and night, 
Seed time and harvest, heat and hoary frost. 
Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things 

new, 
Both Heaven and earth, wherein the just shall 
dwell. 



BOOK XII. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The angel Michael continues, from the flood, to relate what 
shall succeed ; then in tlie mention of Abraham, comes by de- 
grees to explain, who that seed of the woman shall be, winch 
was promised Adam and Eve in tlie fall ; his incarnation, 
death, resurrection, and ascension; the state of the church till 
his second coming. Adam, greatly satisfied and recomforted 
by these relations and promises, descends the hill witli Michael; 
awakens Eve, who all this while had slept, but with gentle 
dreams composed to quietness of mind and submission. Mi- 
chael in either hand leads them out of Paradise, the fiery 
sword waving behind them, and the cherubim taking their 
6tations to guard the place. 



As one, who in his journey bates at noon. 
Though bent on speed; so here the archangel 

paused 
Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored, 
If Adam aught perhaps might interpose; 
Then, with transition sweet, new speech resumes. 
" Thus thou hast seen one world begin and end; 
And man, as from a second stock proceed. 
Much thou hast yet to see ; but 1 perceive 
Thy mortal sight to fail ; objects divine 
Must needs impair and weary human sense ; 
Henceforth what is to come I will relate; 
Thou therefore give due audience and attend. 



This second source of men, while yet but few, 
And while the dread of judgment past remains 
Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity, 
With some regard to what is just and right 
Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace; 
Labouring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop, 
Corn, wine, and oil; and from the herb or flock, 
Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid. 
With large wine offerings poured, and sacred feast, 
Shall spend their days in joys unblamed ; and dwell 
Long time in peace, by families and tribes, 
Under paternal rule ; till one shall rise 
Of proud ambitious heart; who not content 
With fair equality, fraternal state. 
Will arrogate dominion undeserved 
Over his bretliren, and quite dispossess 
Concord and law of nature from the earth ; 
Hunting (and men, not beasts, shall be his game) 
With war and hostile snares such as refuse 
Subjection to his empire tyrannous: 
A mighty hunter thence he shall be styled 
Before the Lord ; as, in despite of Heaven, 
Or from Heaven claiming second sovereignty; 
And from rebellion shall derive his name, 
Though of rebellion others he accuse. 
He with a crew whom like ambition joins 
With him or under him to tyrannize, 
Marching from Eden towards the west, shall find 
The plain wherein a black bituminous gurge 
Boils out from under ground, the mouth of hell : 
Of brick, and of that stufl!'they cast to build 
A city and tower, whose top may reach to Heaven, 
And get themselves a name; lest, far dispersed 
In foreign lands, their memory be lost ; 
Regardless whether good or evil fame. 
But God, who oft descends to visit men 
Unseen, and through their habitations walks 
To mark their doings, them beholding soon. 
Comes down to see their city, ere the tower 
Obstruct Heaven's towers, and in derision sets 
Upon their tongues a various spirit, to rase 
GLuite out their native language; and, instead. 
To sow a jangUng noise of words unknown: 
Forthwith a hideous gabble rises loud 
Among the builders ; each to other calls 
Not understood ; till hoarse, and all in rage. 
As mock'd they storm: great laughter was in 

Heaven, 
And looking down, to see the hubbub strange 
And hear the din : thus was the building left 
Ridiculous, and the work confusion named." 
Whereto thus Adam, fatherly displeased. 
" O execrable son ! so to aspire 
Above his brethren, to himself assuming 
Authority usurped, from God not given: 
He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl, 
Dominion absolute ; that right we hold i 

By his donation ; but man over men 
He made not lord; such title to himself 



♦)2 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book xii. 



llcscrviiijr human loll IVoiii human free. 
But this usur|)cr his (Microiiclimcnt jn'ouil 
Stays not on iiuin: to Ciod his tower intends 
SiPi^e and clpfiancc: wrctciiod man ! wiiat food 
Will he convey up thither to sustain 
Himself and his rush army, where thin air 
Above the clouds will pine his entrails gross, 
And famish him of lireatii, if not of bread 1" 
To whom thus Michael. " Justly thou ab- 
horr'st 
That son, who on the quiet state of men 
Such trouble brought, adecting to subdue 
Rational liberty: yet know withal. 
Since thy original lapse, true liberty 
Is lost, which always with rigiit reason awells 
Twinned, and from her hath no dividual being: 
Reason in man t)l)scured, or not obeyed, 
Immediately inordinate desires 
And upstart passions catch the government 
From reason, anil to servitude reduce 
Man, tilltluvii free. Therefore, since he permits 
Witiiin himself unworthy ])o\vers to reign 
Over free reason, tiod, in judgment just, 
Subjects him from without to violent lords ; 
Who oft as undeservedly inthral 
His outward freedom: tyranny must be; 
Though to the tyrant tben^by no excuse. 
Yet sometimes nations will decline so low 
From virtue, whicii is reason, tliat no wrong, 
Rut justice, and some fatal curse annexed, 
Deprives theui of their outward liberty, 
Tlieir inward lost: witness the irreverent son 
Of him who built the urk, who, for the shamo 
Done to his father, heanl this heavy curse, 
Servant o/scrvantu, on his vicious race. 
'J'lius will tliis latter, as t!ie former world, 
Still tend from bad to worse, till Ciod at last, 
Wearied with their ini([uitit's, withdraw 
His presence from among them, and avert 
His holy eyes; resolving from thenceforth 
To leave them to tlieir own iiolluteil ways; 
And one peculiar nation to select 
From all the rest, of whom to be invoked, 
A nation from one faitht"ul man to spring: 
Him on this side Euphrates yet residing. 
Bred up in idol-worshi[) ; O, that men 
(Canst thou believe 1) should be so stupid grown, 
While yet the patriarch liveil who 'scaped the 

flood. 
As to forsake the living God, and fall 
To worshi|) tlieir own work in wood and stone 
For gods ! yet him God the most liigh vouchsaies 
To call by visioTi from his father's house. 
His kindred, and false gods, into a land 
Which he will show him, and from him will raise 
A mighty nation, and upon him shower 
His benedieiion so, that in his .seed 
All nations shall be blest: lie straight obeys. 
Not knowing to what liuul, yet Urm believes: 



I sec him, but thou canst not, with what faith 
lie leaves his gods, his friends, and native soil, 
Ur of Chaldiea, jiassing now the liiril 
To Haran; aller him a cumbrous train 
Of herds and (locks, and numerous servitude. 
Not wandering jioor, but trusting all his wealth 
Willi Ciod, who called him, in a land unknown, 
(^anaan he now attains; 1 see his tents 
Pitched about Sechem, and tlie neighbouring plain 
( )f Moreh ; there by promise he receives 
(lift to his progeny of all that land. 
From Ilamath northward to the desert south; 
(Things by their names I call, though yet un- 
named;) 
From llermon cast to the great western sea; 
Mount llermon, yonder sea; each jibice behold 
in ]irospect, as 1 point them; on the shore 
Mount Carmel; here the double founted stream 
.Jordan, true limit eastward; but his sons 
Shall dwell to Senir, that long ridge of hills. 
This ponder, that all nations of the earth 
Shall in his seed be blessed : by that seed 
Is meant thy great deliverer, who shall bruise 
The serpent's head; whereof to thee anon 
riainlier shall be revealed. This patriarch blest 
Whom faithful Abraham due time shall call, 
A son, and of his son a grandchild leaves, 
Like him in faith, in wisdom, and renown; 
The grandchild, with twelve sons increased, de- 
parts 
From Canaan, to a land hereafter called 
Egypt, divided by the river Nile; 
See where it (lows, disgorging at seven mouths 
Into the sea: to sojourn in that land 
He comes, invited by a younger son 
In time of dearth ; a son, whose worthy deeds 
Raise him to be the second in that n\dm 
Of Pharaoh : there he dies, and leaves his race 
Growing into a nation ; and now grown, 
Suspected to a sequent king, who seeks 
To stop their overgrowth, as inmate guests 
Too numerous; whence of guests he makes them 

slaves 
Inhospitably, and kills their infant moles: 
Till by two brethren (these two brethren called 
Moses and Aaron) sent from God to claim 
His peojile from iiithralmeiit, they return 
With glory and spoil, back to their promised land. 
Butlirst the lawless tyrant, who deni(>s 
To know their God, or message to regard. 
Must be compelled by signs and judgments dire; 
To blcMHl unshed the rivers must be turned ; 
Frogs, lice, and (lies must all liis palace (ill 
AVith loathed intrusion, and till all the land; 
His cattle must of rot and murrain die; 
Botches and blains must all his (lesh emboss. 
And all his jieople; thunder mixed with hail. 
Hail mixed with lire, must rend th' h'gyptiaii sky, 
And wheel on th' earth, devouring where it rollt: 



Book xii. 



PARADISE LOST. 



93 



What it devours not, hcrl>, or fruit, or grain, 
A darksome cloud of locusts swarming down 
Must cat, and on tlii^ fjround leave nothing green; 
Darkness must overshadow all his bounds, 
Palpable darkness, and blot out three days; 
Last, with one midnight stroke, all the first-born 
Of Kgypt must lie dead. Thus with ten -.vounds 
The river-dragon tamed, at length submits 
To let his sojourners de[)art, and oft 
Humbles his stubborn heart; but still as ico 
More hardeneil after thaw ; till, in his rage 
[Pursuing whom ho late dismissed, the sea 
Swallows him with his host ; but tlu^m lets pass 
As on dry land, between two crystal walls; 
Awed by the rod Of Moses so to stand 
Divided, till his rescued gain their shore: 
Such wondrous power God to his saint will lend, 
Though present in his angel; who shall go 
Before them in a cloud, and pillar of lire ; 
By day a cloud, by nigiit a pillar of fire; 
To guide them in their journey, and remove 
Behind them, while th' obdurate king pursues: 
All niglit he will pursue, but his approach 
Darkness defends between till morning watch; 
Then tlirough the fiery jjiilar and the cloud 
God looking forth will trouble all his host, 
And craze their chariot wheels: when by command 
Moses once more his potent rod extends 
Over the sea; the sea his rod obeys; 
On their embattled ranks the waves return, 
And overwhelm their war : the race elect 
Safe towards Canaan from the shore advance 
Through the wild desert, not the readiest way; 
Lest, entering on the Canaanite alarmed, 
War terrify them inexpert, and fear 
Return them back to Egypt, choosing rather 
Inglorious life with servitude; for life 
To noble and ignoble is more sweet 
Untrained in arms, where rashness leads not on. 
This also shall they gain by their delay 
In the wide wildernc^ss ; there they shall found 
Their government, and their great senate choose 
Thro' the twelve tribes, to rule by laws ordained: 
God from the mount of vSinai, whose grriy top 
Shall tremble-, he descending, will himself. 
In thunder, lightning, and loud trumpet's sound, 
Ordain them laws; part, such as a])pcrtain 
To civil justice; part, religious rites 
Of sacrifice; informing them, by ty[)es 
And shadows, of that destined seed to bruise 
The serpent, by what means he shall achieve 
Mankind's deliverance. But the voice of God 
To mortal ear is dreadful : they beseech 
That Moses might report to tlicm his will. 
And terror e^ase ; he grants what they besought,^ 
Instructed that to God is no access 
Without mediator, whose high office now 
Moses in figure bears ; to introduce 
One greater, of whose day he shall foretell, 

1.2 



And all the prophets in their age the times 

Of great Messiah shall sing. I'hus, laws and rites 

Established, sucii delight hath God in men 

Obedient to his will, that he vouchsafes 

Among them to set up his tabernacle, 

The holy One with mortal men to dwell: 

By his prescript a sanctuary is framed 

Of cedar, overlaid with gold, therein 

An ark, and in the ark his testimony, 

The records of his covenant; over these 

A mercy-seat of gold, l)etwcen the wings 

Of two bright cherubim; before him burn 

Seven lamps, as in a zodiac representing 

The heavenly fires; over tiie tent a cloud 

Shall rest by day, a fiery gleam by night. 

Save when tiiey journey, and at length they come, 

Conducted by his angel, to the land 

Promised to Abraham and his seed: the rest 

Were long to tell ; how many battles fought; 

How many kings destroyed, and kingdoms won; 

Or how the sun shall in mid heaven stand still 

A day entire, and night's due course adjourn, 

Man's voice commanding, ' Sun, in Gibeon stand, 

And thou moon in the vale of Aialon, 

Till Israel overcome!' so call the third 

From Abraham, son of Isaac; and from him 

His whole descent, who thus shall Canaan win." 

Here Adam interposed. " O sent from Heaven, 
Enlightencr of my darkness, gracious tilings 
Thou hast revealed ; those chielly which concern 
Just Abraham and his seed: now first 1 find 
Mines eyes true opening, and my heart much 

eased, 
Erewhilc perplexed with thoughts what would 

become 
Of me and all mankind ; but now I see 
His day, in whom all nations shall be blest; 
Favour unmerited by me, who sought 
Forbidden knowledge by forljidden means. 
This yet I apprehend not, why to those 
Among whom God will deign to dwell on earth 
So many and so various laws are given; 
So many laws argues so many sins 
Among them; how can God with such reside?" 

To whom thus Michael. " Doubt not but that 
sin 
Will reign among them, as of thee liegot ; 
And therefore was law given them, to evince 
Their natural pravity, by stirring up 
Sin against law to fight : that when they see 
Law can discover sin, but not iremove, 
Save by those shadowy expiations weak, 
The blood of bulls and goats, they may conclude 
Some blood more precious must be paid for man^ 
Just for unjust; that in such righteousness 
To them by faith imputed, they may find 
Justification towards God, and peace 
Of conscience; which the law by ceremonies 
Can not appease, nor man the mortal part 



94 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book xii. 



Perform ; and, not pcrformintj, can not live. 

So law appears imperfect; and hut given 

With purpose to resign them in full time, 

Up to a better covenant ; disciplined 

From shadowy types to truth; from flesh to spirit; 

From imposition of strict laws to free 

Acceptance of large grace; from servile fear 

To filial; works of law to works of faith. 

And therefore shall not Moses, though of God 

Highly beloved, being but the minister 

Of law, his people into Canaan lead ; 

But Joshua, whom the Gentiles Jesus call, 

His name and oOice bearing, who shall quel 

The adversary serpent, and bring back. 

Through the world's wilderness long wandered 

man 
Safe to eternal Paradise of rest. 
Meanwhile they, in their earthly Canaan placed, 
Long time shall dwell and prosper; but when sins 
National interrupt their public peace. 
Provoking God to raise them enemies ; 
From whom as oft he saves them penitent 
By judges first, then under kings: of whom 
The second, both for piety renowned 
And puissant deeds, a promise shall receive 
Irrevocable, that his regal throne 
For ever shall endure; the like shall sing 
All prophecy, that of the royal stock 
Of David (so I name this king) shall rise 
A Son, the woman's seed to thee foretold, 
Foretold to Abraham, as in whom shall trust 
All nations; and to kings foretold, of kings 
The last; for of his reign shall be no end. 
But first, a long succession must ensue; 
And his next son, for wealth and wisdom famed, 
The clouded ark of God, till then in tents 
Wandering sliall in a glorious tem]:)le enshrine. 
Such follow him, as shall be registered 
Part good, part bad; of bad liie longer scroll; 
Whose foul idolatries, and other faults 
Heaped to the popular sum, will so incense 
God, as to leave them, and exirose their land. 
Their city, his temple, and his holy ark. 
With all his sacred things, a scorn and prey 
To that proud city, whose high walls thou saw'st 
Left in confusion; Babylon thence called. 
There in captivity he lets them dwell 
The space of seventy years; then brings them 

back, 
Remembering mercy, and his covenant sworn 
To David, stablished as the days of Heaven. 
Returned from Babylon by leave of kings 
Their lords, whom God dis|)ose(l, the house of God 
They first re-edify, and for a while 
In mean estate live moderate; till, grown 
In wealth and multitude, factious they grow; 
But first among the priests dissension springs, 
Men who attend the altar, and should most 
Endeavour peace : their strife pollution brings 



Upon the temple itself; at last they seize 
The sceptre, and regard not David's sons; 
Then lose it to a stranger, that the true 
Anointed king Messiah might be born 
Barred of his right ; yet at his birtli a star. 
Unseen before in Heaven, proclaims him come 
And guides the eastern sages, who inquire 
His place, to offer incense, myrrh, and gold : 
His place of birth a solemn angel tells 
To simple shepherds, keeping watch by night; 
They gladly thither haste, and by a choir 
Of squadroned angels hear his carol sung. 
A virgin is his mother, but his sire 
The power of the Most High: he shall ascend 
The throne hereditary, and bound his reign 
With earth's wide bounds, his glory with the 
heavens." 

He ceased, discerning Adam with such joy 
Surcharged, as had like grief been dewed in tears, 
Without the vent of words; which these he breath- 
ed. 

" O prophet of glad tidings, finisher 
Of utmost hope! now clear I understand 
What oft my steadiest thoughts have search'd in 

vain. 
Why our great Expectation should be called 
The seed of woman : virgin mother, hail ! 
H igh in the love of Heaven ; yet from my loins 
Thou shalt proceed, and from thy womb the Son 
Of God most High : so God with man unites ! 
Needs must the serpent now his capital bruise 
Expect with mortal pain: say where and when 
Their fight, what stroke shall bruise the victor's 
heel." 

To whom thus Michael. " Dream not of their 
fight. 
As of a duel, or the local wounds 
Of head or heel : nor therefore joins the Son 
Manhood to Godhead, with more strength to foil 
Thy enemy; nor so is overcome 
Satan, whose fall from Heaven, a deadlier bruise, 
Disabled, not to give thee thy death's wound : 
Which he, who comes thy Saviour, .shall recure, 
Not by destroying Satan, but his works 
In thee, and in thy seed : nor can this be. 
But by fulfilling that which thou didst want. 
Obedience to the law of God imposed 
On penalty of death, and suffering death, 
The penalty to thy transgression due ; 
And due to theirs which out of thine will grow- 
So only can high justice rest appaid. 
The law of God exact he shall fulfil 
Both by ol>edicnce and by love, though love 
A lone fulfil the law ; thy punishment 
He shall endure, by coming in the flesh 
To a reproachful life and cursed death; 
Proclaiming life to all who shall believe 
In his redemption ; and that his obedience, 
Im puted, becomes theirs by faith, his merits 



Book xit. 



PARADISE LOST. 



95 



To save them, not their own, though logal, works. 
For this lie siiail hve hated, he blasphemed, 
Siezed on by force, judged, and to death con- 
demned 
A shamerid and accursed, nailed to the cross 
By his own nation; slain for bringing life; 
But to the cross he nails thy enemies. 
The law that is against thee, and the sins 
Of all mankind, with him there crucified, 
Ni'vcr to hurt them more who rightly trust 
In this his satisfaction; so he dies. 
But soon revives ; death over him no power 
Shall long usurp; ere the third dawning light 
Return, tiie stars of morn shall see him rise 
Out of his grave, fresh as the dawning light 
Thy ransom paid, which man from death redeems. 
13 is death for man, as many as ollered life 
Neglect not, and the benefit embrace 
By faith not void of works: this godlike act 
Annuls thy doom, the death thou should'st have 

died, 
In sin for ever lost from life; this act 
Shall bruise the head of Satan, crush his strength, 
Defeatin<f sin and death, his two main arms. 
And fix far deeper in his he:ul their stings 
Than temporal death shall bruise the victor's heel, 
Or theirs whom he redeems; a death, like sleep, 
A gentle wafting to immortal life. 
Nor after resurrection shall he stay 
Longer on earth than certain times to appear 
To his disciples, men who in his life 
Still followed him; to them shall leave in charge 
To teach all nations what of him they learned 
And bis salvation; them who shall beliiivc 
Baptizing in the protluent stream, the sign 
Of washing them from guilt of sin to life 
Pure, and in mind prepared, if so liefall. 
For death, like tiiat wbich the Redeemer died. 
All nations they shall teach; for, from that day, 
Not only to the sons of Abraham's loins 
Salvation shall be i)reached, but to the sons 
Of Abraham's faith, wherever through the world ; 
So in his seed all nations shall be blest. 
Then to the Heaven of Heavens he shall ascend, 
With victory, triumphing through the air 
Over his foes and thine ; there shall surprise 
The serpent, prince of air, and drag in chains 
Througii all his realm, and there confounded leave; 
Then enter into glory, and resume 
His seat at God's right-hand, exalted high 
Above all names in Heaven; and thence shall 

come. 
When this world's dissolution shall be ripe, 
With glory and power to judge both quick and 

dead ; 
To judge the unfaithful dead, but to reward 
His faithful, and receive them into bliss, 
Whether in Heaven or earth ; for then the earth 



Shall all be Paradise, far happier place 
Than this of Eden, and far hapiiier days." 

So s]iake tlu; archangel Mi(;lKifl ; then paused, 
As at tiie world's great period : and our sire, 
Replete with joy and wonder, thus replied. 

" O goodness infinite, goodness immense 1 
That all tliis good of evil shall produce. 
And evil turn to good ; more wonderful 
Than that which by creation first brought forth 
Light out of darkness! Full of doubt I stand, 
Whether I should repent mc now of sin 
By mc done and occasioned, or rejoice 
Much more, that much more good tlicrcof shall 

spring, 
To God more glory, more good will to men. 
From God, and over wrath grace shall abound. 
But say, if our Deliverer up to Heaven 
Must rea.scend, what will betide the few 
His fiiithful, left among the unfaithful herd. 
The enemies of truth! who tlicn shall guide 
His peojile, who defend 1 will they not deal 
Worse with his followers than with him they 

dealt V 
" Be sure they will," said the angel ; " but from 

Heaven 
He to his own a Comforter will send. 
The promise; of the Father, who shall dwell 
His spirit within them ; and the law of faith, 
Working through love, upon their hearts shall 

write. 
To guide them in all truth ; and also arm 
With spiritual armour, able to resist 
Satan's assaults, and quench his fiery darts ; 
What man can do against them, not afraid. 
Though to the death ; against such cruelties 
With inward consolations recompensed, 
And oft supported so as shall amaze 
Their proudest persecutors: for the Spirit, 
Poured first on iiis ajwstles, whom he sends 
To evangelize tiic nations, then on all 
Baptized, shall them witii wondrous gifts endue 
To speak all tongues, and do all miracles. 
As did their Lord before them. Thus they win 
Great numbers of each nation to receive 
With joy the tidings brought from Heaven : at 

length 
Their ministry performed, and race well run. 
Their doctrine and their story written left. 
They die; but in their room, as they forewarn, 
Wolves shall succeed for teachers, grievous wolves, 
Who all the sacred mysteries of Heaven 
To their own vile advantages sliall turn 
Of lucre and ambition ; and the truth 
With superstitions and traditions taint, 
Left only in those written records pure. 
Though not but by the Spirit understood. 
Then shall they seek to avail themselves of names, 
Places, and titles and with these to join 



06 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book xir. 



Secular power ; though feigning still to act 

By spiritual, to themselves appropriating 

The spirit of God, promised alike and given 

To all believers ; and, from that pretence, 

Spiritual laws by carnal power shall force 

On every conscience ; laws which none shall find 

Left them enrolled, or what the Spirit within 

Shall on the heart engrave. What will they then 

But force the spirit of grace itself, and bind 

His consort liberty 1 what, but unbuild 

His living temples, built by faith to stand 

Their own faith, not another's 1 for, on earth, 

Who against faith and conscience can be heard 

Infallible'? yet many will presume : 

Whence heavy persecution shall arise 

On all, who in the worship persevere 

Of spirit and truth ; the rest, far greater part, 

Will deem in outward rites and specious forms 

Religion satisfied ; truth shall retire 

Bestuck with slanderous darts, and works of faith 

Rarely be found : so shall the world go on, 

To good malignant, to bad men benign ; 

Under her own weight groaning, till the day 

Appear of respiration to the just, 

And vengeance to the wicked, at return 

Of him so lately promised to thy aid, 

The woman's seed ; obscurely then foretold. 

Now amplier known thy Saviour and thy Lord ; 

Last, in the clouds, from Heaven to be revealed 

In glory of the Father, to dissolve 

Satan with his perverted world ; then raise 

From the conflagrant mass, purged and refined. 

New Heavens, new earth, ages of endless date. 

Founded in righteousness, and peace, and love ; 

To bring forth fruits, joy and eternal bliss." 

He ended ; and thus Adam last replied. 
" How soon hath thy prediction, Seer blest. 
Measured this transient world, the race of time, 
Till time stands fixed ! beyond is all abyss, 
Eternity, whose end no eye can reach. 
Greatly instructed I shall hence depart; 
Greatly in peace of thought, and have my fill 
Of knowledge, what this vessel can contain j 
Beyond which was my folly to aspire. 
Henceforth I learn, that to obey is best, 
And love with fear the only God; to walk 
As in his presence ; ever to observe 
His providence ; and on him sole depend, 
Merciful over all his works, with good 
Still overcoming evil, and by small 
Accomjdishing great things, by things deemed 

weak 
Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise 
By simply meek : that suffering for truth's sake 
Is fortitude to highest victory, 
And, to the faithful, death the gate of life; 
Taught this by his example, whom I now 
Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest." 
To whom thus also the angel leist replied. 



" This having learned, thou hast attained the sura 
Of wisdom ; hope no higher, tliough all the stars 
Thou knew'st by name, and all the ethereal powers, 
All secrets of the deep, all Nature's works. 
Or works of God in Heaven, air, earth, or sea, 
And all the riches of this world enjoyedst. 
And all the rule, one empire ; only add 
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable ; add faith, 
Add virtue, patience, temperance ; add love, 
By name to come called charity, the soul 
Of all the rest : then wilt thou not be loath 
To leave this Paradise, but shall possess 
A Paradise within thee, happier far. 
Let us descend now therefore from this to 
Of speculation ; for the hour precise 
Exacts our parting hence ; and see ! the guards, 
By me encamped on yonder hill, expect 
Their motion ; at whose front a flaming sword, 
In signal of remove, waves fiercely round : 
We may no longer stay: go, waken Eve ; 
Her also I with gentle dreams have calmed 
Portending good, and all her spirits composed 
To meek submission ; thou, at season fit. 
Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard, 
Chiefly what may concern her faith to know. 
The great deliverance by her seed to come 
(For by the woman's seed) on all mankind : 
That ye may live, which will be many days, 
Both in one faith unanimous, though sad. 
With cause, for evils past, yet much more cheered 
With meditation on the happy end." 

He ended, and they both descend the hill ; 
Descended, Adam to the bower where Eve 
Lay sleeping, ran before; but found her waked; 
And thus with words not sad she him received. 

" Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st, I 
know; 
For God is also in sleep; and dreams advise, 
Which he hath sent propitious, some great good 
Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress 
Wearied I fell asleep : but now led on ; 
In me is no delay; with thee to go. 
Is to stay here; without thee here to stay. 
Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me 
Art all things under Heaven, all places thou, 
Who for my wilful crime art banished hence. 
This further consolation yet secure 
I carry hence; though all by me is lost. 
Such favour I unworthy am vouchsafed. 
By me the promised Seed shall all restore." 

So spake our mother Eve, and Adam heard 
Well pleased, but answered not; for now too nigh 
The archangel stood ; and from the other liill 
To their fixed station, all in bright array 
The cherubim descended ; on the ground 
Gliding rneteorous, as evening mist 
Risen from a river o'er the marish glides, 
And gather's ground fast at the labourer's heel 
Homeward returning. High in front advanced 



Book sii. 



PARADISE LOST. 



97 



The brandished sword of God before them blazed, 
Fierce as a coinet; wiiicli witli torrid lieat, 
And vapour as the Lybian air adust, 
Began to parch that temperate clime; whereat 
In cither hand the hastening angel caught 
Our hngering parents, and to the eastern gate 
Led them direct, and down the cUff as fast 
To the subjected plain ; then disappeared. 
They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld 
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, 



Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate 
With dreadful faces thronged, and fiery arms: 
Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them 

soon; 
The world was all before them where to choose 
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide: 
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps, and 

slow, 
Through Eden took their solitary way. 



S^^t^^t!^^ Ivcsitinetf* 



BOOK I. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The EUbject proposed. Invocation of the Holy Spirit. — 
The poem opens with Joliii baptizing at ilie river Jordan. 
Je.siis coming there is baptized; and is attested, by tlie descent 
of the Holy Ghost, anil by a voice ffom Heaven, to be the 
Son of God. Satan, who is present, upon tbis immediately 
flies up into the regions of the air : where, summoning his in- 
fernal council, he acquaints them with his apprehensions that 
Jesus is that seed of the woman, destined to destroy all their 
power; and points out to them the immediate necessity of 
bringing the matter to proof, and of attempting, by snares and 
fraud, to counteract and defeat the person, from whom they 
have so much to dread. This office lie offi;rs himself to un- 
dertake; and his offer being accepted, sets out on his enter, 
prise. — In the meantime God, in theas.seniblyof holy angels, 
declares that he has given up his Son to he tempted by Satan ; 
but foretells that the tempter shall be completely defeated by 
him: — upon which the angels sing a hymn of triumph. 
Jesus is led up by the Spirit into the wilderness, while he is 
meditating on the commencement of his great office of Sa. 
viour of Mankind. Pursuing his meditations, he narrates, in 
a soliloquy, what divine and philanthropic impulses he had 
felt from his early youth, and how his mother Mary, on per- 
ceiving these dispositions in him, had arqu;iinted him with 
the circumstances of his birth, and informed him that he was 
no less a person than the Son of God ; to wliich he adds what 
Ills own inquiries and reflections had supplied in confirmation 
of this great truth, and particularly dwells on the recent at- 
lestatinn of it at the river Jordan. Our Lord passes forty 
days, fasting in the wilderness ; where the wild beasts become 
mild and harmless in his presence. Satan now appears under 
the form of an old peasant; and enters into discouise with 
our Lord, wondering what could have brought him alone into 
eo dangerous a place, and at the same time professing to re- 
cognise him for the person lately acknowledged by John, at 
the river Jordan, to be the Son of God. Jesus briefly replies. 
Satan rejoins with a description of the difliculty of supporting 
life in the wilderness; and entreats Jesas, if he be really the 
Son of God, to manifest his divine power, by changing some 
of the stones into bread. Jesus reproves him and at the same 
time tells him that he knows who he is. Satan instantly 
avows himself, and ofl^ers an artful apology for himself and 
his conduct. Ourbles.sed Lordseverely reprimands him, and 
r.futes every part of his justification. Satan, with much 
semblance of humility, still endeavours to justify himself, and, 
professing his admiration of Jesiis and his regard for virtue, 
requests to be permitted at a future lime to hear more of his 
conversitioii ; but is answered, that this must be as he shall 



find permission from above. Satan then disappears, and the 
book closes with a short description of night coming on in the 
desert. 



I, WHO erewhile the happy garden sung 
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing 
Recovered Paradise to all mankind. 
By one man's firm obedience fully tried 
Through all temptation, and the tempter foiled 
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed, 
And Eden raised in the waste wilderness. 

Thou Spirit, who led'st the glorious eremite 
Into the desert, his victorious field. 
Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him 

thence 
By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire, 
As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute; 
And bear through height or depth of nature's 

bounds, 
With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds 
Above heroic, though in secret done. 
And unrecorded left through many an a^e; 
Worthy to have not remained so long unsuntr. 

Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice 
More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried 
Repentance, and Heaven's kingtlom nigh at hand 
To all baptized : to his great baptism flocked 
With awe the regions round, and with them came 
From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed 
To the flood Jordan ; came, as then obscure, 
Unmarked, unknown ; but him the Baptist soon 
Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore 
As to his worthier, and would have resigned 
To him his heavenly office ; nor was long 
His witness unconfirmed : on him baptized 
Heaven opened, and in likeness of a dove 
The Spirit descended, while the Father's voice 
From Heaven pronounced him his beloved Son. 
That heard the Adversary, who, roving still 
About the world, at that assembly famed 
Would not be last, and, with the voice divine 
Nigh thunderstruck, the exalted Man, to whom 



98 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Boor i. 



Sucli liicjli ntU'st, was i^ivon, awhile surveyed 
"With wonder; tlieii, with envy tViUiiilit and rage, 
Flies Id his phiee, nor rests, luit. in mid air 
To council summons all his mighty peers, 
Within thick clouds and dark tenfold involved, 
A gloomy consistory; and them amidst. 
With looks aghast and sad, ho thus hespake. 

" O ancient I'owers of air, and this wide world, 
(for nuicli more willingly 1 mention air. 
This our old con(|uest, than remember hell, 
Our hated habitation,) well ye know 
How many agt>s, as the years of men, 
This univ(>rse we have ])ossessed, and ruled, 
In manner at our will, the allairs of eayth, 
Since Adam and his facile consort Evo 
Lost Parii(lisi>, deceived hy me; though since 
Witii dread attending, when tiiat fatal wound 
Shall he inllicted by the seed of Eve 
Upon my head; long the decrees of Heaven 
Delay, for longest time to him is short; 
And now, too soon for us, the circling hours 
This dreaded time have compassed, wiierein we 
Must bide Ihestroke of tiiat long-threatened wound, 
(At least if so we can, and by the head 
Broken be not intended all our power 
To be infringed, our freedom and our being, 
In this fair empire won of earth and air,) 
For this ill news I bring, the woman's Seed, 
Destined to this, is late of woman born. 
His birth to our just fear gave no small cause; 
But his growth now to youth's full llovver display- 

All virtue, grace, and wisdom to achieve 
Things highest, greatest, multi[)lies my fear. 
Before him a great prophet, to proclaim 
His coming, is sent harbinger, who all 
Invites, and in the consecrated stream 
Pretends to wash ofl" sin, and fit them, so 
Purilied, to receive him pure, or rather 
To do him honour as their king: all come. 
And he himself among them was baptized; 
Not thence to be more pure, but to receive 
The testimony of Freaven, that who he is 
Thenceforth the nations may not doubt; I saw 
The prophet do him reverence; on him, rising 
Out of the water, Heaven above the clouds 
Unfold her crystal doors; thence on his head 
A perfect dove descend, whate'er it meant. 
And out of Heaven the sovereign voice I heard, 
'This is my son bekwed, in him am pleased.' 
His mother then is nuirtal, but his Sire 
He who obtains the monarchy of Heaven: 
And what will he not do to advance his Sonl 
His lirst-begot we know, and sore have felt, 
When his fierce thunder drove us to the deep: 
Who this is we must learn, for man he seems 
In all his lineaments, though in his face 
The glimpses of his Father's glory shine. 
Ye sec our danger on the utmost edge 



Of hazard, which admits no long debate, 
}'nt must with something sudden be opposed, 
(Not force, but well couched fraud, well woveli 

snares,) 
Ere Iti the head of nations he appear, 
'I'heir king, their leader, and supreme on earth. 
1, when no other durst, sole undertook 
l'li(> dismal exi)edition to find out 
7\nd ruin Adam, and the exploit performed 
Successfully ; a calmer voyage now 
Will wall me; and the way, found prosperous once, 
Induces best to ho])e of like success." 

ile ended, and his words im])ression left 
Of much anuizemcnt to the infernal crew. 
Distracted and surprised with deep dismay 
At tlii'S(^ sad tidings; liut no time was then 
For long nululgence to their fears or grief: 
Unanimous they all commit the care 
And management of this main enterprise 
To him their great dietator, whose attempt 
At first against mankind so well had thrived 
In Adam's overthrow, and led their march 
From hell's det'p vaulteil den to dwell in light, 
Regents, and potentates, and kings, yea gods, 
Of many a pleasant realm and j>rovince wide. 
So to the coast of .Ionian he liirects 
His easy steps, gn-ded with snaky wiles, 
Where he might likeliest find this new-declared, 
This man of men, attested Son of God, 
Temptation and all gnile on him to try ; 
So to subvert whom he suspected raised 
To end his reign on earth, so long enjoyed: 
Rut, contrary, unweeting he fulfilled 
'I'he purposed council, [)reordained and fixed, 
Of the Most High; who, in full frequence bright 
Of angels, thus to Gabriel smiling sjjake. 

"Gabriel, this day by proof thou shalt behold, 
Thou and all angels conversant on earth 
With man or men's afVairs, how I begin 
To verify that solenui message, late 
On which I sent thee to the Virgin pure 
In Galilee, that she should bear a son. 
Great in renown, and called the Son of God; 
Then told'st her, doubting how these thirtgs could 

1)0 

To her a virgin, that on her should come 
The Holy Ghost, and the power of the 1 lighest 
O'orsluulow her : this man, born and now up- 
grown. 
To show him worthy of his birth divine 
And high prediction, henceforth I exjiose 
To Satan : let him tempt, and now assay 
His utmost subtlety, because he boasts 
And vaunts of his great cunning to the throng 
Of his apostacy: he might have learnt 
Less overweening, since he failed in Job, 
Whose constant perseverance overcame 
Whate'er his cruel malice couUl invent, 
tie now shall know I can produce a man, 



Book r. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



99 



Of female seed, far abler to resist 

All his solicitations, and at length 

All his vast force, and drive him back to hell, 

Wiiininir by conquest, what the first man lost 

By fallacy surprised. But first I mean 

To exercise him in the wilderness; 

There he shall llrst lay down the rudii^cnts 

Of his great warfare, ere I send him forth 

To conquer Sin and Death, the two grand foes, 

By humiliation and strong sullerance: 

His weakness shall o'ercome Satanic strength, 

And all the world, and mass of sinful flesh, 

That all the angels and ethereal powers. 

They now, and men hereafter, may discern 

From what consummate virtue 1 have choso 

This ])erlect man, by merit called my son, 

To earn salvation for the sons of men." 

So spake th' eternal Father, and all Heaven 
Admiring stood apace, then into hymns 
Burst fijrtli, and in celestial measures moved. 
Circling the throne and singing, while the hand 
Sung with the voice, and this the argument : 

" Victory and triumph to the Son of (iod, 
I^ow entering his great duel, not of anna 
But to vanquish by wisdom hellish wiles! 
The Father knows the Son; therefore secure 
Veiituri's his filial virtue, though untried. 
Against whate'er may tempt, whatc'cr seduce, 
Allure, or terrify, or undermine. 
Be frustrate, all ye stratagems of hell, 
And, devilish machinations, come to nought!" 

So they in Heaven their odes and vigils tuned: 
Meanwhile the Son of God, who yet some days 
Lodge<l jn Bethabara, where John baptized. 
Musing, and much revolving in his breast 
How best the mighty work he might begin 
Of Saviour to mankind, and which way first 
Publish his godlike ollice, now mature. 
One day forth walked alone, the spirit leading 
And his deep thoughts, the better to converse 
With solitude, till, far from track of men. 
Thought following thought, and step by step led on. 
II«' enU^red now the bordering desert wild. 
And, with dark shades and rocks environed round, 
His holy meditations thus pursued. 

" O, what a multitude of thoughts at once 
Awakened in me swarm, while I consider 
What from within I feel myself, and hear 
What from without comes often to my ears, 
III sorting with my present state compared! 
When 1 wiLS yet a child, no childish jjlay 
To me was pleasing; all my mind was set 
Serious to learn and know, and thence to do. 
What might Ik; public good; myself I thought 
Born i() that end, l>()rn to promote all truth. 
All righteous things: therefore, alxyve my years, 
The law of God I read, and found it sweet, 
Made it my whole delight, and in it grew 
To such perfection, that, ere yet my age 



Had measured twice six years, at our great feast 

I went into the temple, there to hear 

The teachi^rsof our law, and to propose 

What might improve my knowledge or their own: 

And was admired by all: yet this not all 

To which my spirit aspired; victorious deeds 

Flamed in my heart, lutroic acts; one while 

To rescue Israel from the Roman yoke; 

Then to sulidue and quell, o'er all the earth, 

Brute viok^ice and proud tyrannic power. 

Till truth were freed, and equity restored ; 

Yet held it more humane, more heavenly, first 

By winning words to conquer willing hearts ; 

And make persuasion do the work of fear; 

At least to try, and teach the erring soul, 

Not wilfully misdoing, but unware 

Misled; the stui)l>orn only to subdue. 

I'hesc growing thoughts my mother soon per* 

cciving. 
By words at times cast forth, inly rejoiced. 
And said tome apart; ' High are liiy thoughts, 

Son, but nourish them, and let them soar 
To what height sacred virtue and true worth 
Can raise tiu'iii, though above example high ; 
By matchless deeds express thy matchless Sire, 
For know, thou art no son of mortal man; 
Though m(!n esteem th(!e low of parentage. 
Thy father is the eternal King who rules 

All heaven and earth, angels, and sons of men; 
A messenger from God fi)retold tiiy birth 
Conc(!ivcd in me a virgin; he foretold 
Thou should'st be great, and sit on David's 

throne, , 

And of thy kingdom there should be no end. 
At thy nativity, a glorious choir 
Of angels, in the fields of Bethlehem, sung 
To shepherds, watching at tiieir folds by night, 
And told them the Messiuli now was born. 
Where they might see him, and to thee they 

came. 
Directed to the manger where thou layest. 
For in the inn was left no better room: 
A star not seen before, in Heaven a[)pearing. 
Guided the wise mi'n thither from the east, 
To honour thee with incense, myrrh, and gold : 
By whose bright course led on they found the 

place. 
Affirming it thy star, new graven in heaven. 
By which they knew the king of Israel born. 
Just Simeon and prophetic Anna, warned 
By vision, found thee in the tem[)le, and spake, 
Before the altar and the vested priest, 
Like things of thee to all that present stood.' — 
This having heard, straight I again revolved 
The law and prophets, searching what was writ 
Concerning the Messiah, to our scribes 
Known partly, and soon found, of whom they 

s[)ake 

1 am; this chiefly, that my way must lie 



m 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



BoOTt i. 



Through many a hard assay, even to the death, 
Ere I the promised kingdom can attain, 
Or work redemption for mankind, whose sins 
Full weight must be transferred upon my head. 
Yet, neither thus disheartened or dismayed, 
The time prefixed I waited; when behold 
The Baptist, (of whose birth I oft had heard, 
Not knew by sight,) now come, who was to come 
Before Messiah, and his way prepare! 
I, as all others to his baptism came, 
Which I behoved was from above ; but he 
Straight knew me, and with loudest voice pro- 
claimed 
Me him (for it was shown him so from Heaven,) 
Me him, whose harbinger he was; and first 
Refused on me his baptism to confer. 
As much his greater, and was hardly won: 
But as I rose out of the laving stream. 
Heaven opened her eternal doors, from whence 
The Spirit descended on me like a dove; 
And last, the sum of all, my Father's voice. 
Audibly heard from Heaven, pronounced me his. 
Me his beloved Son, in whom alone 
He was well pleased ; by which 1 knew the time 
Now full, that I no more should live obscure. 
But openly begin, as best becomes. 
The authority which I derived Irom Heaven. 
And now by some strong motion I am led 
Into this wilderness, to what intent 
I learn not yet; perhaps I need not know, 
For what concerns my knowledge God reveals." 

So spake our Morning Star, then in his rise. 
And looking round on every side beheld 
A pathless desert, dusk with horrid shades; 
The way he came not having marked, return 
Was difficult, by human steps untrod : 
And he still on was led, but with such thoughts 
Accompanied of things past and to come 
Lodged in his breast, as well might recommend 
Such solitude before choicest society. 
Full forty days he passed, whether on hill 
Sometimes, anon in shady vale, each night 
Under the covert of some ancient oak. 
Or cedar, to defend him from the dew. 
Or harboured in one cave, is not revealed ; 
Nor tasted human food, nor hunger felt, 
Till those days ended ; hungered then at last 
Among wild beasts : they at this sight grew mild, 
Nor sleeping him nor waking harmed ; his walk 
The fiery serpent fled, and noxious worm, 
The lion and fierce tiger glared aloof. 
But now an aged man in rural weeds. 
Following, as seemed, the quest of some stray 

ewe. 
Or withered sticks to gather, which might serve 
Against a winter's day, when winds blow keen. 
To warm him wet returned from field at eve, 
He saw approach, who first with curious eye 
Perused him, then with words thus uttered spake. 



" Sir, what ill chance hath brought thee to this 
place 
So far from path or road of men, who pass 
In troop or caravan 1 for single none 
Durst ever, who returned, and dropt not here 
His carcass, pined with hunger and with drought. 
I ask the rather, and the more admire. 
For that to me thou seem'st the man, whom late 
Our new baptizing Prophet at the ford 
Of Jordan honoured so, and called thee Son 
Of God : I saw and heard, for we sometimes 
Who dwell in t'.iis wild, constrained by want, come 

forth 
To town or village nigh, (nighest is far,) 
Where aught we hear, and curious are to hear 
What happens new ; fame also finds us out." 
To whom the Son of God. " Who brought me 
hither, 
Will bring me hence ; no other guide I seek." 

" By miracle he may," replied the swain, 
" What other way I see not ; for we here ^ 

Live on tough roots and stubs, to thirst inured 
More than the camel, and to drink go far, 
Men to much misery and hardship born : 
But, if thou be the son of God, command 
That out of these hard stones be made thee bread, 
So shalt thou save thyself, and us relieve. 
With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste." 

He ended, and the Son of God replied. 
" Thinkest thou such force in bread 1 Is it not 

written, 
(For I discern thee other than thou seemest,) 
Man lives not by bread only, but each word 
Proceeding from the mouth of God, who fed 
Our fathers here with manna 1 in the mount 
Moses was forty days, nor eat, nor drank ; 
And forty days Elijah, without food, 
Wandered this barren waste ; the same I now : 
Why dost thou then suggest to me distrust. 
Knowing who I am, as I know who thou art 1" 
Whom thus answered the arch fiend, now un- 
disguised. 
'"Tis true, I am that Spirit unfortunate. 
Who, leagued with millions more in rash revolt, 
Kept not my happy station, but was driven 
With them from bliss to the bottomless deep. 
Yet to that hideous place not so confined 
By rigour unconniving, but that oft. 
Leaving my dolorous prison, I enjoy 
Large liberty to round this globe of earth, 
Or range in the air; nor from the Heaven of 

Heavens 
Hath he excluded my resort sometimes. 
I came among the sons of God, when he 
Gave up into my hands Uzzean Job 
To prove him, and illustrate his high w orth ; 
And, when to all his angels he proposed 
To draw the proud king Ahab into fraud 
That he might fall in Ramoth, they demurring, 



Book i. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



101 



I undertook that office, and the tongues 
Of all his (lattering prophets glibbed with lies 
To his destruction, as I had in charge ; 
For what he bids I do. Though I have lost 
Much lustre of my native brightness, lost 
To be beloved of God, I have not lost 
To love, at least contemplate and admire, 
What I see excellent in good, or fair, 
Or virtuous ; I should so have lost all sense: 
What can be then less in me than desire 
To see thee and approach thee, whom 1 know 
Declared the Son of God, to hear attent 
Thy wisdom, and behold thy godlike deeds 1 
Men generally think me much a foe 
To all mankind : why should 1 1 they to me 
Never did wrong or violence ; by them 
I lost not what I lost, rather by them' 
I gained what I have gained, and with them dwell, 
Copartner in these regions of the world, 
If not disposer; lend them oft my aid, 
-.Oft my advice by presages and signs, 
And answers, oracles, portents and dreams, 
Whereby they may direct their future life. 
Envy they say, excites me, thus to gain 
Companions of my misery and wo. 
At first it may be ; but long since with wo 
Nearer acquainted, now I feel, by proof. 
That fellowship in pain divides not smart. 
Nor lightens aught each man's peculiar load. 
Small consolation then, were man adjoined : 
This wounds me most, (what can it less?) that 

man, 
Man fallen shall be restored, I never more." 
To whom our Saviour sternly thus replied. 
" Deservedly thou griev'st, composed of lies 
From the beginning, and in lies wilt end ; 
Who boast'st release from hell, and leave to come 
Into the Heaven of Heavens : thou com'st indeed, 
As a poor miserable captive thrall 
Comes to the place where he before had sat 
Among the prime in splendour, now deposed, 
Ejected, emptied, gazed unpitied, shunned, 
A spectacle of ruin, or of scorn, 
To all the host of Heaven : the happy place 
Imparts to thee no happiness, no joy; 
Rather inflames thy torment ; representing 
Lost bliss, to thee no more communicable, 
So never more in hell than when in Heaven. 
But thou art serviceable to Heaven's King. 
Wilt thou impute to obedience what thy fear 
Extorts, or pleasure to do ill excites 1 
What but thy malice moved thee to misdeem 
Of righteous Job, then cruelly to afflict him 
With all inflictions 1 but his patience won. 
The other service was thy chosen task, 
To be a liar in four hundred mouths ; 
For lying is thy sustenance, thy food. 
Yet thou pretendest to truth; all oracles 
Bv thee are given, and what confessed more true 

M 



Among the nations? that hath been thy craft. 
By mixing somewhat true to vent more lies. 
But what have been thy anwers, what but dark 
Ambiguous, and with double sense deluding. 
Which they who asked have seldom understood : 
And not well understood as good not known 1 
Who ever by consulting at thy shrine 
Returned the wiser, or the more instruct, 
To fly or follow what concerned him most, 
And run not sooner to his fatal snare 1 
For God hath justly given the nations up 
To thy delusions; justly, since they fell 
Idolatrous : but, when his purpose is 
Among them to declare his providence 
To thee not known, whence hast thou then thy 

truth. 
But from him, or his angels president 
In every province 1 who, themselves disdaining 
To approach thy temples, give thee in command 
What, to the smallest tittle, thou shalt say 
To thy adorers'? thou, with trembling fear. 
Or like a fawning parasite, obey'st ; 
Then to thyself ascrib'st the truth foretold. 
But this thy glory shall be soon retrenched ; 
No more shalt thou by oracling abuse 
The Gentiles; henceforth oracles are ceased, 
And thou no more with pomp and sacrifice 
Shall be inquired at Delphos, or elsewhere ; 
At least in vain, for they shall find thee mute. 
God hath now sent his living oracle 
Into the world to teach his final will, 
And sends his Spirit of truth henceforth to dwell 
In pious hearts, an inward oracle 
To all truth requisite for men to know." 

So spake our Saviour; but the subtle Fiend, 
Though inly stung with anger and disdain. 
Dissembled, and this answer smooth returned. 

" Sharply thou hast insisted on rebuke. 
And urged me hard with doings, which not will 
But misery hath wrested from me. Where 
Easily can'st thou find one miserable. 
And not enforced ofttimcs to part from truth, 
If it may stand him more instead to lie, 
Say and unsay, feign, flatter, or abjure. 
But thou art placed above me, thou art Lord; 
From thee I can, and must submiss, endure 
Check or reproof, and glad to 'scape so quit. 
Hard are the ways of truth, and rough to walk ; 
Smooth on the tongue discoursed, pleasing to the 

ear 
And tuneable as sylvan pipe or song ; 
What wonder then if I delight to hear 
Her dictates from thy mouth? most men admire 
Virtue, who follow not her lore : permit me 
To hear thee when I come, (since no man comes,) 
And talk at least, though I despair to attain. 
Thy father, who is holy, wise, and pure, 
Sufters the hypocrite or atheous priest 
To tread his sacred courts, and minister 



102 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book ii. 



About his altar, handling holy things, 
Praying or vowing ; and vouchsafed his voice 
To Balaam reprobate, a prophet yet 
Inspired : disdain not such access to me." 

To whom our Saviour, with unaltered brow. 
" Thy coming hither, though I know thy scope, 
I bid not, or forbid ; do as tliou find'st 
Permission from above ; thou canst not more." 

He added not ; and Satan, bowing low 
His gray dissimulation, disappeared 
Into thin air dilFuscd : for now began 
Night with her sullen wings to double-shade 
The desert ; fowls in their clay nests were couched; 
And now wild beasts came forth the woods to roam. 



BOOK II. 



THE ARGUMENT. 
The disciples of Jesua, uneasy at liis long absence, reason 
amongst tliemselves concerning it, Mary also gives vent to 
her maternal anxiety ; in the expression of whicli she recapi- 
tulates many circumstances respecting tlie birth and early 
)ife of her Son. — Satan again meets his Infernal Council, reports 
the bad success of his first temptation of our Blessed Lord, and 
calls upon them for counsel and assistance. Belial proposes 
tempting of Jesus witli women. Satan reljulccs Belial for hia 
dissoluteness, charging on hira all the prolligacy of that kind 
ascribed by the poets to the heathen gods, and rejects his pro- 
posal as in no respect likely to succeed. Satan then suggests 
other modes of temptation, particularly proposing to avail 
himself of tlie circumstance of our Lord's hungering ; and, 
taking a band of chosen spirits with him, retiu'iis to resume 
hia enterprise. — Jesus hungers in the desert. Night comes 
on : the manner in which our Saviour passes the night is de- 
scribed — Morning advances, — Satan again appears to Jesus, 
and, after expressing wonder that he sliould be so entirely 
neglected in the wilderness, where othei's had been miracu- 
lously fed, tempts him with a sumptuous banquet of the most 
luxurious kind, — ^Tliis he rejects, and the banquet vanishes. — 
Satan, finding our Lord not to be assailed on tlie ground of ap- 
petite, tempts him again by offering him riches, as the means 
of acquiring power: this .lesus also rejects, producing many 
instances of great actions performed by persons under virtuous 
poverty, and specifying the danger of riches, and the cares 
and pains inseparable from power and greatness. 



Meanwhile the new baptized, who yet remained 
At Jordan with the Baptist, and had seen 
Him whom they heard so late expressly called 
Jesus Messiah, Son of God declared. 
And on that high authority had believed. 
And with him talked and with him lodged; I mean 
Andrew and Simon, famous after known. 
With others though in holy writ not named; 
Now missing him their joy so lately found, 
(So lately foujid, and so abruptly gone,) 
Began to doubt and doubted many days. 
And, as the days increased, increased their doubt; 
Sometimes they thought he might be only shown. 
And for a time caught up to God, as once 
Moses was in the mount, and missing long ; 
And the great Thisbite, who on iicry wheels 



Rode up to Heaven, yet once again to come; 

Therefore, as those young prophets then with care 

Sought lost Elijah, so in each place these 

Nigh to Bethabara in Jericho 

The city of palms, iEnon and Salem old, 

Machterus, and each town or city waii'ed 

On this side the broad lake Genezaret, 

Or in Persea; but returned in vain. 

Then on the bank of Jordan, by a creek, 

Where winds with reeds and osiers whispering 

play, 
Plain fishermen, (no greater men them call,) 
Close in a cottage low together got. 
Their unexpected loss and plaints out breathed. 

" Alas, from what high hope to what relapse 
Unlooked for are we fallen 1 our eyes beheld 
Messiah certainly now come, so long 
Expected of our fathers; we have heard 
His words, his wisdom full of grace and truth; 
Now, now, for sure, deliverance is at hand, 
The kingdom shall to Israel be restored: 
Thus we rejoiced, but soon our joy is turned 
Into perplexity and new amaze: 
For whither is he gone, what accident 
Hath wrapt him from us 1 will he now retire 
After appearance, and again prolong 
Our expectation 1 God of Israel, 
Send thy Messiah forth, the time is come ! 
Behold the kings of the earth, how they oppress 
Tiiy chosen; to what height their power unjust 
They have exalted, and behind them cast 
All fear of thee ; arise and vindicate 
Thy glory; free thy people from their yoke! 
But let us wait; thus far he hath performed, 
Sent his Anointed, and to us revealed him, 
By his great Prophet, pointed at and shown 
In public, and with him we have conversed; 
Let us be glad of this, and all our fears 
Lay on his providence ; he will not fail. 
Nor will withdraw him now, nor will recall. 
Mock us with his blest sight, then snatch him 

hence ; 
Soon we shall see our Hope, our Joy return." 

Thus they, out of their plaints, new hope re- 
sume 
To find whom at the first they found unsought; 
But, to his mother Mary, when she saw 
Others returned from baptism, not her son, 
Nor left at Jordan tidings of him none, 
Witliin her breast, though calm, her breast though 

pure. 
Motherly cares and fears got head, and raised 
Some troubled thoughts, which she in sighs thus 
clad. 

" O what avails me now that honour high 
To have conceived of God, or that salute, 
' Hail, highly favoured, among women blessed!' 
While I to sorrows am no less advanced. 
And fears as eminent, above the lot 



Book ii. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



103 



Of other women, by the birth I bore; 

In such a season born, when scarce a shed 

Could be obtained to shelter him or me 

From the bleak air; a stable was our warmtli, 

A manger his ; yet soon enforced to fly 

Thence into Egypt, till the murderous king 

Were dead, who sought his life, and missing filled 

With infant blood the streets of Bethlehem : 

From Egypt home returned, in Nazareth 

Hath been our dwelling many years ; his life 

Private, unactive, calm, contemplative. 

Little suspicious to any king; but now. 

Full grown to man, acknowledged, as I hear, 

By John the Baptist, and in public shown, 

Son owned from Heaven by his Father's voice, 

I looked for some great change; to honour'? no; 

But trouble, as old Simeon plain foretold. 

That to the foil and rising, he should be 

Of many in Israel, and to a sign 

Spoken against, that through my very soul 

A sword shall pierce: this is my favoured lot, 

My exaltation to afflictions high; 

Afflicted I may be, it seems, and blest ; 

I will not argue that, nor will repine. 

But where delays he now 1 some great intent 

Conceals him : when twelve years he scarce had 

seen, 
I lost him, but so found, as well as saw 
He could not lose himself, but went about 
His Father's business ; what he meant I mused. 
Since understood; much more his absence now 
Thus long to some great purpose he obscures. 
But I to wait with patience am inured; 
My heart hath been a storehouse long of things 
And sayings laid up, portending strange events." 

Thus Mary, pondering oft, and oft to mind 
RecalUng what remarkably had passed 
Since first her salutation heard, with thoughts 
Meekly composed awaited the fulfilling: 
The while her son, tracing the desert wild, 
Sole, but with holiest meditations fed, 
Into himself descended, and at once 
All his great work to come before him set ; 
How to begin, how to accomplish best 
His end of being on earth, and mission high: 
For Satan, with sly preface to return. 
Had left him vacant, and with speed was gone 
Up to the middle region of thick air. 
Where all his potentates in council sat; 
There, without sign of boast, or sign of joy, 
Solicitous and blank, he thus began. 

" Princes, Heaven's ancient sons, ethereal 
thrones, 
Demonian spirits now, from the element 
Each of his reign allotted, rightlier called 
Powers of fire, air, water, and earth beneath. 
(So may we hold our place and these mild seats 
Without new trouble,) such an enemy 
Ib risen to invade us, who no less 



Threatens than our expulsion down to hell. 

I, as 1 undertook, and with the vote 

Consenting in full frequence was empowered, 

Have found him, viewed him, tasted him ; but find 

Far other labour to be undergone 

Than when I dealt with Adam, first of men, 

Though Adam by his wife's allurement fell, 

However to this Man inferior far; 

If he be man by mother's side, at least 

With more than human gifts from Heaven adorned, 

Perfections absolute, graces divine. 

And amplitude of mind to greatest deeds. 

Therefore I am returned, lest confidence 

Of my success with Eve in Paradise 

Deceive ye to persuasion over sure 

Of like succeeding here : I summon all 

Rather to be in readiness, with hand 

Or counsel to assist; lest I, who erst 

Thought none my equal, now be overmatched." 

So spake the old Serpent, doubting ; and from all 
With clamour was assured their utmost aid 
At his command: when from amidst them rose 
Belial, the dissolutest spirit that fell, 
The sensualist, and, after Asmodai, 
The fleshliest incubus; and thus advised. 

" Set women in his eye, and in his wallt , 
Among daughters of men the fairest found : 
Many are in each region passing fair 
As the noon sky ; more like to goddesses 
Than mortal creatures ; graceful and discreet, 
Expert in amorous arts, enchanting tongues 
Pursuasive, virgin majesty with mild 
And sweet allayed, yet terrible to approach; 
Skilled to retire, and, in retiring, draw 
Hearts after them tangled in amorous nets. 
Such object hath the power to soften and tame 
Severest temper, smooth the rugged'st brow 
Enerve, and with voluptuous hope dissolve. 
Draw out with credulous desire, and lead 
At will the manliest, resolutest breast, 
As the magnetic hardest iron draws. 
Women, when nothing else beguiled the heart 
Of wisest Solomon, and made him build. 
And made him bow, to the gods of his wives." 

To whom quick answer Satan thus returned. 
" Belial, in much uneven scale thou weighest 
All others by thyself: because of old 
Thou thyself doted'st on womankind, admiring 
Their shape, their colour, and attractive grace, 
None are, thou think'st, but taken witii such toys. 
Before the flood, thou with thy lusty crew, 
False titled sons of God, roaming the earth. 
Cast wanton eyes on the daughters of men, 
And coupled with them, and begot a race. 
Have we not seen, or by relation heard. 
In courts and regal chambers how thou lurk'st, 
In wood or grove, by mossy fountain side. 
In valley or green meadow, to waylay 
Some beauty rare, Calisto, Clymene, 



104 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book ii. 



Daphne, or Scmrlc, Antiopa, 
Or Ainyinono, Syrinx, many more 
Too long; then hiy'st thy scapes on names adored, 
Apollo, Neptune, Jupiter, or Pan, 
Satyr, or Faun, or Sylvan'? But these haunts 
Delight not all; among the sons of men. 
How many have with a smile made small account 
Of Beauty and her lures, easily scorned. 
All her assaults, on worthier things intent ! 
Rememher that Pellean conqueror, 
A youth, how all the l)eauties of the east 
He slightly viewed, and slightly overpassed; 
How he surnamcd of Africa dismissed. 
In his prime youth, the fair Iberian maid. 
For Solomon, he lived at ease, and full 
Of honour, wealth, high fare, aimed not hcyond 
Higher design than to enjoy his state; 
Thence to the hait of women lay exposed: 
But he wliom we attempt is wiser far 
Than Solomon, of more exalted mind, 
Made and set wholly on the accomjilishmcnt 
Of greatest things. What woman will you find, 
Though of this age the wonder and the fame, 
On whom his leisure will vouchsafe an eye 
Of fond desire? or should she, confident, 
As sitting queen adored on Beauty's throne, 
Descend with all her winning charms begirt 
To enamour, as the zone of Venus once 
Wrought that ellect on .Tove, so fables tell : 
How would one look from his majestic brow, 
Seated as on the top of virtue's hill. 
Discountenance her despised, and put to rout 
All her array; her female pritle deject. 
Or turn to reverent awe ! lor beauty stands 
In the admiration only of weak minds 
Led captive; cease to admnv, and all her plumes 
Fall Hat, and shrink into a trivial toy. 
At every sudden slighting quite abashed: 
Therefore with manlier objects we must try 
His constancy ; wilii such as have more show 
Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise ; 
Rocks, whereon greatest men have oftest wrecked ; 
Or that which only seems to satisfy 
Lawful desires of nature, not beyond ; 
And now I know he hungers, where no food 
is to bo found, in the wide wilderness: 
The rest commit to me ; 1 shall let pass 
No advantage, and his strength as oil assay." 
He ceased, and heard their grant in loud ac- 
claim : 
Then forthwith to him takes a chosen band 
Of spirits, likest to himself in guile. 
To be at hand, and at his beck appear. 
If cause were to unfold some active scene 
Of various persons, each to know his part : 
Then to the desert takes with these his flight; 
Where, still froin shade to shade, the Son of God 
After forty days fasting had remained. 
Now hungering first, and to himself thus said. 



" Where vvill this endl four times ten days I've 
passed 

Wandering this woody maze, and human food 
Nor tasted, nor had appetite; that fast 
To virtue I impute not, or count part 
Of what I suffer here; if nature need not, 
Or God support nature without repast 
Though needing, what praise is it to endure 1 
But now I feel I hunger, which declares 
Nature hath need of what she asks; yet God 
Can satisfy that need some other way. 
Though hunger still remain ; so it remain 
Without this body's wasting, I content me, 
And from the sting of famine fear no harm; 
Nor mind it, fed with better thoughts, that feed 
Me hungering more to do my Father's will." 

It was the hour of night, when thus the Son 
Communed in silent walk, then laid him down 
Under the hospitable covert nigh 
Of trees thick interwoven ; there he slept, 
And dreamed, as appetite is wont to dream. 
Of meats and drinks, nature's refreshment sweet. 
Him thought, he by the brook of Cherifh stood, 
And saw the ravens with their horny beaks 
Food to Elijah bringing, even and morn. 
Though ravenous, taught to abstain from what 

they brought: 
He saw the prophet also, how he fled 
Into the desert, and how there he slept 
Under a juniper; then how awaked 
He found his supper on the coals prepared, 
And by the angel was bid rise and eat, 
Atid eat the second time after repose, 
The strength whereof sufficed him forty days: 
Sometimes that with Elijah he partook, 
Or as a guest with Daniel at his pulse. 
Thus wore out night ; and now the herald lark 
Left his ground-nest, high towering to descry 
The morn's approacli, and greet her with his song; 
As lightly from his grassy couch up rose 
Our Saviour, and found all was but a dream ; 
Fasting he went to sleep, and fasting waked. 
Up to a hill anon his steps he reared. 
From whose high top to ken the prospect round, 
If cottage were in view, sheep-cote, or herd ; 
But cottage, herd, or sheep-cote none he saw; 
Only in a bottom saw a pleasant grove. 
With chant of tuneful birds resounding loud : 
Thither he bent his way, determined there 
To rest at noon ; and entered soon the shade 
High roofed and walks beneath, and alleys brown. 
That opened in the midst a woody scene ; 
Nature's own work it seemed, nature taught art, 
And, to a superstitious eye, the haunt 
Of woodgods and woodnymphs: he viewed it 

round. 
When suddenly a man before him stood, 
Not rustic as before, but seemlier clad. 
As one in city, or court, or palace bred, 



Book ii. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



105 



A nd vvitli fair speech these worils to him addressed. 

" With granted leave officious I return, 

But much more wonder that tlie Son of God 

In this wild solitude so lowj, should hide, 

Of all things destitute, and, well I know, 

Not without hunger. Others of some note, 

As story tells, have trod this wilderness ; 

The fugitive bondwoman, with her son 

Outcast Nebaioth, yet found here relief 

By a providing angel; all the race 

Of Israel here had famished, had not God 

Rained from Heaven manna ; and that prophet 

bold, 
Native of Thebez, wandering hero was fed 
Twice by a voice inviting him to eat : 
Of thee these forty days none hath regard, 
Forty antl more licscrted here indeed." 

To whom thus Jesus. " What conclud'st thou 
hence 1 
They all had need ; I, aa thou seest, have none." 
" How hast thou hunger then 1" Satan replied, 
" Tell me if food were now before thee set, 
Would'st thou not eatl" " Thereafter as I like 
The giver," answered Jesus. " Why should that 
Cause thy refusal V said the subtle fiend. 
"Hast thou not right to all created things'? 
Owe not all creatures by just right to thee 
Duty and service, nor to stay till bid, 
But tender all their power 1 nor mention I 
Meats hy the law unclean, or oHcrcd first 
To idols, those young Daniel could refuse ; 
Nor proffered by an enemy, though who 
Would scruple that, with want oppressed 1 Be- 
hold, 
Nature ashamed, or, better to express, 
Troubled, that thou should'st hunger, hath pur- 
veyed 
From all the elements her choicest store, 
To treat thee, as beseems, and as her Lord, 
With honour: only deign to sit and eat." 

He spake no dream; for, as his words had end. 
Our Saviour lifting up his eyes beheld, 
In ample space under the broadest shade, 
A table richly spread in regal mode, 
With dishes piled, and meats of noblest sort 
And savour; beasts of chase, or fowl of game, 
In pastry built, or from the s[)it, or boiled, 
Grisamber-steamcd ;♦ all fish, from sea or shore, 
Freshet or jiurling brook, of shell or fin, 
And exquisitcst name, for which was drained 
Pontus, and Lucrine bay, and Afric coast. 
(Alas, how simple, to these cates compared, 
Was that crude apple that diverted Eve !) 
And at a stately side-board, by the wine 
That fragrant sincll dilfused, in order stood 
Tall stripling youths rich clad, of fairer hue 



• " Gn'sn-/nAcr-s/fiomcd "—Scented with ambergria; a spe- 
cies of luxury in Milion'a time. 

M 2 



Than Ganymed or Hylas; distant more 

Under the trees now trijjped, now solemn stood, 

Nymphs of Diana's train, and Naiades 

With fruits or flowers from Amalthea's horn, 

And ladies of th" Hcsperides, that seemed 

Fairer than famed of old, or fabled since 

Of fairy damsels, met in forests wide 

By nights of Logres, or of Lyones, 

Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellenore: 

And all the while harmonious airs were heard 

Of chiming strings, or charming pipes; and winds 

Of gentlest gale Arabian odours fanned 

From their soft wings, and Flora's earliest smells. 

Such was the splendour; and the Tempter now 

His invitation earnestly renewed. 

" What doubts the Son of God to sit and eati 
These are not fruits forbidden; no interdict 
Defends the touching of these viands pure ; 
Their taste no knowledge works, at least of evil, 
But life preserves, destroys life's enemy. 
Hunger, with sweet restorative delight. 
All these are spirits of air, and woods, and springs, 
Thy gentle ministers, who come to pay 
Thee homage, and acknowledge thee their Lord : 
What doubt'st thou, Son of God 1 sit down and 
eat." 

To whom thus Jesus temperately replied. 
" Said'stthou not that to all things I had right 1 
And who withholds my power that right to use 7 
Shall I receive by gift what of my own. 
When and where likes me be.st, I can command 1 
I can at will, doubt not, as soon as thou, 
Command a table in this wilderness. 
And call swift flights of angels ministrant 
Arrayed in glory on my cup to attend: 
Why should'st thou then obtrude this diligence, 
In vain, where no acceptance it can find 1 
And with my hunger what hast thou to do 1 
Thy pompous delicacies I contemn. 
And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles." 

To whom thus answered Satan malcontent. 
" That I have also power to give thou sccst; 
If of that power 1 bring thee voluntary 
What I might have bestowed on whom I pleased, 
And rather opportunely in this place 
Choose to impart to thy apparent need. 
Why should'st thou not accept if? but I sec 
What I can do or ofleris suspect; 
Of these things others quickly will dispose. 
Whose pains have earned thee far-fet spoil." With 

that 
Both table and provision vtinishcd quite 
With sound of harpies' wings and talons heard ; 
Only the importune Tempter still remained. 
And with these words his temptation pursued. 

" By hunger, that each other creature tames, 
Thou art not to be harmed, therefore not moved; 
Thy temperance, invincible besides, 
For no allurcmczits yields toappetitej 



]06 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Boor iir. 



And all thy heart is set on higli. designs, 

High actions: but wliercwilh to be achieved 1 

Great acts require great means of enterprise ; 

Thou art unknown, unfriended, low of birth, 

A carpenter thy father known, thyself 

Bred up in poverty and straits at home, 

Lost in a desert here and hunger-bit: 

Which way, or from what hope dost thoa aspire 

To greatness 1 whence authority dcrivest ? 

What followers, what retinue canst thou gain, 

Or at thy heels the dizzy multitude. 

Longer than thou canst feed them on thy cost 1 

Money brings honour, friends, conquest, and 

realms : 
What raised Antipater the Edomite, 
And his son Herod placed on Judah's throne, 
Thy throne, but gold that got him puissant friends'? 
Therefore, if at great things thou would'st arrive, 
Get riclies first, get wcaltli, and treasure heap, 
Wot dillicult, if thou hearken to me: 
Riches are mine, fortune is in my hand ; 
They whom 1 favour thrive in wealth amain 
While virtue, valour, wisdom sit in want." 

To whom thus Jesus patiently replied. 
" Yet wealth without these three is impotent 
To gain dominion, or to keep it gained. 
Witness those ancient empires of the earth, 
In height of all their flowing wealth dissolved: 
But men endued with these have oft attained 
In lowest poverty to highest deeds ; 
Gideon and Jeptha, and the shepherd lad, 
Whose offspring on the throne of Judah sat 
So many ages, and shall yet regain 
That seat, and reign in Israel without end. 
Among the heathen, (for throughout the world 
To me is not unknown what hath been done 
Worthy of memorial,) canst thou not remember 
CLuintius, Fabricius, Curius, Regains 1 
For I esteem those names of men so poor. 
Who could do mighty things, and could contemn 
Riches, though offered from the hand of kings. 
And what in me seems wanting, but that I 
May also in this poverty as soon 
Accomplish what they did, perhaps, and more? 
Extol not riches then, the toil of fools, 
The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare; more apt 
To slacken virtue, and abate her edge, 
Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise. 
What if with Uke aversion I reject 
Riches and realms 1 yet not, for that a crown. 
Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns, 
Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless 

nights. 
To hi in who wears the regal diadem, 
When on his shoulders each man's burden lies; 
For therein stands the oflice of a king, 
His honour, virtue, merit, and chief praise. 
That for the public all this weight he bears. 
Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules 



Passions, desires, and fears, is more a king ; 
Which every wise and virtuous man attains; 
And who attains not, ill aspires to rule 
Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes. 
Subject himself to anarchy within. 
Or lawless passions in him, which he serves. 
But to guide nations in the way of truth 
By saving doctrine, and from error lead 
To know, and, knowing, worship God aright, 
Is yet more kingly; this attracts the soul. 
Governs the inner man, the nobler part; 
That other o'er the body only reigns, 
And oft by force, which, to a generous mind. 
So reigning, can be no sincere delight. 
Besides, to give a kingdom hath been thought 
Greater and nobler done, than to lay down 
Far more magnanimous, than to assume. 
Riches are needless then, both for themselves, 
And for thy reason why they should be sought, 
To gain a sceptre, oflest better missed." 



BOOK III. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Satan, in a speech of much flattering commendation, en- 
deavours to awalven in Jesus a passion for glory, by purlieu- 
fnrizing various instances of conquests acliicved, and great 
actions performed, by persons at an early period of life. Our 
Loril replies, by showing the vanity of worldly fame, and the 
improper means by which it is generally attained; and con- 
trasts with it the true glory of religious patience and virtuous 
wisdom, as exemplified in the character of Job. Satan Justifies 
the love of glory from the example of God himself, who re- 
quires it from all his creatures. Jesus detects the fallacy of 
this argument, by showing that, as goodness is the true ground 
on which glory is due to die great Creator of all things, sinful 
man can have no right whatever to it. — Satan then urges our 
Lord respecting his claim to the throne of Daviil : he tells him 
that the kingilom of Judea, being at that time a province of 
Rome, can not be got possession of without much personal 
exertion on his part, and presses him to lose no time in begin- 
ning to reign. Jesus refers him to the time allotled for this, as 
for all other things; and after intimating somewhat respecting 
his own previous suft'erings, asks Satan, why he should be so 
solicitous for the exaltation of one, whose rising was destined 
to be his fall. Satan replies, that his own desperate slate, by 
excluding all hope, leaves little room for fear ; and that, as liia 
own punishment was equally doomed, he is not interested in 
preventing the reign of one, from whose apparent benevolence 
he might rather hope for some interference in his favour. — • 
Siitan still pursues his former incitements; and, supposing 
that the seeming reluctance of Jesus to be thus advanced might 
arise from his being unacquainted with the world and its 
glories, conveys him to the summit of a high mountain, and 
from thence shows him most of the kingdoms of Asia, par- 
ticularly pointing out to his notice some extraordinary mili- 
tary preparations of the Parthians to resist the incursions of 
the Scythians. He then informs our Lord, that he showed 
him this purposely that he might see how necessary military 
exertions are to retain the possession of kingdoms, as well aa 
to subdue them at first: and advises him to consider how im- 
possible it was to maintain Judea against two such powerful 
neighbours as the Romans and Parthians, and how necessary 
it would be to form an alliance with one or other of them. At 
the same time he recommends, and engages to secure to hira 



Book iit. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



107 



that of tlie Panhiuns; and telle liim that by this means his 
liowpf will be dcleinkd IVoni anything that Komo or CiESor 
might attempt ii^jainsl it, and that he will be able to extend 
his glory wide, and estKxially to accomplish, what was par- 
ticularly necessiiry to make the throne of Judea really the 
throne of David, tho deliverance and restoration of the ten 
iribpB, still in a state of captivity. Jesus having briefly no- 
ticed the vanity of military elibrts and tiio weakness of the 
arm of flesh, says, that when the lime comes for ascending his 
allotted throne he shall not be slack; he remarks on Satan's 
extraordinary zeal for llie deliverance of the Israelites, to 
whom he had always shown himself an enemy, and declares 
their servitude to be the consequence of their idolatry: but 
adds, that at a future time it may perhaps [jlease God to recall 
llicm, and restore tliem to their liberty and native land. 



So spake the Son of God ; antl Satan stood 
A while, as mute confounded what to say, 
What to reply, confuted, and convinced 
Of his weak arguing and fallacious drift ; 
At length, collecting all liis serpent wiles, 
With soothing words renewed, hhn thus accosts. 

" I see thou knowest what is of use to know, 
What hest to say canst say, to do canst do ; 
Thy iictions to thy words accord ; thy words 
To thy large heart give utterance due ; thy heart 
Contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape. 
Should kings and nations from thy mouth consult. 
Thy counsel would be as the oracle 
Urim and Thummim, those oraculous gems 
On Aaron's breast ; or tongue of seers old 
InfaUible; or wert thou sought to deeds 
That might require the array of war, thy skill 
Of conduct would be such, that all the world 
Could not sustain thy prowess, or subsist 
In battle, though against thy few in arms. 
These godlike virtues wherefore dost thou hide, 
Affecting private life, or more obscure 
In savage wilderness 1 wherefore deprive 
All earth her wonder at thy acts, thyself. 
The fame and glory; glory the reward 
That sole excites to high attempts, the flame 
Of most erected spirits, most tempered pure 
Ethereal, who all pleasures else despise. 
All treasures and all gain esteem as dross, 
And dignities and powers all but the highest'? 
Thy years are ripe, and overripe ; the son 
Of Macedonian Philip had ere these 
Won Asia, and the throne of Cyrus held 
At his dispose; young Scipio had brought down 
The Carthaginian pride ; young Pompey quelled 
The Pontic king, and in triumph had rode. 
Yet years, and to ripe years judgment mature, 
ducnch not the thirst of glory, but augment. 
Great Julius, whom now all the world admires, 
The more he grew in years, the more inflamed 
With glory, wept that he had lived so long 
Inglorious : but thou yet art not too late." 

To whom our Saviour calmly thus replied. 
" Thou neither dost persuade me to seek wealth 
For empire's sake, nor empire to ali'ect 



For glory's sake, by all thy argument, 

For what is glory but the blaze of fame, 

The people's praise, if always praise unmixedl 

And what the people but a herd confused, 

A miscellaneous rabble, who extol 

Things vulgar, and, well weighed, scarce worth 

the praise? 
They praise, and they admire, they know not what, 
And know not whom, but as one leads the other; 
And what delight to be by such extolled. 
To live upon their tongues and be their talk. 
Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise? 
His lot who dares be singularly good. 
The intelligent among them and the wise 
Are few, and glory scarce of few is raised. 
This is true glory and renown, when God 
Looking on the earth with approbation marks 
The just man, and divulges him through Heaven 
To all his angels, who with true applause 
Recount his praises : thus he did to Job, 
When, to extend his fame through Heaven and 

earth. 
As thou to thy reproach may'st well remember, 
He asked thee, 'Hast thou seen my servant Jobl' 
Famous he was in Heaven, on earth less known; 
Where glory is false glory, attributed 
To things not glorious, men not worthy of fame. 
They err, whocount it glorious, to subdue 
By conquest far and wide, to overrun 
Large countries, and in field great battles win, 
Great cities by assault: what do the.se worthies, 
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave 
Peaceable nations, neighbouring, or remote. 
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more 
Than those their conquerors, who leave behini? 
Nothing but ruin wheresoe'cr they rove. 
And all their flourishing works of peace destroy; 
Then swell with pride, and mu.st be titled gods, 
Great benefactors of mankind, deliverers. 
Worshipped with temple, priest, and sacrifice 1 
One is the Son of Jove, of Mars the other; 
Till conqueror Death discover them scarce men, 
Rolling in brutish vices, and deformed. 
Violent or shameful death their tlue reward. 
But if there be in glory aught of good. 
It may by means far different be attained, 
Without ambition, war, or violence; 
By deeds of peace, by wisdoin eminent, 
By patience, temperance: I mention still 
Him, whom thy wrongs with saintly patience 

borne. 
Made famous in a land and times obscure; 
Who names not now with honour patient Job"? 
Poor Socrates, (who next more memorable?) 
By what he taught, and suffered for so doing. 
For truth's sake suffering death, unjust, hves now 
Equal in fame to proudest conquerors. 
Yet if for fame and glory aught be done, 
Aught suffered ; if young African for fame 



108 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book i.. 



His wasted country freed from Punic rage ; 
The deed becomes unpraised, tlic man at least, 
And loses, though but verbal, his reward. 
Shall I seek glory then, as vain men seek, 
Oft not deserved? I seek not mine, but his 
Who sent me, and thereby witness whence I am." 

To whom the Tempter murmuring thus replied. 
"Think not so slight of glory; therein least 
Resembling tliy great Father : he seeks glory, 
And for his glory all things made, all things 
Orders and governs; nor content in Heaven 
By all his angels glorilied, requires 
Glory from men, from all men, good or bad. 
Wise or unwise, no diflerence, no exemption; 
Above all sacrifice, or hallowed gift. 
Glory he requires, and glory he receives, 
Promiscuous from all nations, Jew, or Greek, 
Or barbarous, nor exception hath declared; 
From us, his foes pronounced, glory he exacts." 

To whom our Saviour fervently replied. 
" And reason ; since his word all things produced, 
Though chielly not for glory as prime end. 
But to show forth his goodness, and impart 
His good communicable to every soul ; 
Freely ; of wiiom what could he less expect 
Than glory and benediction, that is, thanks, 
The slightest, easiest, readiest recompense 
From them who could return him nothing else. 
And, not returning that, would likeliest render 
Contempt instead, dishonour, obloquy'? 
Hard recompense, unsuitable return 
Forsonnich good, so much beneficence. 
But why should man seek glory who of his own 
Hath nothing, and to whom nothing belongs 
But condemnation, ignominy, and sliame? 
Who, for so many benefits received. 
Turned recreant to God, ingrate and false. 
And soof all true good himself despoiled. 
Yet, sacrilegious, to himself would take 
That which to God alone of right belongs: 
Yet so much bounty is in God, such grace. 
That who advance his glory, not tlx-ir own. 
Them he himself to glory will advance." 

So spake the Son of God ; and hero again 
Satan had not to answer, but stood struck 
With guilt of his own sin; for he himself, 
Insatiable of glory, had lost all; 
Yet of another plea bethought him soon. 

" Of glory, as thou wilt," said he, "so deem; 
Worth or not worth the seeking, let it pass. 
But to a kingdom thou art born, ordained 
To sit upon thy father David's throne. 
By mother's side thy father ; though thy right 
Be now in powerful hands, that will not part 
Easily from possession wo!i with arms : 
Judea now and all the promised land. 
Reduced a province under Roman yoke, 
Obeys Tiberius ; nor is always ruled 
With temperate sway; oft have they violated 



The temple, oft the law, with foul allronts. 

Abominations rather, as did once 

Autiociius : and think'st thou to regain 

Thy right by sitting still or thus retiring'? 

So did not Maccabeus: he indeed 

Retired unto the desert, but with arms; 

And o'er a mighty king so oft prevailed, 

That by strong hand his family obtained 

Though priests, the crown, and David's throne 

usurped. 
With Modin and her suburbs once content. 
If kingdom move thee not, let move thee zeal 
And duty; zeal and duty are not slow. 
But on occasion's forelock watchful wait. 
They themselves rather are occasion best; 
Zeal of thy father's house, duty to free 
Thy country from her heathen servitude. 
So shalt thou best fulfil, best verify 
The propliets old who sung thy endless reign; 
The happier reign, the sooner it begins: 
Reign then ; what canst thou better do the whilel" 

To whom our Saviour answer thus returned. 
" All things are best fulfilled in their due time ; 
And time there is lor all things. Truth hath said 
If of my reign prophetic writ hatli told, 
That it shall never end, so, when begin. 
The Father in his purpose hath decreed ; 
He in whose hand all times and seasons roll. 
What if he hath decreed that 1 shall first 
Be tried in humble state, and things adverse, 
By tribulations, injuries, insults. 
Contempts, and scorns, and snares, and violence, 
Suffering, abstaining, quietly expecting. 
Without distrust or doubt, that he may know 
Wliat I can suffer, how obey 1 who best 
Can sutler, best can do; best reign, who first 
Well hath obeyed ; just trial, ere I merit 
My exaltation without change or end. 
But what concerns it thee when I begin 
My everlasting kingdom ? why art thou 
Solicitous"? what moves thy inquisition "? 
Knowcst thou not that my rising is thy fall. 
And my promotion will be thy destruction ]" 

To whom the Tempter inly racked, replied. 
" Let that come when it comes ; all hope is lost 
Of my reception into grace : what worse 1 
For where no hope is left, is left no fear : 
If there be worse, tlie expectation n\ore 
Of worse torments me than the feeling can. 
I would be at the worst : worst is my port, 
My harbour, and my ultimate repose : 
The end 1 would attain, my final good. 
My error was my error, and my crime 
My crime ; whatever, for itself condemned ; 
And will ahke be punished, whether thou 
Reign or reign not ; though to that gentle brow 
Willingly could I fly, and hope thy reign, 
From that placid aspect and meek regard, 
Rather than aggravate my evil state, 



Book hi. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



109 



Would stand between me ami tliy Father's ire 
(Whose ire I dread more than the fire of hell,) 
A shelter, and a kind of shading cool 
Interposition, as a summer's cloud. 
If I then to tiie worst that can be haste, 
Why move thy feet so slow to what is best, 
Hapfiiest, both to thyself and all the world, 
That thou, who worthiest art, should'st be their 

king] 
Perhaps thon lingercst in deep thoughts detained 
Of the enterprise .so hazardous and high: 
No wonder; for though in thee be united 
What of perfection can in man be found, 
Or hunuin nature can receive, consider. 
Thy life hath yet been jirivate, most part spent 
At home, scarce viewed the Galilean towns, 
And once a year Jerusalem, a few days' 
Short sojourn ; and what thence could'st thou ob- 
serve 1 
The world thou hast not seen, much less her glory, 
Empires and monarchs, and their radiant courts, 
Best school of best experience, quickest insigiit 
In all things that to greatest actions lead. 
The wisest, unexperienced, will be ever 
Timorous and loth, with novice modesty, 
(As he who, seeking asses, found a kingdom,) 
Irresolute, unhardy, unadventurous : 
But I will bring thee where thou soon shalt quit 
Those rudiments, and see before thine eyes 
The monarchies of the earth, their pomp and state; 
Sufficient introduction to inform 
Thee, of thyself so apt, in regal arts, 
And regal mysteries , that thou may'st know 
How best their opposition to withstand." 

With that (such power was given him then) he 
took 
The Son of God up to a mountain high. 
It was a mountain at whose verdant feet 
A spacious plain, outstretched in circuit wide, 
Lay pleasant ; from his side two rivers flowed. 
The one winding, th' other straight, and left be- 
tween 
Fair champaign with less rivers interveined, 
Then meeting joined their tribute to the sea ; 
Fertile of corn the glebe, of oil, and wine; 
With herds the pastures thronged, with flocks the 

hills: 
Huge cities and high towered, that well might seem 
The seats of mightiest monarchs; and so large 
The prospect was, that here and there was room 
For barren desert, fountainless and dry. 
To this high mountain top the Tempter brought 
Our Saviour, and new train of words began. 

" Well have we speeded, and o'er hill and dale, 
Forest and field and flood, temples and towers. 
But shorter many a league, here thou behold 'st 
Assyria, and her empire's ancient bounds, 
Araxes and the Casiiian lake ; thence on 
As liir as Indus east, Euphrates west, 



And oft beyond : to south the Persian bay 
And, inaccessible, the Arabian drought : 
Here Nineveh, of length within her wail 
Several days' journey, built by Ninus oiu. 
Of that first golden monarchy the seat. 
And seat of Salmanassar, whose success 
Israel in long captivity still mourns ; 
There Babylon, the wonder of all tongues. 
As ancient, but rebuilt by him who twice 
Judah and all thy father David's hous-e 
Led captive, and Jerusalem laid waste, 
Till Cyrus set them free ; Perseiwlis, 
His city, there thou secst, and Buctra tliere : 
Ecbatana her structure vast there shows, 
And Hccatompylos her hundred gates ; 
There Susa by Choas[)es, amber stream, 
The drink of none but kings; of later fame, 
Built by Emathian or by Parthian hands. 
The great Selcucia, Nisibis, and there 
Artaxata, Tercdon, Ctesiphon, 
Turning with easy eye thou mayest behold. 
All these the Parthian (now some ages past 
By great Arsaces led, who founded first 
That empire) under his dominion holds. 
From the luxurious kings of Antioch won. 
And just in time thou comest to have a view 
Of his great power; for now the Parthian king 
In Ctesiphon hath gathered all his host 
Against the Scythian, whose incursions wild 
Have wasted Sogdiana ; to her aid 
He marches now in haste ; see, though from far, 
His thousands, in what martial equipage 
They issue forth, steel bows and shafts their arms. 
Of equal dread in flight, or in pursuit ; 
All horsemen, in which fight they most excel : 
See how in warlike muster they apjicar. 
In rhombs, and wedges, and half-moons, and 
wings." 
He looked, and saw what numbers numberless 
The city gates outpoured, light armed troops. 
In coats of mail and military pride ; 
In mail tlieir horses clad, yet fleet and strong. 
Prancing their riders bore, the flower and choice 
Of many provinces from bound to bound ; 
From Aracliosia, from Candaor east, 
And Margiana to the Hyrcanian clifl's 
Of Caucasus, and dark Iberian dales ; 
From Atropatia and the neighbouring plains 
Of Adiabene, Media, and the .south 
Of Susiana, to Balsara's haven. 
He saw them in their forms of battle ranged. 
How quick they wheeled, and, flying, behind them 

shot 
Sharp sleet of arrowy showers against the face 
Of their pursuers, and overcame by flight; 
The field all iron cast a gleaming brown; 
Nor wanted clouds of foot, nor on each hom 
Cuirassiers all in steel for standing fight. 
Chariots, or elephants indorsed with towers 



110 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book iii. 



Of archrra ; nor of labouring pionoors 
A iiuiltitiulc, vvitli spades and axes armed 
To lay liills i)l.un, li-ll woods, or valleys fill, 
Or when' plain was raise hill, or overlay 
With hrid^fes rivers jmuid, as with a yoke ; 
Mules aller these, eainels and dromedaries, 
And waijons, IVauojht witii utensils of war. 
Such forces met not, nor so wide a eamp, 
When Agriean with all his northern powers 
Besieired Alhraeca, as romances tell. 
The city of Clallaphrone, from whence to win 
The fairest of her sex Anjfelie.a, 
His dauirhter, souirht by many prowcst knights. 
Both I'ayiiim an<I the peers of (^liarlemagne. 
Sneh and so numerous was their chivalry : 
At sight whereof the fiend yet more presumed. 
And to our Saviour thus his words renewed. 

" That thou mav'st. know I seek not toeniiaiic 
Thy virtue, and not every way secure 
On no slight grounds thy safety ; hear, and mark 
To what end I have brought thee hither, and shown 
All this fair sight : thy kingdom, though foretold 
By prophet or by angel, uidess thou 
Endeavour, as thy father David did, 
Thou never shalt obtain; prediction still 
In all things, and all n)en, supposes means ; 
Without means useii, what it predicts revokes. 
But say thou wert possessed of David's throne, 
By free consent of all, none opposite, 
Samaritan or Jew ; how eouldst thou hope 
Long to enjoy if quiet and secure. 
Between two such enclosing enemies, 
Roman and Parthian 1 therefore one of tlieso 
Thou must make sure thy own; the Parthian first 
By my advice, as nearer, and of lato 
Founil able by invasion to annoy 
Thy ciiunlry, and captive lead away her kings, 
Antigonus and old llyrcanus, Intund, 
Maugre the Roman: it shall be my task 
To render thee the Parthian at dispose, 
Chiwae which thou wilt, by comjucst or by league: 
By him tiiou shalt regain, without him not. 
That which alone can truly rcinstal thee 
In David's royal seat, his true successor, 
Delivenmce of thy brethren, those ten tribes. 
Whose olVspring in his territory yet serve, 
In llabor, and among the Medes dispersed: 
Ten sons of Jacob, two of Joseph, lost 
Thus long from Israel, serving, as of old 
Their fathers in the land of Egypt served, 
This oiler sets before thee to deliver. 
These if from servitude thou shalt restore 
To their inheritance, tlien. nor till then, 
Thou on the throne of David in full glory, 
From Egypt to Euphrates and beyond, 
Bhalt reign, and Rome or Cffsar need not fear." 

To whom our Saviour answered thus, unmoved: 



" Much ostentation, vain of fleshy arm 
And fragile arma, much instrument of war, 
Long in preparing, soon to nothing lirouglit, 
Hefore mine eyes thou hast set; and in my ear 
Vented much policy, and projects deep 
Of enemies, of aids, battles and leagues. 
Plausible to the world, to me wortli nought. 
Means I nmst use, thou say'st; prediction else 
Will unpri'diet, and fail me of the throne: 
My time, I told thee, (and that time for thee 
Were better farthest oil") is not yet come: 
When that comes, think not thou to lind me slack 
On my part aught endeavouring, or to need 
Thy [lolite maxims, or that cumbersome 
Luggage of war there shown me, argument 
Of human weakness rather than of strength. 
My brethren, as thou call'st them, those ten tribes 
I must deliver if 1 mean to reign 
David's true heir, and his full sceptre sway 
To just extent over all Israel's sons. 
H\it whence to thee this zeal ! Where was it then 
For Israel, or for David, or his throne. 
When thou stood'st up his tempti-r to the pride 
Of nnmhcring Israel, which cost the lives 
Of threescore and ten thousand Israelites 
By three days' pestilence? such was thy zeal 
To Israel then; the same that now to me! 
As for those captive tribes, themselves were they 
Who wrought their own captivity, fell oil" 
From God to worship calves, the deities 
Of Egypt, Baal next and Ashtaroth, 
And all the idolatiries of heathen round. 
Besides their other worse than heathenish crimes; 
Nor in the land of their captivity 
Humbled themselves, or penitent besought 
The God of their forefathers; but so died 
Impenitent, and letl a race behind 
Like to them.selves, distinguishable scarce 
From Gentiles, but by circumcision vain. 
And God with idols in their worshi[) joined. 
Should i of these the liberty regard. 
Who, treed, as to their ancient i)atrimony, 
Unhumbled, unrepentant, unrelormed, 
I leadlong would follow ; and to their Gods perhaps 
Of Bethel and of Dan; no; let tliem serve 
Their enemies, who serve idols with God. 
Yet he at length, (time to liimself best known,) 
Remembering Abraham, by some wondrous call 
May bring them back, repentant and sincere. 
And at their passing cleave the Assyrian flood, 
While to their native land w^ith joy they haste; 
As the Red Sea and Jordan once he clelY, 
When to the promised land their fathers passed; 
To his due time and providence 1 leave them." 
So spake Israel's true king, and to the fiend 
Made answer meet, that made void all his wiles. 
So fares it when with truth falsehood contcuds. 



Book it. 



PARADISE REGAINED 



111 



BOOK IV. 



THE AIUillMENT. 

Satnn fHirsirtlnR In llic temptation of our I-ord, bIiowh lilni 
Imixiiiiil RdiiH! ill its j;ic!itcst pomp and Bplpndour, m a power 
wiiicli ln! piiilKvlily would |)ii;l(!r licfori! tliat ol'tliii I'nrtldaiiM; 
mill tells him that hn mi!;lit willi lliei;rcal(;Nti!Hsu (^xpcl 'Vibr- 
riiis, ri'Sdm! die llomana (o their lihi^rly, and make liiinw^lf 
lii:isler not only of the Roman empire, hut liy so doinj; of die 
whole world, and incliiHively of dio diroiie of David. Our 
1/ord, ill reply, ox|)res.sen his contempt of Hiuiidenr and world- 
ly power, noliees the luxury, vanity, and prollif^'acy of the 
IloniaiiH, diM'lariiif; how little they merited to ho reHlured to 
that liherty, wliirh they liad lost hy their misconduct, and 
briefly refei-s to the greatness of his own fiilnre kiiicdom. Sa- 
tan, now disperate, to enhance the value of his prcllered f^ifls, 
professed that the only terms, on which ho will bestow tliiiin, 
are our Siiviour's falling down and worship|)ini; him. Oiu- 
Lord ex[)i(!SRi's a firm but temperate indi^'iiation at such a 
proposition, and rebukes the Tempter hy the tide of "Satan 
for ever damned." Satan, abashed, attempts to justify him- 
Bclf ; he then .u^sumrs a nrw ground of temptation, and, jiro- 
pfwin? to .le.wiis the intc^llectnal Kralilications iif wi.-ulian and 
kiiowlrd^'e, |H)lnlHout to him the! celebrated si;at of aiK'ient 
leariiiii',', AthciiH, its schools, and other various resorts of learn- 
ed teachi-iM and their disciples; accompanyini? Ilio vii:w with 
a liii;hlyfiiiislied pancfryric on Uic (Jrecian musicians, poc'ts, 
orators, ami ]ihiloHO|ihers of the dilli^rent sects. Jesus rc'|ili('s, 
by showing the vanity and iiisulliciency of the boasted llea- 
tbi'ii pliiloNophy ; ami prefix's to the music, [loetry, eloipience, 
ami didactic policy of the(!reeks, those of the ins|)ired Hebrew 
writers. Satiin, irrilatiul at the failure of all his attempts, np- 
braids the indiscretion of our Saviour in rejecting his olli'rs; 
nnd havintj, in ridicule of his expected kingdom, foretold the 
Bulliriiigs itm our Lord wa-s to undergo, carries him back into 
the wilderness, and leaves him there. Night comes on : Satan 
raises a tremendous storm, and attempts further to alarm Jesus 
with frighlfiii itr(«inK,aiid terrific threatciiiing spectres ; which 
howc^ver have no ellijct upon him. A calm, bright, beautiful 
morning succei'ds to the horrorsof die night. SatJin again jire- 
Bcnts himself to our blessed Lord, and, from noticing the storm 
of the preceding night as pointed chielly at lilni, takes occasion 
once more to insult him with an account of the sulferings 
which he wan certainly to undergo. This only draws from 
our Lord a brief rtibuke. Satan, now at the height of his des- 
peration, coideases that ho had fret|uently watched Jesus from 
his binli, purposely to discover if ho was the true MosHiah; 
uiul, collcM'ting from what piLSsed at the river Jordan that ho 
)iiost [U'oliably w.'ls so, he hsid from that time more assiduous- 
ly followed him, in hopes of gaining some a<lvantng(! over 
Jiini, which would most elliM-tually prove that he was not 
really that Divine i'erson destined to be his " fatal Kiieniy." 
J II this he acknowliMlges thathe hits liilhcM'to com pl<lely failed ; 
but still determines to make one more trial of him. Accord- 
ingly her conveys him totlie'J'eni])leat JiTiisalem, and, placing 
him on a pointed eminence, requires him to prove his Divini- 
ty eitliiT by standing Ihero, or easting liimselfdown withsiifety. 
Our I/ird reproves the Tempter, and at the same time mani- 
fe.sis bis own Divinity by standing on Uiis daiigindus |)oint. 
Satan, amazed and terrified, instantly falls; and rep.iirs to his 
infernal compeers, to relate tlie bad nucceBS of his enterprise. 
Angels in Ihc mean time convey our blessed I.,or(l to a beauli- 
fnl valley, and, wliilo they mini.ster to him a repast of celestial 
f.Kxl, celebrate his victory in a triumphant hymn. 



PEiipi.EXF.n anil troublwl at his bad hhccoss 
The tempter stooil, nor had what to reply, 



Diflcovcrrd in his fraud, tlirown from his ho[)e 
So oft, and the ])(;r»uaHivc rlietoric 
That sloelted lii8 tongue, and won ho much on Eve, 
So little hen;, iiiiy lost; but Eve waH Kve ; 
This far his overmatch, who, Bt^lfthsceived 
And rash, beforehand had no better weijfhcd 
The Ktreni^th he was to c.o\m with, or his own 
Hut us a man, who had been matchless held 
In cunning, overreached where lenat he thought, 
To salve his credit, and for very spite. 
Still will be tempting him who foils him still, 
And never cease, though to his shame the more; 
()r as a swarm of flies in vintage time. 
About the wine jircss where sweet must is poured, 
Hciit oil' returns us oft with liimmiiiig sound; 
Or surging waves against a solid rock, 
'J'hough all to shivers dashed, the assault renew, 
(Vuiii battery!) and in frotli or bubbles end; 
So Satan, whom repulse ujion repulse 
Met ever, and to shameful silence brought. 
Yet gives not o'er, though des|K>rate of success, 
And his vain importunity jiursiies. 
I Fe brought our Saviour to the western side 
Of that high mountain, wht^nce he might birholj 
Another jilain, long, but iii breadth not wide, 
Washed by the southern sea, ami, on the north, 
'J'o ('(luid length backed with a ridge of hills, 
Tluit screened the, fruits of the earth, and seats of 

men, 
From cold septcntrion blasts; thence in the midst 
Dividtrd by a river, of whose banks 
( )n each side an imperial city stood. 
With towers and temples proudly elevate 
On seven small hills, with palaces adorned, 
Porches, and theatres, baths, aqueducts; 
Statues, and trophies, and triumphal arcs, 
Gardens and groves presented to his eyes. 
Above the height of mountains intt'rjiosed : 
(By what strang<^ ptirallax, or optic skill 
Of vision, nmltiplied through air, or glass 
Of telescojie, wen; curious to inquire:) 
And now the Tempter thus his silence broke. 

" The city whit-h thou seest no other deem 
Than great and glorious Rome, queen of the earth. 
So far renowned, and witii the sjioils enriched 
Of nations ; there the ca|)itol thou seest ; 
Above the rest lifting his stately head 
On the Tarpcian rock, her citadel 
lm[)regnable; and there mount Palatine, 
The imperial palace, comi)aa8 huge, and high 
The constructure, skill of noblest architects. 
With gildeil battlements conspicuous far, 
I'lirrets, and terraces, ami glittering spires : 
Many a fair edifice besides, nion; like 
Houses of gods, (so well I have di8|)08ed 
My airy microsco|)e,) thou maycst behold. 
Outside and inside both, jnllars and roofs. 
Carved work, the hand of filmed artificers. 
In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold. 



113 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



BC»0K IV. 



Tlienor to tlio fiatos cast round thine vyc, and ace 

What I'onlliix issuinjj forth, or entering in; 

PffDtors, proconsuls to tlieir provinces 

Hasting, or on return, in robes of state; 

Lictors nnd rods, tlie ensigns of tlieir power. 

Legions and cohorts, turnis of horse and vviuga: 

Or embassies from regions far remote; 

In various liabits, on the Appian road, 

Or on the Kiniliau ; some fron\ farthest south, 

Syene, and wliere the shadow both way falls, 

Meroe, Nilotic isle, and, more to west. 

The realm of Hocchus to the Black-moor sea. 

From the Asian kings, and Parthian among these ; 

From India and the golden Ghersonesej 

And utmost Indian isle Taprobane, 

Dusk faces with white silken turbans wreathed; 

From Gallia, (.Jades, and the British west; 

Germans, and Sythians, and Sarmatians, north 

Beyond Danubius to the "^Pauric pool. 

All nations now to Rome obedience pay; 

To Rome's great emperor, whose wide domain, 

In ample territory, wealth, and power, 

Civility of maimers, arts, and arms, 

And long renown, thou justly n>ayest prefer 

Before the Parthiuus. These two thrones except, 

The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight. 

Shared among petty kings too far removed ; 

These having shown thee, 1 have shown thee all 

The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory. 

This emperor hath no son, and now is old. 

Old and lascivious, and Irom Rome retired 

To Caprea;, an island small, but strong, 

On tlie Campanian shore, with purpose there 

His horrid lusts in private to enjoy, 

Conunitting to a wicked favourite 

All public cares, and yet of him suspicious; 

Haled of all, and hating. With what ease, 

Indueil with regal virtues as thou art, 

Appearing, and beginning noble deeds, 

Might'st thou e.xjH'l this monster from his throne, 

Now made a sty ; and, in his place ascending, 

A victor people free from stn-vile yoke! 

And with my help thou maycst ; to mo the power 

Is given, and by that right 1 give it thee. 

Aim therefore at no less than all the world; 

Aim at the highest; without the highest attained, 

Will be for thee no sitting, or not long. 

On David's throne, be prophesied what will." 

To whom the Son of God, unmoved, replied. 
" Nor doth this grandeur and majestic show 
Of luxurj', though called magnificence, 
More than of arms before, allure mine eye. 
Much less my mind ; though thou shouldst add to 

tell 
Their smnptuous gluttonies, and gorgeous feasts 
On citron tables or Atlantic stone, 
(For 1 have alpo heard, perhaps have read,) 
Their wines of Setia, Cales, and Falerne, 
Chios, and Crete, nnd how tliey quaflfin gold. 



Crystal, and myrrhine cups, eml>ossed with gems 

And studs of pearl ; to me should'st tell, who thirst 

And hunger still. Then embassies tiiou showest 

From nations far and nigh : what honour that, 

But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear 

So many hollow com|)liments and lies. 

Outlandish flatteries 1 Then proceed'st to talk 

Of the emperor, how easily subdued, 

I low gloriously: I shall, thou sayest, expel 

A brutish monster ; what if I withal 

Expel a devil who lirst made him such? 

Let his tormentor conscience fmd him out ; 

For him I was not sent ; nor yet to free 

That people, victor once, now vile and base; 

Deservedly made vassal, who, once just. 

Frugal, and mild, and temperate, conquered well, 

But govern ill the nations under yoke. 

Peeling their ))rovinces, exhausted all 

l>y lust and rapine; first ambitious grown 

Ci" triumph, that insulting vanity ; 

Then cruel, by their sports to blood inured 

Of fighting beasts, and men to beasts exposed; 

Luxurious by their wealth, and greedier still, 

And from the daily scene efleminate. 

What wise and valiant man would seek to free 

These, thus degenerate, by themselves enslaved'? 

Or could of inward slaves make outward {reel 

Know therefore, when my season comes to sit 

On Daviil's throne, it shall be like a tree 

Spreading and overshadowing all the earth; 

Or as a stone, that shall to pieces dash 

All monarciiies besides throughout the world. 

And of my kingdom there shall be no end; 

Means there shall be to this ; but what the means, 

Is not for thee to know, nor me to tell." 

To whom the Temiiter, impiident, replied. 
" I see all oilers made by me how slight 
Thou valuest, because olTered, and rejectest: 
Nothing will i)leaso the dillicult and nice. 
Or nothing more than still to contradict: 
On the other side know also thou, that I 
On what I ofler set as high esteem, 
Nor what 1 part with mean to give for nought; 
All these, which in a moment thou behold'st, 
The kingdoms of the world, to thee I give, 
(For, given to me, I give to whom I please,) 
No trille; yet with this reserve, not else. 
On this condition, if thou wilt fall down. 
And worship me as thy superior lord, 
(Easily done,) and hold them all of me; 
For what can less so great a gill deser^'e?" 

Whom thus our Saviour answered with disdain. 
" I never liked thy talk, thy oilers less; 
Now both abhor, since thou hast dared to utter 
The nlrominable terms, impious condition : 
But I endure the time, till which expired 
Thou hast permission on me. It is written, 
The firstof all commandments. Thou shalt worship 
The Lord thy God, and only him slialt serve; 



Book iv. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



113 



And (larost thou to tile Son of God propound 
To \vorslii|> IIh'i" accursed, now inon^ iiccuracd 
For lliis iilti'in])t, bolder tliuii tliiit on Kvo, 
And nioru blasplKMrious'! wliich ex|>oct to rue. 
'I'lic kiiijrdoms of the world to thee were given f 
Peniiittcd riitiicr, iind liy thee usurped; 
Other donation none thou canst produce. 
If given, by whom but by the King of kinga 
God over all supreme! If <fiven to thcc, 
By thee how iJiirly is the giver now 
Repaid! But gratitude in thee is lost 
liOiig since. Wert thou so void of fear or shame, 
As olli'r theiM to nie, the tion of Godl 
To nio my own, on sucli abhorred pact, 
That I fall down and worship thee as Godl 
Get tiiee beiiind me; plain tiiou now ajipcarest 
That evil one, Satau for ever damned." 

To whom the FicMid, with lear abasiicd, replied : 
"Bo not 80 sore odended. Son of God, 
Tliougii Sons of God both angels arc and men. 
If 1, to try wiiether in high<:r sort 
Than these thou bearest that title, have proposed 
What iioth from men atid angels I receive, 
Tetrareiis of lin?, air, Hood, and on tiic! earth. 
Nations beside from all the quartered winds, 
God of this world invoked, and world beneath: 
Who then thou art, whose coming is foretold 
To nic most fatal, mc it most concerns. 
The trial hath endamaged tliec no way. 
Rather more lionoureil left and more esteem; 
Me nought advantaged, missing what i aimed. 
I'herefore let pass, as they are transitory, 
The kingdoms of this world; I shall no more 
Advise! thee; gain thiMn as thou canst, or not. 
And thou thyself seem'st otherwise inclined 
Than to a worldly crown, addicted more 
To contemplation and profound dispute, 
As by that (!arly action may be judged. 
When slipiung from thy mother's eye, thou wcnt'st 
Alone into the temple, tlu^re wast found 
Among the gravest llabhies, disputant 
On points and questions litting Moses' chair, 
Teaching, not taught; theciiildliocjd shows the man 
As morning shows the day. JJe famous then 
By wisdom; as thy empire nnist e.xtcMid, 
So let extend thy mind o'(!r all the world 
In knowledge, all things in it comprehend. 
All knowledge is not couched in Moses' law. 
The Pentateuch, or what the Pro|)hetrt wrote ; 
The Gentiles also know, and write, and teach 
To admiration, liid by nature's light. 
And with the Gentiles much thou nmst converse, 
Ruling them by persuasion as thou meanest; 
Without their learning how wilt thou with them. 
Or they with thi'e, hold conversation meet"! 
How wilt thou reason with them, how refute 
'I'heir idolisms, traditions, paradoxes'? 
Error by his own arms is best evinced. 
Look once more, ere we leave this P[)ecular mount, 
10 N 



Westward, much nearer by south-west, behold. 

Where on the Kgean shore, a ci(y stands, 

Huilt nobly, piin; the air, and light the soil, 

Athens, the eye of Greece, and mother of arts 

And elo<pmnc(!, native to famo\is wits 

Or hospitaiile, in her sweet recess. 

City or 8ui)url)an, studious walks and sliades. 

S(U! there the olive grove of Academe, 

I'lato's retirement, where the Attic bird 

Trills her thick-warbled notes the surmncrlong; 

There flowery hill Hymettus, with the sound 

Of bees' industrious nairiinn', oil invites 

To studious musing; there llissus rolls 

His whispering stream: within the walls, then 

view 
The schiwls of ancient sages; his, who bred 
Great Alexandt^r to subdue; thii world, 
Lyceum there, and painted Stou next: 
There shall thou hear and learn the secret power 
Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit 
By voice or hand; and various measured verse, 
jliolian charms and Dorian lyric odes. 
And his who gave tiiem iireatii, but higher sunfj, 
Blind Mek'sigenes, thence J lomer called, 
Whose poem Phoebus challenged for this own: 
Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught 
In ('horus or Iambic, teachers best 
Of moral prudence, with delight received 
In bri('f sententious precepts, while tlu^ treat 
Of fate, and chance, and change; in hmnan lile, 
] ligh actions and high passions best describing; 
'I'henco to the famous orators repair. 
Those ancient, whose! resistless ek)quence 
Wielded at will that fierce democratic!. 
Shook till! arsenal, and fulmined over Greece 
To Macodon alid Artaxerxes' throne : 
To sag(! philo.sophy next lend lliine ear. 
From Heaven desceniled to the low-roofed houso 
Of Socrates ; see there his tenement, 
Whom well insjjired tlu! oracle pronounced 
Wisest of men; from wliosi! mouth issued forth 
Melliduous streams, that watered all the schools 
Of Academics old and n(!w, with those 
Surnumed Peri))atetics, and the sect 
Epicurean, and the Stoic severe; 
I'hose h(!rer(!volve, or, as thou likest, at home, 
Till time mature thee to a kingdom's weight; 
These rules will render thee a king complete 
Within thyself, much more with enqiiri! joined." 

To whom our Saviour sag(!ly thus re])lied : 
" Think not but that I know these things, or think 
I know them not; not therefore am 1 short 
Of knowmg what I ought: ho who receives 
Light from above, from Ihi! fountain of light. 
No other doctrine needs, though granted true; 
But these are false, or little else but dreams. 
Conjectures, fancies, built on nothing firm. 
The first and wiK(!st of them all jjrolesscJ 
To know this only, that ho nothing knew; 



114 



MILTON'S WORKS 



Book iv. 



The nrxt to fiililin;! toll, nml smooth conceits; 

A tliinl sort doulitod nil tliiiii^s, though plain sense; 

Others in virtue placed I'eiicitv, 

But virtue joineil with riches and long life; 

In corporal pleasure he and careless ease; 

The Stoic last in philosoi)hic pride, 

}?y him called virtue; and his virtuous ninn, 

Wise, pcrlivt in himself, and all j>ossessing 

l\(jual to Ciod, oil sivams not to prefer, 

As fearing God nor man, contemning all 

Wealth, iileasure, pain or torment, death and life, 

Wiiicli, when he lists, he leaves, or honsts ho can, 

For all his tedious talk is hut vain hoast, 

Or subtle shiIVs conviction to evade. 

Alas ! what can they teacli, and not mislead, 

Ignorant of themselves, of God mudi more. 

And how the world hegan, and how man fell 

Degraded iiy himself, on grace depending? 

Much of tlie soul they talk, hut all awry, 

And in tljcmselves seek virtue, and to themselves 

All glory arrogate, to God give none; 

Rather accuse him under usual names, 

Fortune and t'ate, as one regardless (juite 

Of mortal things. Who therefore seeks in these 

True wisdom linds her not ; or, by delusion. 

Far wors(>, her false resemblance only meets. 

An empty cloud. However, many hooks, 

Wise ni'Ti have said, are wearisome; who reads 

Incessantly, and to his reading brings not 

A spirit and judgmiMit cijual or superior 

(And what he brings, what needs he elsewhere 

seek 
Uncerlaiu and unsettled still remains, 
Deej) \ersed in books, and shallow in himself, 
Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys 
And trilles for elioice matters, worth a sponge: 
As children gathering pebbles on the shore. 
(~)r, if I would delight my private hours 
With uuisic or with poem, where, so soon 
As in our native language, can 1 (ind 
That solace ? all our law and story strewed 
With hymns, our psalms with artful terms in- 

scrilied, 
Our Hebrew songs and harps, in Babylon 
That pleased so well our victors' ear, declare 
That rather Greece from us these arts derived ; 
HI imitated, while they loudest sing 
The vices of their deities, and their own, 
In fable, hymn, or song, so personating 
Their gods ridiculous, and themselves past shame. 
Remove their swelling epithets, thick laid 
As varnish on a harlots cheek, the rest, 
Thin sown with aught of profit or delight. 
Will far be found unworthy to compare 
With Sion's songs, to all true tastes excelling. 
Where God is praised aright, and godlike men. 
The 1 loliest of 1 lolies, and Iiis saints, 
(Such are frou» God inspired, not such from thee. ^ 
Unless where moral virtue is expressed 



By light of nature, not in all quite lost. 
Their orators tliou then extoH'st, as those 
The top of elotpience; statists indeed. 
And lovers of their country, as may seem 
But herein to our projihets far beneath. 
As men divinely taught, and better teaching 
The .solid rules of civil government. 
In their majestic unatlected style. 
Than all the oratory of Greece and Rome. 
In them is plainest taught, and easiest learnt, 
What makes a nation happy, and keeps it so, 
What ruins kingdoms, and lays cities Hat: 
']'li(>se only with our law best form a king." 

So spake the Son of God ; but Satan, now 
Cluite at a loss, for all his darts were spent. 
Thus to our Saviour with stern brow re])lied. 
" Since neither wealth nor honour, arms nor arts, 
Kingdom nor empire pleases thee, nor aught 
By me jirojiosed in life contemplative 
Or active, tended on by glory or fame. 
What dost thou in this world 1 the wilderness 
For thee is fittest place ; I iinmd thee there. 
And thither will return thee; yet remember 
What I foretell thee, soon thou slialt have cause 
To wish thou never hadst rejected thus 
Nicely or cautiously my olVered aid. 
Which would have .set thee in short time with case 
0\i David's throne, or throne of all the world, 
Now at full age, fulness of time, thy season, 
When prophecies of tliee are best fnltilled. 
Now contrary, if 1 read aught in Heaven, 
Or Heaven write aught of fate, by what the stars 
Vohuninous, or single cliaracters. 
In their conjunction met, give me to spell, 
Sorrows, and labours, opposition, hate 
Attend thee, scorns, reproaches, injuries, 
Violence and stripes, and lastly cruel death; 
A kingdom they portend thee, but what kingdom, 
Real or allegoric, I discern not ; 
Nor when; eternal sure, as without end. 
Without begiiniing; for no date prefixed 
Directs me in the starry rubric set." 

So saying, he took, (for still he knew his power 
Not yet expired,) and to the wilderness 
Brought back the Son of Gcul, and left him there, 
Feignini: to disapjvar. Darkness now rose, 
As davliixht sunk, and brought in lowering night. 
Her shadowy offspring, unsubstantial both. 
Privation mere of light and absent day. 
Our Saviour meek and witli untroubled mind 
Afler his airy jaunt, though hurried sore, 
Hungry and cold, betook him to his rest, 
Wherever, mider some concourse of shades, 
Whose branching arms thick intertwined might 

shield 
From dews and damps of night his sheltered head ; 
But, shelterol, slept in vain ; for at his liead 
The Tempter wat*"hed, and soon with ugly dreams 
Disturbed his sleep. And either trojnc now 



Book iv. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



116 



Gail thunder, and both ends of Heaven ; the 

cioudn, 
From many a horrid rift, abortive poured 
Ficrci^ rain with hj^litiiiiiij; riiixi'd, water witli fire 
In ruin reconciled : nor sli'[)t tht^ wiiidrt 
Within tlu-ir stony caves, but rusiied abroad 
From (ho four hinifcs oCthe world, and li'll 
On th»' vexed wilderness, whose tallest jiinea, 
Though rooted deep as liigh, and sturdiest ouk8, 
Bowed their stid'necks, loaden wilh stormy blasts. 
Or torn up sheer. Ill wast thou shroud(^d then, 
O patient Son of God, yet otdy stood'st 
Unshaken! Nor yet stayed the terror there ; 
Inti'rnal ;rhosts, and hellish iuriea round 
Environed thee, some howled, .somo yelled, some 

shrieked. 
Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while thou 
Snt'st unappalled in calm and siidess peace! 
Thus passeil the nij;lit so liiul, till moriiinif lair 
Came forth, with i)ili;rim steps, in aniico gray. 
Who with her radiant finif<'r stilleil the roar 
Of thundi'r, chased the clouds, an<l laid the winds, 
And grisly spectres, which the liend had raised 
To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire. 
And now the sun with more clli'ctual beams 
Had cheered the face of earth, and dried the wet 
From drooping plant or dropping tree; tho birds. 
Who all things now behold more fresh and green, 
After a night of storm so ruinous, 
Cleared up their choicest notes in bush and spray, 
To gratulatc the sweet return of morn. 
Nor yet, amidst this joy and brightest morn, 
Was absent, after all his mischief done'. 
The prince of darkness; glad would also seem 
Of this fair change, and to our Saviour came; 
Yet with no new device, (they all were spent,) 
Rather by this his last aft'ront resolved, 
Des|)crat(! of better course, to vent his rage 
And mad despite to be so oil repellt^d. 
Him walking on a suiniy hill Ik; I'ound, 
Backetl on the north and west by a thick wood; 
Out of the wood he starts in wonted shape, 
And in a careless mood thus to him said. 

"Fair morning yet betides thee. Son of God, 
After a dismal night: I heard the wrack, 
As earth and sky would iningh,'; but myself 
Was distant; and these (laws, though mortals fear 

them 
As dangerous to the pillared frame of Heaven, 
Or to the earth's dark basis umkirneath. 
Are to the main as inconsidcrablo 
And harndess, if not wholesome as a sneeze 
To man's less universe, and soon are gone; 
Yet, as being ofttimes noxious where they light 
On man, l)east, plant, wasteful and turbulent, 
Like turbulencies in tho allairs of men, 
Over whose heads they roar, and seem to point, 
They oft forcsignify and threaten ill: 
Tliis tempest at this desert most was bent ; 



Of men at tliei!, for only thou here dwell'st. 
Did 1 not tell thee, if thou did'st reject 
I'he |)crfect season a/lered with my aid 
To will thy destined seat, but will )irt>long 
All to the push dl' fate, jjursue thy way 
Of gaining David's throne, no man knows when, 
For both the when and how is no when; told'} 
'J'liou shall \u'. what thou art ordaintMl, no doubt; 
For angels have proclaimed it, but concealing 
The time and means. Each act is rightliest done, 
Not when it must, but when it may lie best: 
If thou observe not this, be sure to find. 
What 1 foretold thee, many a hard assay 
Of dang(!rs, and adversities, and pains, 
Ere thou ol' Israel's sce[)tr(^ gel fast hold; 
Vv'hereof this ominous night, that closed thoe 

round, 
So many terrors, voices, ])r(idigies, 
JVlay warn thee as a sin-e (iu'egoing sign." 

So talked he, while the Son of God went on 
And stayed not, but in brief him answered thus. 
" Me worse than wet thou lind'st not; other 
iiarni 
Those terrors which thou speak'.st of, di<l mo none; 
I never (i'ared they could, though noising loud 
And threatening high; what they can do, as signs 
IJelokening, or ill boding, 1 contemn 
As false portents, not sent from God, but thee; 
Who, knowing I sliall reign |)ast thy preventing, 
(Jbtrud'st thy ollered aid, that 1, accejiting, 
At least might seem to hold all power of thee. 
Ambitious spirit! and would'st be thought my 

God; 
And storm'fit refused, thinking to terrify 
Me? to thy will! desist, (thou art discerned, 
And toil'st in vain,) nor me in vain molest." 
To whom the fiend, now swollen with rage, re- 
j)lied, 
" Then h(!ar, O Son of David, virgin-born. 
For Son of God to me is yet in doubt; 
Of tho Messiah 1 had heard foretold 
])y all the prophets; of thy birth at length. 
Announced by Gabriel, with the first I kiu^w. 
And of the angelic song in Betlilc^hcin field, 
( hi thy birthnight, that sung thee Saviour born. 
I'Vom that time seldom have! 1 ceased to (!ye 
Thy infancy, thy childhood, and thy youth. 
Thy manhood last, though yet in private bred, 
Till at the ford of Jordan, whither all 
Flock to the Baptist, 1 among the rest, 
(Though not to be baptized,) by voice (from 

Heaven. 
] leard thee pronounced the Son of God beloved. 
Thenceforth I thought thee worth my nearer view 
And narrower scrutiny, that I might learn 
In what degree or meaning thou art called 
The Son of God, which bears no single sense. 
The Son of God I also am, or was; 
And if I was, I am; relation stands; 



llfl 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Book it. 



All men arc sons of God; yet thco I thought 

In SDino icspci't far hifjlior ijo ilci-larod : 

'J'luM-i'l'orc I watchi'il lliy lootstcps I'rorutliat hour, 

And followed thou still on to this wusto wild; 

Whcro, by all best coiijoctuiTS, 1 collect 

Thou art to bo my fatal oueniy : 

Good reason then, if I beforehand seek 

To understand my adversary, who 

And what he is; his wisdom, power, intent; 

Hv |)arle or eompositioii, tniee or leaj:;ue. 

To win him, or win from iiim what 1 can: 

An opportunity I hero have had 

To trvtiiee, sill thee, and eoiiless have found thee 

I'roof ajjaiust all temptation, as a rock 

Of adamant, aud as a centre linn; 

To the utmost of mere man both wise and pood, 

Not more; for honours, riehes, kin;V(loins, Kl*'ry, 

Have been before contemned, and may ajjain: 

'.riierelore to know what more tliou art than man, 

Worth namiuirSonoftiod by voice from lleiiven, 

Another method 1 must now bejriu." 

So saying he caujxht him up, and, without wiiijj; 
Of hippogrif, bore through the air sublime, 
Over the wilderness and o'er the |)l:iin. 
Till underneath (hem fair Jerusalem, 
The holy city, lifted hi)fh her towers, 
And higher yet the >r|orious temple reared 
Her pile, far olf ai)pearin<j; like u mount 
Of alabaster, (opt with golden spires : 
'I'here on tin- hiivhest piiniade he set 
'I'lu' kSoii of tJod ; and added thus in scorn. 

" There stand, if thou wilt stand; to stand ujv 
riifht 
Will ask thee skill; I to thy Father's house 
Have Drought thee, and highest placed: highest is 

best: 
Now show thy progeny ; if not to stand. 
Cast thysilf down ; safely, if Bon of God : 
For it is written. ' lie will give coumiand 
Concerning thee to his angels, in their hands 
They shall upliH thee, lest at any time 
Thou chance tod;ush thy foot against a stone.' " 

To whom thus Jesus. " Also it is written, 
'Tempt not the Lord thy God:'" he said, and 

stooil ; 
But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell. 
As when earth's son Antaeus (to compare 
{Small things with greatest) in Irassa strove 
With Jove's Alcides, and, otl foiled, still rose. 
Receiving from his mother earth new strength, 
Fresli from his fall, and liereer grapple joined, 
Throttled at length in the air, e.\|)ired and fell ; 
J?o, arter many n foil, the l'en)pter proud, 
Renewing fresh assaults amitlst his pride. 
Fell whence he stood to see his victor fall: 
And as that 'riieban monster, that projiosej 
Her riddle, and him, who scilved it not devoured. 



("last herself iieadlong fromtlic Ismenian steep; 

So, struck with dread and anguish, ti'll the fiend, 

:\nd to his crew, that sat consultiug, brought 

(Joyless tri\nnphalsof his hoped success) 

Ruin, and desperation, and dismay. 

Who durst so proudly tempt the Son of God. 

So Satan fell ; and straight a fiery globe 

Of angels on full sail of wing Hew nigh. 

Who on their plumy vans received him soil 

I'^roiM his uneasy station, and U|)bore, 

As on a floating couch, through th(> blithe air; 

Then, in a flowery valley, set him down 

On a gre("n baidi, an<l set beli)re him s|)read 

A table of celestial tiHxl, divine 

Andn'osial fruits, fetched from the tree of life, 

And, from the fount of life, ambrosial drink, 

That soon refnshed him weari<'(l,and repaired 

What hunger, if aught hunger had impaired, 

(^r thirst; and, as he fi'd, angelic choirs 

Sinig lieaveidy anthems of his victory 

t)ver temptation and the tempter proud. 

" True image of the Father; whether throned 
In the bosom of bliss, and light of light 
(^onceiving, or, remote from 1 lt>aven, inslirincd 
In ll(>shly tabernacle, and human form. 
Wandering the wilderness ; whatever place, 
I labil, or state, or motion, still expressing 
The Son of (.Jod, with godlike force endued 
Against thy attempter of thy Father's throne. 
And thief of Paradise ! him long of old 
Thon didst debel, and down from 1 leaven cast 
With all his army; now thou hast avenged 
Supplanted Adam, and, by vanquishing 
Temptation, hast rcgaineil lost Paradise, 
And frustrated thecon(iuest fraudulent. 
1 le never more henceforth will dare set foot 
In Paratlise to tempt; his snares are broke : 
For, though that seat of earthly bliss be failed, 
A fairer Paradise is founded now 
For Adam and his chosen sons, whom thou, 
A Savioin', art come down to rcinstal, 
AV'here they shall ilwell secure, when tiujc shall be 
Of tempter and temptation without fear, 
l^nt thou, infernal ser|ient ! shalt not long 
Rule in the clouils; like an autunuial star, 
Ov lightning, thou shalt fall from Heaven, trod 

down 
Under his feet; for proof, ere this thon fecl'st 
Thy wound, (yet not thy last and deadliest wound,) 
Hy this rejinlse received, and hold'st in hell 
INo triumph; in all her gates Abaddon rues 
Thy bold attempt. Hereatler learn with awe 
To dread the Son of God: he, all unarmed, 
Shall chase thee with the terror of his voice 
From thy demnniae holds, ]iossession foul. 
Thee and thy legions; yelling they shall fly 
Alul beg to hide them in a herd of swine, 



That once found out and solved, for grief and spite , Lest he couunand them down into the deep, 



Book iv. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



117 



Bound, and to tornicnt wnt liclorc tlicir time. — 
Iliiil, Son of llie Most H'ikIi, luir ofholh worlds, 
Uiu'llcr oi" yalan ! on thy y;loiiouM work, 
Now enter, and begin to save mankind." 



Thus tlicy the Son of God, our Saviour meek, 
Suiiff victor, and from iicavcnly feast rcfrcslicd, 
Brought on liis way with joy; he unobserved. 
Home to his mother's liouse private returned. 



Siiwfiiou ^aonifiitcioi. 



DRAMATIC POEM. 



T^uyuS'M juifjino't! im^tt^iui; a-^nJ^ctiaCf x. t. \. 

Aristot. Poet. Cap. 6. 

Tragcedia est Imllalio actioniB seriir, <fec. per tnisoricordiam ot metum perficiens talium aficctuuin liratrationom. 



THE ARfitlMRNT. 

Samson, made raptive, liliiiil, niid imw in tlio prison at fia- 
za,lliiTo to hiliour as in a conuiion worldiouHC, on a foatival 
day, in the pencuvd ceasilions IVoni labour, coinee lortli iiilo tlie 
open air, to a i)lace nigh, sonicnvhat retired, (liere tositawliilo 
and lienioan liiH rondiiion. Wliere lie li.'ipjK^ns at length to 
be visited by eerlnin friends and equals of his tril)e, which 
make the Chorus, who sei^k (o cond'ort him what they can; 
then by his old father Maiioah, who endeavours ihc like, and 
withal tells him his i)urposc to procure his lilierly by ransom ; 
lastly, that this feast was proclainu^d hy the Philistines as a day 
of thanksgiving for their deliverance from the hands of Sam- 
Bon, which yet more troubles him. Manoah (hen departs to 
prosecute his endeavour with the Philistine lords for Samson's 
redemption ; who in the mean-while is visited by other per- 
sons , and lastly hy a imhlic odicer to rei|uiro his coming to 
the feast before the lords and people, to play or show his 
Btrenalh in Uieir presence ; heat first refuses, dismissing the 
pulifK; odicer wilh absolute denial to come; at len^'lh, [ler- 
suiuled inwarilly that this was fromtJod, he yii^lds to fjo along 
with him, who came now the second time with i/reat threat- 
eiiinCH to fetch him: the (Jliorus yet remaining on the place, 
Manoah returns fidl of joyful hope, to procure ere long his son's 
deliverance: in the nddst of which discourse an Hebrew 
comes in haste, confusedly at first, and afterwards more dis- 
tinctly, relating the catastrophe, what Samson had done to the 
riiilislines, and by accident to himMelf; wherewith the tra- 
gedy ends. 



THE PERSONS. 

Samson. 

Manoah, the Father of Samson. 

Dalila, his wifi;. 

llarapha of (lath. 

Pu/ilic OJficer. 

MeHsenger. 

Choriia of Daniles. 

ITie Scene before the Prison in Gaza. 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



Samson, [Atlcndant leading him.\ 

A LITTLE onward lend thy guiding hand 
To these dark steps, a little furtlicr on ; 

m2 



For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade: 
There I am wonttosit wiicn anydiance 
Relieves me from my task of servile toil, 
Daily in tiie common jirison else enjoined me, 
Where I, a prisoner chaintKl, scarce freely draw 
The air imj)risoned also, close and damp, 
Unwholesome draught: but here I feel amends, 
The breath of Heaven fresh blowing, pure and 

sweet. 
With dayspring born ; here leave mc to respire. 
This day a solemn ft^ast the people hold 
To Dagon their sea idol, and forbid 
Laborious works; unwilhngly this rest 
Their superstition yields me; hence with leave 
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek 
This unfretjuented place to find some ease, 
Ease to the body some, none to the mini! 
From restless tlioughts, thiit, like a deadly swann 
Of hornets armed, no sooner found alone. 
Rut rush upon me thronging, and present 
Times |Kist, what once 1 wtis, ancf what am now 
Owhertdbre was my birth from Heaven foretold 
Twice by an angel, who at last in sight 
Of both my parents all in flames ascended 
From off tile altar, wliere an olTering burned, 
As in a fiery column charioting 
His godlike presence, and from some great act 
Or benefit revealed to Abraham's race 1, 
Why was my breeding ordered and prescribed 
As of a person separate to God, 
Designed for great exploits ; if I must die 
Betrayed, caplived, and both my eyes put out, 
Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze, 
To grind in brazen fetters under task 
With this heaven-gifted strength 1 O glorions 

strength. 
Put to the labour of a beast, debased 
Lower than bondslave ! Promise was that I 
Should Israel from Philistiun yoke deliver; 
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find liim 
Eyeless in Gaza at th« mill with slaves, 
Himself in bonds under PhUistian yoke: 



118 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Yet stay, let me not rashly call in doubt 

Divine prediction , what if all foretold 

Had been fulfilled but through mine own default, 

Whom have I to complain of but myself, 

Who this high gift of strength committed to me, 

In what part lodged, how easily bereft me, 

Under the seal of silence could not keep, 

But weakly to a woman must reveal it, 

O'ercome with importunity and tears 1 

O impotence of mind, in body strong ! 

But what is strength without a double share 

Of wisdom'? vast, unwieldy, burdensome, 

Proudly secure, yet liable to fall 

By weakest subtleties; not matle to rule, 

But to subserve where wisdom bears command ! 

God, when he gave me strength, to show withal 

How slight the gift was, hung it in my hair. 

But peace, 1 must not quarrel with the will 

Of highest dispensation, which herein 

Haply had ends above my reach to know; 

Suffices that to me strength is my bane. 

And proves the source of all my miseries; 

So many, and so huge, that each apart 

Would ask a life to wail ; but chief of all, 

O loss of sight, of thee I most complain ! 

Bhnd among enemies, O worse than chains. 

Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age! 

Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct. 

And all her various objects of delight 

Annulled, which might in part my grief have 

eased. 
Inferior to the vilest now become 
Of man or worm; the vilest here excel me; 
They creep, yet see; I, dark in light, exposed 
To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong. 
Within doors, or without, still as a fool. 
In power of others, never in my own ; 
Scarce half 1 seem to live, dead more than half. 
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, 
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse 
Without all hope of day I 
O first created beam, and thou great Word, 
" Let there be light, and light was over all ;" 
Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree ] 
The sun to me is dark, 
And silent as the moon, 
When she deserts the night, 
Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. 
Since light so necessary is to life. 
And almost life itself, if it be true 
That light is in the soul, 
She all in every part; why was tlie sight 
To such a tender ball as the eye confined, 
So obvious and so easy to be quenclied 1 
And not, as feeling, through all parts difiused. 
That she might look at will through every porel 
Then had I not been thus exiled from light 
As in the land of darkness, yet in light. 
To live a life half dead, a living death, 



And buried; but, O yet more miserable ! 

Myself my sepulchre, a moving grave ; 

Buried, yet not exempt. 

By privilege of death and burial, 

From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs; 

But made hereby obnoxious more 

To all the miseries of life, 

Life in captivity 

Among inhuman foes. 

But who are these "? for with joint pace I hear 

The tread of many feet steering this way ; 

Perhaps my enemies, who come to stare 

At my affliction, and perhaps to insult, 

Their daily practice to afflict me more. 

[Enter] Chorus. 
Chor. This, this is he : softly awhile, 

Let us not break in upon him : 

O change beyond report, thought, or belief! 

See how he lies at random, carelessly difiused, 

With languished head unpropt. 

As one past hope, abandoned. 

And by himself given over; 

In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds 

O'erworn and soiled; 

Or do my eyes misrepresent 1 Can this be he, 

That heroic, that renowned. 

Irresistible Samson"? whom unarmed 

No strength of man or fiercest wild beast could 
withstand ; 

Who tore the lion, as the lion tears the kid ; 

Ran on embattled armies clad in iron. 

And, weaponless himself. 

Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery 

Of brazen shield and spear, the hammered cuirass, 

Chalybean tempered steel, and frock of mail 

Adamantean proof 7 

But safest he who stood aloof. 

When insupportably his foot advanced. 

In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools. 

Spurned them to death by troops. The bold As- 
calonite 

Fled from his lion ramp; old warriors turned 

Their plated backs under his heel ; 

Or, groveling, soiled their crested helmets in the 
dust. 

Then with what trivial weapon come to hand. 

The jaw of a dead ass, his sword of bone, 

A thousand foreskins fell, the flower of Palestine, 

In Rameth-lechi famous to this day. 

Then by main force pulled up, and on his shoul- 
ders bore 

The gates of Azza, post, and massy bar. 

Up to the hill by Hebron, seat of giants old. 

No journey of a Sabbath day, and loaded so; 

Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up Heaven. 

Which shall I first bewail. 

Thy bondage, or lost sight, 

Prison within prison 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



119 



Inseparably dark'] 

Thou art become (O worst imprisonment!) 

The dungeon of thyself; thy soul, 

(Which men enjoying sight oft without cause 

complain,) 
Imprisoned now indeed, 
In real darkness of the body dwells, 
Shut up from outward light 
I'o incorporate with gloomy night ; 
For inward light, alas! 
Puts forth no visual beam. 

mirror of our fickle state, 
Since man on earth unparalleled ! 
The rarer thy example stands, 

By how much from the top of wondrous glory, 

Strongest of mortal men. 

To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fallen. 

For him I reckon not in high estate 

Whom long descent of birth, 

Or the sphere of fortune, raises; 

But thee whose strength, while virtue was her 
mate. 

Might have subdued the earth, 

Universally crowned with highest praises. 

Sams. I hear the sound of words; their sense 
the air 

l)issolves unjointed ere it reach my ear. 

Chor. He speaks, let us draw nigh. Matchless 
in might, 

The glory late of Israel, now the grief; 

We come thy friends and neighbours not un- 
known, 

From Eshtaol and Zora's fruitful vale, 

To visit or bewail thee; or, if better. 

Counsel or consolation we may bring. 

Salve to thy sores: apt words have power to swage 

The tumours of a troubled mind. 

And are as balm to festered wounds. 

Sams. Your coming, friends, revives me, for I 
learn 

Now of my own experience, not by talk, 

How counterfeit a coin they are who friends 

Bear in their superscription, (of the most 

1 would be understood;) in prosperous days 
They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their head. 
Not to be found, though sought. Ye see, O friends, 
How many evils have enclosed me round : 

Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me. 
Blindness; for had I sight, confused with shame. 
How could I once look up, or heave the head, 
Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwrecked 
My vessel trusted to me from above. 
Gloriously rigged; and for a word, a tear, 
Fool ! have divulged the secret gift of God 
To a deceitful woman 1 tell me, friends. 
Am I not sung and proverbed for a fool 
In every street "? do they not say, how well 
Are come upon him his desertsl yet why'? 
Immeasuiable strength they might behold 



In me, of wisdom nothing more than mean; 
This with the other should, at least, have paired, 
These two, proportioned ill, drove me transverse. 

Chor. Tax not divine disposal ; wisest men 
Have erred, and by bad women been deceived ; 
And shall again, pretend they ne'er so wise. 
Deject not then so overmuch thyself. 
Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides ; 
Yet, truth to say, I oft have heard men wonder 
Why thou should'st wed Philistian woman rather 
Than of thine own tribe fairer, or as fair. 
At least of thy own nation, and as noble. 

Sams. The first I saw at Timna, and she pleased 
Me, not my parents, that I sought to wed 
The daughter of an infidel: they knew not 
That what I mentioned was of God : I knew 
Prom intimate impulse, and therefore urged 
The marriage on; that by occasion hence 
I might begin Israel's deliverance. 
The work to which I was divinely called. 
She proving false, the next I took to wife 
(O that I never had ! fond wish too late) 
Was in the vale of Sorec, Dalila, 
That specious monster, my accomplished snare. 
I thought it lawful from my former act, 
And the same end ; still watching to oppress 
Israel's oppressors : of what now I suffer 
She was not the prime cause, but I myself, 
Who, vanquished with a peal of words, (O weak- 
ness !) 
Gave up my fort of silence to a woman. 

Choi-. In seeking just occasion to provoke 
The Philistine, thy country's enemy, 
Thou never wast remiss, I bear thee witness: 
Yet Israel still serves with all his sons. 

Sams. That fault I take not on me, but transfer 
On Israel's governors, and heads of tribes, 
Who, seeing those great acts which God had done 
Singly by me against their conquerors. 
Acknowledged not, or not at all considered, 
Deliverance offered : I on the other side 
Used no ambition to commend my deeds ; 
The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud 

the doer : 
But they persisted deaf, and would not seem 
To count them things worth notice, till at length 
Their lords the Philistines with gathered powers 
Entered Judea seeking me, who then 
Safe to the rock of Eth-am was retired ; 
Not flying, but forecasting in what place 
To set upon them, what advantaged best: 
Meanwhile the men of Judah, to prevent 
The harass of their land, beset me round: 
I willingly on some conditions came 
Into their hands, and they as gladly yield me 
To the uncircumcised a welcome prey. 
Bound with two cords; but cords to me were 

threads 
Touched with the flame : on their whole host I flew 



120 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Unarmed, and with a trivial weii|)on ftllcd 
Their choiccKt yoiitii; they only Hvcd who flrd. 
Had Judnh that day joined, or one wiioio trihc, 
They had i)y this possessed tlic towers oCGatli, 
And lorded over them vvlioin they now eerve : 
But what more ofl, in nations jrrown corrupt, 
And by their vices hrouf^ht to servitude, 
Than to lovp hondajfe more than liberty, 
Bonchii^e vvilh t^ase than strenuous hbcrty: 
And to (h'spise, or (^nvy, or suspect 
Whom God hath of his special favour raised 
As their dehverer; if lie aufjht hef^in. 
How frecpient to desert him, and at last 
To hea|) ini^ratitudo on worthiest deeds 1 

Clior. Thy words to my rememhrarice bring 
How Sureoth and the fort of I'enuel 
Their great deliverer contemned, 
The matehless Gideon, in pursuit 
Of Madian and her viintpiished kings: 
And how ingrateful Kphraim 
Had dealt with .1ei)litiia, who by argument, 
Not worse than i)y his shield and spear, 
Pefended Israel from the Ammonite, 
Had not his prowess quelled their ])ride 
In that sore battle, when so many died 
Without reprieve, adjudged to death, 
For want of well i)ronouneing Shibboleth, 

Sams. Of such example add me to the roll; 
Me easily indeed mine may neglect, 
But God's proposed deliverance not so. 

Chor. Just are the ways of God, 
And justifiable to men ; 
Unless tl\ere be who think not God at all: 
If any he, they walk obacure ; 
For of such doctrine never was their school, 
But the heart of the fool. 
And no man (herein doctor but himself. 

Yet mori> th(\v. be, who doubt his ways not just. 
As to his own edicts found contradicting. 
Then give the reigns to wandering thought, 
Regardless of his glory's diminution; 
Till by their own perplexities involved. 
They ravel more, still less resolved. 
But never find selfsatistying solution. 

As if they would confine the Interminable, 
And tie him to Ids own prescript. 
Who made our laws to bind us, not himself. 
And hath full right to exempt 
Whom so it pleases him by choice 
From national obstriction, without taint 
Of sin, or legal debt; 
For with his own laws he can best dispense. 

He would not else, who never wanted means, 
Nor in respect of the enemy just cause, 
To set his people free. 
Have prom[)ted this heroic Nazarite, 
Against his vow of strictest purity, 
To seek in marriage that fuUucious bride, 
Undeun, unchaste. 



Down, reason, then ; at least, vain reasoninga, 
down ; 
■^riiough reason here aver. 
That moral verdict quits her of unclean: 
Unchaste was subsequent, her stain not his. 

lUit see here comes thy rev<'r<'nd sire 
With careful step, kxdis white as down. 
Old Manoah : advise 
Forthwith how thou ought'st to receive him. 

Siim.1. Ay me, another inward grit^f, awaked 
With mention of that name, renews the assault. 

[Enter] Manoah. 

Man. Brethren and men of Dan, for such ye 
seem, 
Though in this uncouth place ; if old respect, 
y\s I sujipose, towards your once gloried friend, 
My son, now captive, hither hath informed 
Your younger feet, while mine cast back with age 
Came lagging alVer; say if he W here. 

Chor. As signal now in low dejected state. 
As erst in highest, behold him where he lies. 

Man. O miserable change! is this the man, 
That invincible Samson, far renowned. 
The dread of Israel's foes, who with a strength 
Equivalent to angels walked their streets, 
None ollering figiit ; wiio single combatant 
Duelleil their armies ranked in proud array, 
1 limself an army, now nne(|nal match 
To save himself against a coward armed 
At one spear's length. O everfailing trust 
In mortal strength ! and oh! what not in man 
Deceivable and vainl Nay, what thing good 
Prayed for, but ollen proves our wo, our banel 
I prayed for children, and thought barrenness 
In wedlock a rc|)roacli ; I gained a son, 
And such a son as all men bailed me happy; 
Who would be now a father in my stead! 

wherefore did God grant me my request. 
And as a blessing with such juimp adornedl 
Why are his gills ilesirable, to tempt 

Our earnest j)rayer9, then, given with solemn hand 
As graces, draw a scorpion's tail behind'? 
For tills did the angel twice desceiul '] for this 
Ordained thy nurture holy, as of a plant 
Select, and sacred, glorious for awhile. 
The miracle of men ; then in an hour 
Insnnred, assaulted, overcome, led bound. 
Thy foes' ilerision, ca|)tive, jioor, and blind. 
Into a dungeon thrust, to work with slaves 1 
Alas! metliinks whom (.Jod hath chosen onco 
To worthiest deeds, if he through frailty err, 

1 le should not so o'erwhelm, and as a thruU 
Sunjcct him to foul indignities. 

Be it but lor honour's sake of former deeds. 
Sams. Appoint not heavenly disposition,* fa- 
ther ; 



* A|)inibii not heavenli/ disposition." — AiTaign not— sum* 
mon nui to answer. 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



121 



Nothing of all these evils huth bofallen me 
But justly: 1 myself have brougiit tlicin on, 
Sole author I, sole cause: if auirht seem vile, 
As vile hath been my folly, who have profaned 
The mystery of God ijivtMi me under pledge 
Of vow, and have betrayed it to a woman, 
A Canaaiiite, my failiiless enemy. 
This well 1 knew, nor was at all surprised, 
But warned by olt experience : did not she 
Of Tinina first betray me, and reveal 
The setrret wrested from nie in her height 
Of nuptial love professed, carry it straight 
To them who had corrupted her, my spies. 
And rivals'] In this otiier was tlien; found 
More faith, who also in her prime of love, 
Spousal embraces, vitiated with gold, 
'I'hough ollered only, by the scent conceived 
Her spurious first-born, treason against mo'? 
Thrice she assayed with flattering prayers and 

sighs, 
And amorous reproaches, to win from me 
My capital secret, in what part my strength 
Lay stored, in what part summed, that she might 

know 
Thrice 1 deluded her, and turned to sport 
Her importunity, each time perceiving 
How openly, and with what impudence 
She purposed to betray me, and (which was worse 
Than undisscmbled hate) with what contempt 
She sougiit to make me traitor to myself; 
Yet the fourth time, when, mustering all her wiles, 
With blandished parleys, feminine assaults. 
Tongue batteries, she surceased not, day nor night 
To storm me overwatched, and wearied out. 
At times when men seek most repose and rest 
I yielded, and unlocked her all my heart. 
Who, with a grain of manhood well resolved, 
Might easily have shook off all her snares : 
But foul efleminacy held me yoked 
Her bondslave ; O indignity, O blot. 
To honour and religion ! servile mind 
Rewarded well with servile punishment! 
The base degree to which 1 now am fallen, 
These rags, this grinding is not yet so baso 
As was my former .servitude ignoble, 
Unmanly, ignominious, infamous. 
True slavery, and that blindness worse than this, 
That saw not how degenerately I served. 

3'fan. 1 can not praise thy marriage choices, son. 
Rather approved them not; but thou didst i)load 
Divine impulsion prompting how thou might'st 
Find som(! (x'ca.sion to infest our foes. 
1 state not that; this 1 am sure, our foes 
Found soon occasion thereby to make thee 
Their ca|itive, and their triumph; thou the sooner 
Temptation foundest, or over potent charms, 
To violate the sacred trust of silence 
Deposited within thee; which to have kept 
Tacit, was in thy power: true; and thou bearest 



Enough, and more, the burden of tiiat fault 
Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying. 
That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains; 
I'liis day tile Philistines a [)opul;ir feast 
Here celebrate in Gaza; and ])roclaim 
Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud, 
To Dagon as their God, who liatii delivered 
Thee, Samson, bound and blind into their hands, 
Them out of thim;, who slewest them many a slain, 
So Dagon shall be magnified, and God, 
Besides whom is no God, coin|)ared with idols, 
Disgloridcd, blas))liemed, and bad in scorn 
By the idolatrous rout amidst their wine; 
Wliicii to have come to pass by means of thee, 
Samson, of all thy sullerings, think the heaviest. 
Of all re[)roach the most with shame that ever 
Could have befallen thee and thy father's house. 

Sams. Father, I do acknowlcilgo and confess 
That 1 this honour, 1 tiiis pomp have brought 
To Dagon, and advanced his praises high 
Among tiie Heathen round; to God have brought 
Dishonour, obloquy, and ojicd the mouths 
Of idolists and atheists; have brought scandal 
To Israel, diHidence of God, and doubt 
In feeble hearts, projjense enougii before 
To waver, or fall off and join with idols; 
Which is my chief affliction, shame and sorrow 
The anguisii of my soul, that sulRirs not 
Mine eye to harbour sleep, or thoughts to rest. 
I'his only hope relieves mi;, that the strife 
With me hath end ; all the contest is now 
'Twixt God and Dagon; Dagon hath presumed, 
Me overthrown, to enter lists with God, 
His deity comjiaring and preferring 
Before the God of Abraiiam. He, be sure. 
Will not connive, or linger, thus provoked, 
But will arise, and his great name assert: 
Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive 
Such a discomfit as shall quite despoil him 
Of all these boasted trophies won on me, 
And with confusing blank his worshippers. 

Man. With cause this hope relieves thee, and 
these words 
I as a prophecy receive; for God, 
Nothing more certain, will not long defer 
To vindicate the glory of his name 
Against all competition, nor will long 
Endure it doubtful whether God be Lord, 
Or Dagon. But for thee what shall be donel 
Thou must not, in the meanwhile, here forgot, 
Lie in this miserable loathsome iflight. 
Neglected. 1 already have made way 
To some Philistian lords, witii whom to treat 
About thy ransom: well they may by this 
Have satisfied their utmost of revenge 
By pains and slaveries, worse than death, inflicted 
On thee, who now no more canst do them harm. 

Sams. Spare that proposal, father; spare the 
trouble 



133 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Of that solicitation; let nie here, 

As I deserve, pay on my punishment; 

And expiate, if possible, my crime, 

Shameful garrulity. To have revealed 

Secrets of men, the secrets of a friend. 

How heinous had the fact been, how deserving 

Contempt, and scorn of all, to be excluded 

All friendship, and avoided as a blab, 

Tiie mark of Ibol set on his front ? 

But 1 God's counsel have not kept, his holy secret 

Presumptuously huve published, im]nously, 

Weakly at least, and shamefully; a sin 

That Gentil(>s in their parables condemn 

To their abyss and horrid pains conlined. 

Man. Be penitent, and for tliy fault contrit 
But act not in tliy own affliction, son: 
Repent the sin; but, if the punishment 
Thou canst avoid, self preservation bids; 
Or the execution leave to high disposal, 
And let another hand, not thine, exact 
Thy penal forfeit from thyself: perhaps 
God will relent, and quit thee all his debt; 
Who ever more approves, and more accepts, 
(Best pleased with humble and filial submission,) 
Him, who, imploring mercy, sues for life. 
Than who, self-rigorous, chooses death as due; 
Which argues overjust, and self-displeased, 
For self-ottence, more than for God otiended. 
Reject not then what oHtTed means, who knows 
But God hath set before us, to return thee 
Home to thy country and his sacred house. 
Where thou may'st bring thy offerings, to avert 
His further ire, with prayers and vows renewed 1 

Sams. His pardon I implore; but as for life 
To what end should I seek if? when in strength 
AH mortals 1 excelled, and great in hopes 
With youthful courage, and magnanimous thoughts 
Of birth from Heaven foretold, and high exploits, 
Full of divine instinct, after some proof 
Of acts indeed heroic, far beyond 
The sons of Anak, famous now and blazed 
Fearless of danger, like a petty god 
I walked about admired of all and dreaded 
On hostile ground, none daring my affront.* 
Then swollen with pride into the snare I fell 
Of foir fallacious looks, venereal trains. 
Softened with jileasure and voluptuous life ; 
At length to lay my head and hallowed pledge 
Of all niy strength in the lascivious lap 
Of a deceitful concubine, who shore me 
Like a tame wether, all my precious fleece, 
Then turned me out ridiculous, despoiled. 
Shaven, and disarmed among mine enemies. 

Chor. Desire of wine and all delicious drinks, 
Which many a famous warrior overturns. 
Thou could'st repress; nor did the dancing ruby 

* " None daring vty affront"—U> front or face in a hostile 
manner. 



Sparkling, outpoured, the flavour or the smell, 
Or taste that cheers the heart of gods ;uid men, 
Allure thee from the cool crystallme stream. 
Sams. Wherever fountain or fresh current 
flowed 
Against the eastern ray, translucent, pure, 
With touch ethereal of Heaven's fiery rod, 
I drank, from the clear milky juice allaying 
Thirst, and refreshed: nor envied them ttie grapo 
Whose heads that turbulent liquor fills with 
fumes. 
Chor. O madness, to think use of strongest 
wines 
And strongest drinks, our chief support of health, 
When God with these forbidden made choice to 

rear 
His mighty champion, strong above compare, 
Whose drink was only from the liquid brook. 
Sams. But what availed this temperance, not 
complete 
Against another object more enticing? 
What boots it at one gate to make defence, 
And at another to let in the foe, 
Efltjminately vanquished 1 by which means, 
Now blind, disheartened, shamed, dishonoured, 

quelled. 
To what can I be useful, wherein serve 
My nation, and the work from Heaven imposed, 
But to sit idle on the household hearth, 
A burdenous drone; to visitants a gaze. 
Or pitied object, these redundant locks 
Robustious to no purpose clusU^ing down. 
Vain monument of strength; till length of years 
And sedentary numbness craze thy limbs 
To a contemptible old age obscure 1 
Here rather let me drudge and earn my bread; 
Till vermin or the draff of servile food, 
Consume me, and oft invocated death 
Hasten the welcome end of all my pains. 

Man. Wilt thou then serve the Philistines with 
that gift 
Which was expressly given thee to annoy them? 
Better at home lie bedrid, not only idle, 
inglorious, unemployed, with age outworn. 
But God, who caused a fountain at thy prayer 
From the dry ground to spring, thy thirst to tdlay 
After the brunt of battle, can as easy 
Cause light again within thy eyes to spring. 
Wherewith to serve him better than thou hast; 
And 1 persuade me so; why else this strength 
Miraculous yet remaining in those locks ! 
His might continues in thee not for naught. 
Nor shall his wondrous gifts be frustrate thus. 
Sams. All otherwise to me my thoughts por- 
tend. 
That these dark orbs no more shall treat with 

light. 

Nor the other light of fife continue long, 
But yield to double darkness mgh at hand: 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



123 



S< much I feel my genial spirits droop, 
My hopes all flat, nature within me seems 
In all her functions weary of herself; 
My race of glory run, and race of shame, 
And I shall shortly be with them that rest. 

Man. Believe not these suggestions, which pro- 
ceed 
From anguish of the mind and humours black, 
That mingle with my fancy. I however 
Must not omit a father's timely care 
To prosecute the means of thy deliverance 
By ransom, or how else : meanwhile be calm. 
And healing words from these thy friends admit. 

[Exit. 

Sams. O that torment should not be confined 
To the body's wounds and sores, 
With maladies innumerable 
In heart, head, breast, and reins ; 
But must secret passage find 
To the inmost mind, 
There exercise all his fierce accidents, 
And on her purest spirits prey. 
As on entrails, joints, and limbs. 
With answerablS pains, but more intense, 
Though void of corporal sense. 

My griefs not only pain me 
As a lingering disease. 
But, finding no redress, ferment and rage; 
Nor less than wounds immedicable 
Rankle, and fester, and gangrene. 
To black mortification. 
Thoughts, my tormentors, armed with deadly 

stings. 
Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts, 
Exasperate, exulcerate, and raise 
Dire inflammation, which no cooling herb 
Or medicinal liquor can assuage, 
Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp. 
Sleep hath forsook and given me o'er 
To death's benumbing opium as my only cure; 
Thence faintings, swoonings of despair, 
And sense of Heaven's desertion. 

I was his nursling once, and choice delight, 
His destined from the womb. 
Promised by heavenly message twice descending. 
Under his special eye 

Abstemious I grew up, and thrived amain; 
He led me on to mightiest deeds, 
Above the nerve of mortal arm. 
Against the uncircumcised, our enemies: 
But now hath cast me ofl!'as never known, 
And to those cruel enemies: 
Whom I by his appointment had provoked, 
Left me all helpless with the irreparable loss 
Of sight, reserved alive to be repeated. 
The subject of their cruelty or scorn. 
Nor am I in the list of them that hope; 
Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless : 
This once prayer yet remains, might I be heard, 



No long petition, speedy death. 

The close of all my miseries, and the balm. 

Chor. Many are the sayings of the wise, 
In ancient and in modern books enrolled, 
ExtoUing patience as the truest fortitude ; 
And to the bearing well of all calamities, 
All chances incident to man's frail life, 
Consolatories writ 
With studied argument, and much persuasion 

sought. 
Lenient of grief and anxious thought : 
But with the afflicted in his pangs their sound 
Little prevails, or rather seems a tune 
Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint ; 
Unless he feel within 
Some source of consolation from above, 
Secret refreshings, that repair his strength. 
And fainting spirits uphold. 

God of our fathers, what is man ! 
That thou towards him with hand so various. 
Or might I say contrarious, 
Temperest thy providence through his short course 
Not evenly, as thou rulest 
The angelic orders, and inferior creatures mute, 
Irrational and brute. 

Nor do I name of men the common rout, 
That wandering loose about 
Grow up and perish as the summer fly 
Heads without name no more remembered; 
But such as thou hast solemnly elected, 
With gifts and graces eminently adorned. 
To some great work, thy glory. 
And people's safety, which in part they effect : 
Yet toward these thus dignified, thou oft, 
Amidst their height of noon, 
Changest thy countenance, and thy hand, with no 

regard 
Of highest favours past 
From thee on them, or them to thee of service. 

Nor only dost degrade them, or remit 
To life obscured, which were a fair dismission. 
But throwest them lower than thou didst exalt 

them high ; 
Unseemly falls in human eye. 
Too grievous for the trespass or omission ; 
Ofl leavest them to the hostile sword 
Of heathen and profane, their carcasses 
To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captived ; 
Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times, 
And condemnation of the ingrateful multitude. 
If these they 'scape, perhaps in poverty 
With sickness and disease thou bow'st them down, 
Painful diseases and deformed 
In crude old age ; 

Though not disordinate, yet causeless sufl!ering 
The punishment of dissolute days : in fine 
Just or unjust alike seem miserable, 
For oft alike both come to evil end. 
So deal not with this once thy glorious champion. 



124 



MILTON'S WORKS, 



The image of thy strength, and miglity minister. 
What do I beg 1 how hast thou dealt already 1 
Behold him in this state calamitous, and turn 
His labours, for thou canst, to peaceful end. 

But who is thisi what thing of sea or landf 
Female of sex it seems. 
That 90 bedecked, ornate, and gay, 
Comes this way sailing 
Like a stately ship 
Of Tarsus, bound for the isles 
Of Javan or Gadire, 

With all her bravery on, and tackle trim, 
Sails lilled, and streamers waving. 
Courted by all the winds that hold thpm play. 
An amber scent of odorous perfume 
Her harbinger, a damsel train behind ; 
Some rich riiilistiau matron she may seem ; 
And now at nearer view, no other certain 
Than Dalila, thy wife. 

Sanis. My wife! my traitress : let her not come 
near me. 

Chor. Yet on she moves, now stands and eyes 
thee fixed, 
About to have spoke ; but now, with liead declined, 
Like a fair llower surcharged with dew, she weeps. 
And wonls addressed seem into tears dissolved, 
Wetting the borders of her silken veil : 
But now again she makes address to speak. 

[Enter] Dcilila. 

Dal. With doubtful feet and wavering resolution 
I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson, 
Which to have merited, without excuse, 
I can not but acknowledge ; yet, if tears. 
May expiate, (though the fact more evil drew 
In the perverse event tha-n I foresaw,) 
My i)enance hath not slackened, though my par- 
don 
No way assured. But conjugal alTection, 
Prevailing over fear and timorous doubt, 
Hatli led me on, desirous to behold 
Once more thy iace, and know of thy estate, 
If aught in my ability may serve 
To lighten what thou sullerest, and appease 
Thy mind with what amends is in my power, 
Thougli late, yet in some part to recompense 
My rash, but more unfortunate misdeed. 

Sams. Out, out, hyena! these are thy wonted 
arts, 
And arts of every woman false like thee. 
To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray. 
Then as repentant to submit, beseech. 
And reconcilement move with feigned remorse. 
Confess, and promise wonders in her change ; 
Not truly penitent, but chief to try 
Her husband, how for urged his patience bears, 
His virtue or weakness which way to assail; 
Then with more cautious and instructed skill 
Again transgresses, and again submits j 



That wisest and best men, full oft beguiled, 
Witii goodness principled not to reject 
The j)enitent, but ever to forgive, 
Are drawn to wear out miserable days, 
Entangled with a poisonous bosom snake. 
If not by quick destruction soon cut oil". 
As 1 by thee, to ages an example. 

Dal. Yet hear me, Samson ; not that I endea- 
vour 
To lessen or extenuate my offence, 
But that on the other side, if it be weighed 
By itself, with aggravations not surcharged. 
Or else with just allowance counterpoised, 
I may, if possible, thy pardon lind 
The easier toward me, or thy hatred less. 
First granting, as I do, it was a weakness 
In me, but incident to all our sex, 
Curiosity, inquisitive, importune 
Of secrets, then with like infirmity 
To publish them, both common female faults: 
Was it not weakness also to make luiown 
For importunity, that is, for nought. 
Wherein consisted all thy strength and safety 1 
To what I did thou showed'st me first tiie way. 
But I to enemies revealed, and should not: 
Nor should'st thou have trusted that to woman's 

frailty ; 
Ere I to thee, thou to thyself wast cruel. 
Let weakness then with weakness come to parle, 
So near related, or the same of kind. 
Thine forgive mine ; tliat men may censure thine 
The gentler, if severely thou exact not 
More sftrength from me, than in tliyself was found. 
And what if love, which thou interpret'st hate. 
The jealousy of love, powerful of sway 
In human hearts, nor less in mine towards thee, 
Caused what I did 1 I saw thee mutable 
Of fancy, feared lest one day thou would'st leave 

me 
As her at Timna, sought by all means therefore 
How to endear, and hold thee to me firmest : 
No better way I saw than by importuning 
To learn thy secrets, get into my power 
Thy key of strength and safety: thou wilt say, 
Why then revealed 1 I was assured by those 
Who tempted me, that nothing was designed 
Against thee but safe custody, and hold : 
That made for me , I knew that liberty 
Would draw thee forth to perilous enterprises; 
While I at home sat full of cares and fears, 
Wailing thy absence in my widowed bed ; 
Here I should still enjoy thee, day and nigh 
Mine and love's prisoner, not the Philistines', 
Whole to myself, unhazarded abroad. 
Fearless at home of partners in my love. 
These reasons in love's law have past for good, 
Though fond and reasonless to some perhaps ; 
And lovo hath oft, well meaning, wrought much 
wo, 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



125 



Yet always pity or pardon lial]i obtained. 
But nut like all others, not austere 
As thou art strong, inflexible as steel. 
If thou in strrnjfth all mortals dost exceed, 
In uncompassionate anger do not so. 

Sama. How cunningly the sorceress displays 
Her own transgressions, to upbraid me mine 1 
That malice, not repentance, brought thee hither, 
By this ajjpcars; I gave, thou say'st, the example, 
I led the way; bitter reproach, but true; 
I to niywelf was false ere thou to me; 
Such pardon therefore as I give my folly. 
Take to thy wicked deed; which when thou seest 
Impartial, self-severe, inexorable. 
Thou wilt n^nounce thy seeking, and much rather 
Confess it feigned : weakness is thy excuse, 
And I believe it; weakness to resist 
Philistian gold: if weakness may excuse, 
What murderer, what traitor, parricide. 
Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead if? 
All wickedness is weakness: that plea therefore 
With God or man will gain thee no remission. 
But love constrained thee; call it furious rage 
To satisfy thy lust: love seeks to have love; 
My love how could'st thou hope, who took'st the 

way 
To raise in me inexpiable hate, 
Knowing, as needs I must, by thee betraycdl 
In vain thou .strivcst to cover shame with shame, 
Or by evasions thy crime uncovere.st more. 

Dal. Since thou determin'st weakness for no plea 
In man or woman, though to thy own condemning, 
Hear what assaults I had, what snares besides, 
What sieges girt me round, ere I consented ; 
Which might have awed the best resolved of men, 
The constantest, to have yielded without blame. 
It was not gold, as to my charge thou lay'st. 
That wrought with me: thou know'st the magis- 
trates 
And princes of my country came in person, 
Solicited, commanded, threatened, urged, 
Adjured by all the bonds of civil duty 
And of religion, pressed how just it was, 
How honourable, how glorious, to entrap 
A conunon enemy, who had destroyed 
Such numbers of our nation : and the priest 
Was not behind, but ever at my car. 
Preaching how meritorious with the gods 
It would be to ensnare an irreligious 
Dishonourer of Dagon; what had I 
To oppose against such powerful arguments'? 
Only my love of thee held long debate. 
And combated in silence all these reasons 
With hard contest ; at length that grounded maxjm, 
So rife and celebrated in the mouths 
Of wisest men, that to the public; good 
Private respects must yield, with grave authority 
Took full possession of me, and prevailed ; 
Virtue, as I thought, truth, duty, so enjoining. 

O 



Sams. I thought where all thy circling wilea 
would end; 
In feigned religion, smooth hypocrisy! 
But had thy love, still odiously pretended, 
Been, as it ought, sincere, it would have taught 

thee 
Far other reasonings, brought forth other deeds. 
I, before all the daughters of my tribe 
And of my nation, chose thee from among 
My enemies, loved thee, as too well thou knew'st; 
Too well ; unliosomed all my secrets to thee, 
Not out of levity, but overpowered 
By thy request, who could deny thee nothing ; 
Yet now am judged an enemy. Why then 
Didst thou at first receive me for thy husband, 
Then, as since then, thy country's foe professed 1 
Being once a wife, for rne thou wast to leave 
Parents and country; nor was I their subject, 
Nor under their protection, but my own. 
Thou mine, not their's: if aught against my life 
Thy country sought of thee, it sought unjustly, 
Against the law of nature, law of nations ; 
No more thy country, but an impioiis crew 
Of men conspiring to uphold their state 
By worse than hostile deeds, violating the ends 
For which our country is a name so dear; 
Not therefore to be obeyed. But zeal moved thee; 
To please thy gods thou did'st it; gods unable 
To acquit themselves and i)rosecute their foes 
But by ungodly deeds, the contradiction 
Of their own deity, gods can not be; 
Less therefore to be pleased, obeyed, or feared 
These false pretexts and varnished colours failing, 
Bare in thy guilt, how foul must thou appear! 

Dal. In argument with men a woman ever 
Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause. 

Sams. For want of Words no doubt, or lack of 
breath ; 
Witness when I was worried with thy peals. 

Dal. I was a fool, too rash, and quite mistaken 
In what I thought would have succeeded best. 
Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson; 
Afford me place to show what reeomjiense 
Towards thee I intend for what I have misdone, 
Misguided ; only what remains past cure 
Bear not too sensibly, nor still insist 
To afflict thyself in vain: though sight be lost. 
Life yet hath many solaces, enfoyed 
Where other senses want not their delights 
At home in leisure and domestic ease, 
Exempt from many a care and chance, to which 
Eyesight ex])oses (Tally men abroad-. 
I to the lords wi-11 intercede, not doubting 
Their favourable ear, that I may fetch thee 
From forth this loathsome prison-house, to abide 
With me, where my redoubled love and care 
With nursing diligence, to me glad office. 
May ever tend about thee to old age, 
With all tilings grateful cheered, and so supplied. 



126 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



That what by me thou hast lost thou least shalt 
miss. 

Sams. No, no; of my conditionitake no care; 
It fits not; thou and I long since are twain: 
Nor think me so unwary or accursed, 
To bring my feet again into the snare 
Where once I have been caught: 1 know thy trains. 
Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils; 
Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbUng charms, 
No more on me have power ; their force is nulled ; 
So much of adder's wisdom I have learned, 
To fence my ear against thy sorceries. 
If in my flower of youth and strength, when all 

men 
Loved, honoured, feared me, thou alone could'st 

hate me, 
Thy husband, slight me, sell me, and forego me; 
How would'st thou use me now, blind and thereby 
Deceivable, in most things as a child 
Helpless, thence easily contemned and scorned, 
And last neglected ! How wouldst thou insult, 
When I must live uxorious to thy will 
In perfect thraldom; how again betray me, 
Bearing my words and doings to the lords 
To gloss upon, and, censuring, frown or smile! 
This jail I count the house of liberty 
To thine, whose doors my feet shall never enter. 

Dal. Let me approach at least and touch thy 
hand. 

Sams. Not for thy life, lest fierce remembrance 
wake 
My sudden rage to tear thee joint by joint. 
At distance I forgive thee ; go with that ; 
Bewail thy falsehood, and the pious works 
It hath brought forth to make thee memorable 
Among illustrious women, faithful wives ! 
Cherish thy hastened widowhood with the gold 
Of matrimonial treason! so farewell. 

Dal. I see thou art im[>lacable, more deaf 
To prayers than winds and seas ; yet winds to seas 
Are reconciled at length, and sea to shore ; 
Thy anger, unappeasable, still rages, 
Eternal tempest, never to be calmed. 
Why do I humble thus myself, and, suing 
For peace, reap nothing but repulse and hate ; 
Bid go with evil omen, and the brand 
Of infamy upon my name denounced 1 
To mix with thy concernments I desist 
Henceforth, nor too much disapprove my own. 
Fame, if not double-faced, is double-mouthed. 
And with contrary blasts proclaims most deeds ; 
On both his wings, one black, the other white, 
Bears greatest names in his wild airy (light. 
My name perhaps among the circunu'ised 
In Dan, in Judah, and the bordering tribes 
To all posterity may stand defamed. 
With malediction niontioncd, and tiic blot 
Of falsehood most unconjugal traduced. 
But in my country where 1 most desire, 



In Ecron, Gaza, Asdod, and in Gath, 

I shall be named among the famousest 

Of women, sung at solemn festivals. 

Living and dead recorded, who, to save 

Her country from a fierce destroyer, chose 

Above the faith of wedlock bands ; my tomb 

With odours visited and annual (lowers ; 

Not less renowned than in mount Ephraim 

Jael, who with inhospitable guile 

Smote Siscra sleeping, through the temples nailed. 

Nor shall I count it heinous to enjoy 

The public marks of honour and reward, 

Conferred upon me for the piety 

Which to my country I was judged to have shown. 

At this whoever envies or repines, 

1 leave him to his lot, and like my own. [Ezit.] 

Chor. She's gone, a manifest serpent by her sting 
Discovered in tiie end till now concealed. 

Sams. So let her go ; God sent her to debase mc, 
And aggravate my folly, who committed 
To such a viper his most secret trust 
Of secrecy, my safety, and my life. 

Chor. Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange 
power. 
After offence returning, to regain 
Love once possessed, nor can be easily 
Repulsed, widiout nuich inward passion felt 
And secret sting of amorous remorse. 

Sams. Love-quarrels oil in pleasing concord end, 
Not wedlock treacliery endangering life. 

Chor. It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit. 
Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, 
That woman's love can win or long inherit; 
But what it is, hard is to say, 
Harder to hit, 

(Which way soever men refer it,) 
Much like thy riddle, Samson, in one day 
Or seven, though one should musing sit. 
If any of these or all the Timnian bride 
Had not so soon preferred 
Thy paranymph, worthless to thee compared. 
Successor in thy bed, 
Nor both so loosely disallied 
Their nuptials, nor this last so treacherously 
Had shorn the fatal harvest of tliy head. 
Is it for that such outward ornament 
Was lavished on their sex, that inward gifts 
Were left for haste unfinished, judgment scant, 
Capacity not raised to apprehend 
Or value what is best 
In choice, but oftest to affect the wrong. 
Or was too much of self-love mixed. 
Of constancy no root infixed, 
That either tliey love nothing, or not long'{ 

Whate'er it be, to wisest men and best. 
Secerning at first all heavenly under virgin veil, 
Soft., modest, met^k, demure. 
Once joined, the contrary she proves, a thorn 
Intestine, far within defensive arms 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



127 



A cleaving mischiof, in liis way to virtue 

Adverse and turbulent, or by her charms 

Draws liim awry enslaved 

With dotage, and his sense depraved 

To folly, and shainetul deeds which ruin ends. 

What pilot so expert but needs must wreck, 

Embarked with such a stecr's-mate at the helm'} 

Favoured of Heaven, who finds 
One virtuous, rarely found, 
That in domestic good combines: 
Happy that house! his way to peace is smooth: 
But virtue, which breaks through all opposition, 
And all temptation can remove. 
Most shines, and most is acceptable above. 

Therefore God's universal law 
Gave to the man despotic power 
Over his female in due awe. 
Nor from tliat right to part an hour, 
Smile she or lower: 
So shall he least confusion draw 
On his whole life, not swayed 
By female usurpation, or dismayed. 

But had we best retire 1 I see a storm. 

Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and 
rain. 

Chor. But this another kind of tempest brings. 

Sams. Be less obstruse, my riddling days are 
past. 

Chor. Look now for no enchanting voice, nor 
fear 
The bait of honied words ; a rougher tongue 
Draws hitherward ; I know him by his stride. 
The giant Harapha of Gatli, his look 
Haughty, as is his pile high-built and proud. 
Comes he in peace"? what wind hath blown him 

hither 
I less conjecture than when first I saw 
The sumptuous Dalila floating this way: 
His habit carries peace, his brow defiance. 

Sam,s. Or peace or not., alike to me he comes. 

Chor. His fraught we soon shall know, he novy 
arrives. 

[Enter] Harapha. 

Har. I come not, Samson, to condole thy chance. 
As these perhaps, yet wish it had not been. 
Though for no friendly intent. I am of Gath; 
Men call me Harajjha, of stock renowned 
As Og, or Anak, and the Emims old 
That Kiriathaim held ; thou knowest me now. 
If thou at all art known. Much I have heard 
Of thy prodigious might and feats performed. 
Incredible to me, in this displeased, 
That I was never present on the place 
Of those encounters, where we might have tried 
Each other's force in camp or listed field ; 
And now am come to see of whom such noise 
Hath walked about, and each limb to survey, 
Af thy appearance answer loud report. 



Sams. The way to know were not to see, but 
taste. 

Har. Dost thou already single me? I thought 
Gyves and the mill had tamed thee. O that fortune 
Had brought me to the field, where thou art famed 
To have wrought such wonders with an ass's jaw ! 
I should have forced thee soon with other arms. 
Or lef\ thy cascass where the ass lay thrown: 
So had the glory of prowess been recovered 
To Palestine, won by a Philistine, 
From the unforeskinned race, of whom thou bearest 
The highest name for valiant acts ; that honour. 
Certain to have won by mortal duel from thee, 
I lose, prevented by thy eyes put out. 

Sams. Boast not of what thou would'st have 
done, but do 
What then tliou would'st; thou secstit in thy hand. 

Har. I'o combat with a blind man I disdain. 
And thou hast need much washing to be touched. 

Sams. Such usage as your honourable lords, 
Aflbrd rue, assassinated and betrayed. 
Who durst not with their whole united powers 
In figlit withstand mc single and unarmed, 
Nor in the house with chamber-ambushes 
Close-banded durst attack mc, no, not sleeping, 
Till they had hired a woman with their gold 
Breaking her marriage faith to circumvent me. 
Therefore, without feigned shifts, let be assigned 
Some narrow place enclosed, where sight may give 

thee, 
Or rather flight, no great advantage on me ; 
Then put on all thy gorgeous arms, thy helmet 
And brigandine of brass, thy broad habergeon, 
Vantbrass and greaves, and gauntlet, add thy 

spear, 
A weaver's beam, and seven-times folded shield; 
I only with an oaken staff' will meet thee. 
And raise such outcries on thy clattered iron, 
Wliich long shall not withhold me from thy head, 
That in a little time, while breath remains thee, 
Thou ofl shaft wish thyself at Gath, to boast 
Again in safety what thou wouldst have done 
To Samson, but shalt never see Gath more. 

Har. Thou durst not thus disparage glorious 
arms. 
Which greatest heroes have in battle worn, 
Their ornament and safety, had not spells. 
And black enchantments, some magician's art, 
Armed thee or charmed thee strong, which thou 

from Heaven 
Feigncd'st at thy birth was given thee in thy hair, 
Where strength can least abide, though all thy 

hairs 
Were bristles ranged like those that ridge the back 
Of chafed wild boars, or ruffled porcupines. 

Sams. I know no H|)ells, use no forbidden arts, 
My trust is in the living God, who gave me 
At my nativity this strength, diffused 
No less through all my sinews, joints and bones, 



128 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



That thine, Avhile I preserved these locks unshorn, 

The i)Io(l<re of my imviolatwl vow. 

For proof Jicrcof, if Dagon be thy god, 

Go to his temple, invocate his aid 

Witli soleinnest devotion, spread before him 

How highly it concerns his glory now 

To frustrate and dissolve these magic spells. 

Which I to be the power of Israel's God 

Avow, and challenge Dagon to the test, 

Ofl'cring to combat thee his champion bold. 

With the utmost of liis godhead seconded : 

Then thou shait see, or rather, to thy sorrow. 

Soon feel, wliose god is strongest, thine or mine. 

Har. Presume not on thy God, whate'er he be : 
Thee he regards not, owns not, hath cut oil' 
Cluite from this people, and delivered up 
Into thy enemies' hand, permitted them 
To put out both thine eyes, and fettered send thee 
Into the common prison, there to grind 
Among the slaves and asses thy comrades. 
As good for nothing else ; no better service 
With those thy boisterous locks, no worthy match 
For valour to assail, nor by the sword 
Of noble warrior, so to stain his honour, 
But by the barber's razor best subdued. 

Sams. All these indignities, for such they are 
From thine, these evils I deserve, and more. 
Acknowledge them from God indicted on me 
Justly, yet despair not of his fmal pardon, 
Whose ear is ever open, and his eye 
Gracious to readmit the suppliant: 
In conlidence whereof I once again 
Defy thee to the trial of mortal tiijht, 
By combat to decide whose god is God, 
Thine, or whom 1 with Israel's sons adore. 

Har. Fair honour that thou dost thy God, in 
trusting 
He will accept thee to defend his cause, 
A murderer, a revolter, and a robber ! 

Sams. Tongue-doughty giant, how dost thou 
prove me these; '? 

Har. Is not thy nation subject to our lords 1 
Their magistrates confessed it when they took thee 
As a league breaker, and delivered bound 
Into our hands: for hadstthou not conuuitted 
Notorious murder on those thirty men 
At Ascalon, who never did thee harm. 
Then like a robber stripped'st themof their robes'? 
The Philistines, when thou hadst broke the league. 
Went up with armed powers thee only seeking. 
To others did no violence or spoil. 

Sams. Among the daugliters of the Plulistines 
I chose a wife, which argued me no foe; 
And in your city held my nu|)tial feast ; 
But your ill meaning politician lords. 
Under pretence of bridal friends and guests, 
Appointed to await me thirty spies. 
Who, tlueatenuig cruel death, constrained the 
bride 



To wring from me, and tell to them, my secret, 
That solved the riddle which I had proposed. 
When I perceived all set on enmity. 
As on my enemies, wherever chanced, 
I used hostility, and took their spoil. 
To pay my underminers in their coin. 
My nation was subjected to your lords; 
It was the force of conquest : force with force 
Is well ejected when the conquered can. 
But I, a private person, whom my country 
/ s a league bearer gave up bound, presumed 
Single rebellion, and did hostile acts. 
I was no private, but a person raised 
With strength sufficient, and command from Hea- 
ven 
To free my country : if their servile minds 
Me,, their deliverer sent, would not receive, 
But to their masters gave me up for nought, 
The unworthier they; whence to this day they 

serve. 
I was to do my part from Heaven assigned, 
And hath performed it, if my known ollence 
llath not disabled me, not all your force; 
These shifts refuted, answer thy appellant. 
Though by his blindness maimed for high at- 
tempts. 
Who now defies thee thrice to single fight. 
As a petty enterprise of small enforce. 

Har. With thee ! a man condemned, a slave en- 
rolled. 
Due by the law to capital punishment ! 
To fight with thee no man of arms will deign. 
Sams. Cam'st thou for this, vain boaster, to sur- 
vey me. 
To descant on my strength, and give thy verdictl 
Come nearer; part not hence so slight informed; 
But take good heed my hand survey not thee. 

Har. Baal-zebub ! can my ears unused 
Hear these dishonours, and not render deaths 
Sams. No man withholds thee, nothing from thy 
hand 
Fear 1 incurable ; bring up thy van. 
My heels are fettered but my fist is free. 

Har. This insolence other kind of answer fits. 
Sams. Go, baffled coward ! lest I run upon thee, 
Though in these chains, bulk without sjjirit vast, 
And with one bullet lay thy structure low. 
Or swing thee in the air, then dash thee down 
To the hazard of thy brains and shattered sides. 
Har. By Astaroth, ere long thou shalt lament 
These braveries, in irons loaden on thee. [Exit.} 
Chor. His giantship is gone somewhat crest- 
fallen. 
Stalking with less unconscionable strides. 
And lower looks, but in a sultry chafe. 

Sams. I dread him not, nor all his giant brood, 
Though fame divulge him father of five sons, 
All of gigantic size, Goliah chief. 

Chor. He will directly to the lords, I fear, 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



139 



And with malicious counsel stir them up 
Some way or other yet furtlier to alllict thee. 

Sams. He must allege some cause, and offered 
fight 
Will not dare mention, lest a question rise 
Wlit'ther he durst accept the oili;r or not; 
And, tliat he durst not, plain enough appeared. 
Much more aflliction than already felt 
They can not well impose, nor i sustain ; 
If they intend advantage of my labours, 
The work of many hands which earns my keeping 
With no small profit daily to my owners. 
But come what will, my deadliest foe will prove 
My speediest friend, by death to rid me hence; 
The worst that he can give, to me the best. 
Yet so it may (all out, because their end 
Is hate, not help to me, it may with mine 
Draw their own ruin who attempt the deed. 

Chur. O how comely it is, and how reviving 
To the s|)irits of just men long oppressed! 
When God into the hands of their deliverer 
Puts invincible might 

To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor, 
The brute and boisterous force of violent mnu, 
Hardy and industrious to support 
Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue 
The righteous and all such as honour truth ; 
He all their ammunition 
And feats of war defeats, 
With plain heroic magnitude of mind 
And celestial vigour armed: 
Their armouries and magazines contemns, 
Renders them useless ; while 
With winged expedition, 
Swift as the Hghtning glance, he executes 
His errand on the wicked, who, surprised. 
Lose their defence, distracted and amazed. 

But patience is more oft the exercise 
Of saints, the trial of their fortitude. 
Making them each his own deliverer, 
And victor over all 
That tyranny or fortune can inflict. 
Either of these is in thy lot, 
Samson, with might endued 
Above the sons of men; but sight bereaved 
May chance to number thee with those 
Whom patience finally must crown. 

This idol's day hath been to thee no day of rest, 
Lalwuring thy mind 
More than the working day thy hands. 
And yet perhaps more trouble is behind. 
For I descry this way 
Some other tending; in his hand 
A sceptre or quaint staff he bears. 
Comes on amain, speed in his look. 
By his habit I discern him now 
A public officer, and now at hand. 
Bis message will be short and voluble. 
II o2 



[Enter] Officer. 

Off'. Hebrews, the prisoner Samson here I seek. 

Chor. His manacles remark him, there he sits. 

O^'. Samson, to thee our lords thus bade me say; 
This day to Dagon is a solemn feast. 
With sacrifices, triumph, j)omp, and games: 
Thy strength they know surpassing human rate, 
And now some public proof thereof require 
To honour this great feast, and great assembly; 
Rise therefore with all speed, and come along. 
Where I will see thee heartened, and fresh clad. 
To appear, as fits, before the illustrious lords. 

Sams. Thou knowest 1 am an Hebrew, there- 
fore tell them, 
Our law forbids at their religious rites 
My presence, for tliat cause I can not come. 

O^'. This answer, be assured, will not content 
them. 

Sams. Have they not sword-players, and every 
sort 
Of gymnic artists, wrestlers, riders, runners, 
Jugglers, and dancers, antics, mummers, mimics, 
But they must pick me out with shackles tired, 
And over-laboured at their public mill. 
To make them siwrt with blind activity'? 
Do they not seek occasion of new quarrels 
On my refusal to distress me more, 
Or make a game of my calamities] 
Return the way thou cam'st, 1 will not come. 

Off. Regard thyself; this will offend them 
highly. 

Sams. Myself! my conscience and internal 
peace. 
Can they think me so broken, so debased 
With corporal servitude, that my mind ever 
Will condescend to such absurd commands'? 
Although their drudge, to be their fool or jester, 
And in my midst of sorrow and heart-grief 
To show them feats, and play before their god. 
The worst of all indignities, yet on me 
Joined with extreme contempt? I will not come. 

Off. My message was injposed on me with 
speed. 
Brooks no delay : is this thy resolution 1 

Sams. So take it with what speed thy message 
needs. 

Off. I am sorry what this stoutness will produce. 

[Exit. 

Sams. Perhaps thou shalt have cause to sorrow- 
indeed. 

Chor. Consider, Samson; matters now are 

strained 
Up to the height, whether to hold or break: 
He's gone, and who knows how he may report 
Thy -words by adding fuel to the flame'? 
Expect another message more imperious. 
More lf)rdly thundering than thou well wilt bear. 
Sevrr^. Shall I abuse this consecrated gift 



130 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Of strengtli. afifain returning with my hair, 
After my great transgression ; so requite 
Favour renewed, and add a greater sin 
By prostituting holy things to idols 1 
A N;izarite in place abominable, 
Vaunting my strength in honour to their Dagon ! 
Besides, how vile, contemptible, ridiculous, 
What act more execrably unclean, profane! 

Chor. Yet with this strength thou scrv'st the 
Philistines, 
Idolatrous, uncircumcised, unclean. 

Sams. Not in their idol-worship, but by labour 
Honest and lawful, to deserve my food 
Of those who have mc in their civil power. 

Chor. Where the heart joins not, outward acts 
defile not. 

Sams. Where outward force constrains, the 
sentence iiolds. 
But who constrains me to the temple of Dagon, 
Not dragging '! The Philistine lords command. 
Connnands are no constraints. If I obey them, 
I do it freely, venturing to displease 
God for tlie fear ofman, and man prefer. 
Set God behind ; which in his jealousy 
Shall never, unrei)ented, find forgiveness. 
Yet that he may <hspenso with me, or thee, 
Present in temples at idolatrous rites 
For some important cause tliou need'st not doubt. 

Ckor. How thou wilt here come off surmounts 
my reach. 

Sams. Be of good courage ; I begin to feel 
Some rousing motions in me, which dispose 
To something extraordinary my thoughts. 
I with this messenger will go along. 
Nothing to do, be sure, that may tlishonour 
Our law, or stain my vow of Nazarite. 
If there be auglit of presage in the mind, 
This day will he remarkable in my life 
By some great act, or of my days the last. 

Chor. in time thou hast resolved, the man re- 
turns. 

[Enter] Officer. 

Of. Samson, this second message from our lords 
To thee I am biil say. Art thou our slave. 
Our caj)tive, at the public mill our drudge. 
And darest thou at our sending and command 
Dispute thy coming'? come without delay; 
Or we shall find such engines to assail 
And hamper thee, as thou shalt come of force, 
Though thou wert firmlier fastened than a rock. 

Sams. 1 could be well content to try their art. 
Which to no few of them would prove pernicious, 
Yet, knowing their advantiiges too many. 
Because they shall not trail mc through their 

streets 
Like a wild lieast, I am content to go. 
Masters' cominands come with a power resistless 
•To such as owe them absolute subjection ; 



And for a life who will not change his purpose 7 
(So mutable are all the ways of men;) 
Yet this be sure, in notliing to comply 
Scandalous or forbidden in our law. 

(Jff". I praise thy resolutions: doft" these links: 
By this compliance thou wilt win the lords 
To favour, and perhaps to set thee free. 

Sams. Brethren, farewell; your company along 
I will not wish, lest it perhaps olfend them 
To see me girt with friends : and how the sight 
Of me, as of a common enemy. 
So dreaded once, may now exasperate them, 
I know not: lords are lordliest in their wines; 
And the well-feasted priest then soonest fired 
With zeal, if aught religion seem concerned ; 
No less the people, on their holy-days. 
Impetuous, insolent, unquenchable : 
ITaiipen what may, of me expect to hear 
Nothing disiionourable, impure, unworthy 
Our God, our law, my nation, or myself, 
The last of me or no I can not warrant. [Exit.] 

Chor. Go, and the Holy One 
Of Israel be thy guide 
To what may serve his glory best, and spread his 

name 
Great among the heathen round : 
Send tliec the angel of thy birth, to stand 
Fast by thy side, who from thy father's field 
Rode up in flames after his message told 
Of thy conception, and be now a shield 
Of fire; tliat Spirit, that first rushed on thee 
In the camp of Dan, 
Be efficacious in thee now at need ! 
F'or never was from Heaven imparted 
Measure of strength so great to mortal seed, 
As in thy wondrous actions hath been seen. — 
But wherefore comes old Manoah in such haste 
With youtliful steps 1 much livelier than ercwhilo 
He seems ; supposing here to find his son, 
Or of him bringing to us some glad news 1 

[Enter] Manoah. 

Man. Peace with you, brethren; my induce- 
ment hither 
Was not at present here to find my son, 
By order of the lords now parted hence 
To come and play before them at their feast. 
I heard all as I came, the city rings. 
And numbers thither flock : I had no will. 
Lest I should see him forced to things unseemly. 
But that which moved my coming now, was chiefly 
To give ye part with me what hope I have 
With good success to work his liberty. 

Chor. That hope would much rejoice us to par- 
take 
With thee; say, reverend sire, we thirst to hear. 

Man. I have attempted one by one the lords. 
Either at home, or through the high street passing, 
With supplication prone and father's tears. 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



131 



To accept of ransom for my Kon, tlicir prisoner. 
Some much averse I founil ami wondrous harsh, 
Contemptuous, proud, set on revenge and spite. 
That jiart most rcvi^renccd Dagon and liis priests; 
Otliers more moderate secmin<;, but their aim 
Private reward, for which Iwtli God and state 
Tiiey easily would set to sale: a third 
More {generous far and civil, who confessed 
They had etiouijli revenged; having reduced 
Their foe to misery beneath their fears, 
The rest was mairnanimity to remit. 
If some convenient ransom were j)roposcd. — 
What noise or shout was that? it tore the sky. 

CkoT. Doubtless the people shouting to behold 
Their once great dread, captive, and blind before 

them. 
Or at some proof of strength before them shown. 

Man. His ransom, if my whole inheritance 
May compass it, shall willingly be paid 
And numbered down: much rather I shall choose 
I'o live the poorest in my tribe, than richest. 
And he in that calamitous prison left. 
No, I am fixed not to part hence without him. 
For his redemjition all my i)atrimoiiy, 
If need be, I am ready to forego 
And quit; not wanting him, I shall want no- 
thing. 

Chor. Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons. 
Thou for thy son art Ixuit to lay out all ; 
Sons wont to nurse tlieir parents in old age. 
Thou in old age carest how to nurse tliy son. 
Made ol<ler than thy age through eyesight lost. 

Man. It shall be my delight to tend his eyes. 
And view him sitting in the house, ennobled 
With all those high exploits by him achieved. 
And on his shoulders waving down those locks 
That of a nation armed the strength contained: 
And I persuade me, God had not permitti^d 
HLs strength again to grow up with liis hair, 
Garrisoni'd round about him like a camp 
Of faithful soldiery, were not his |iurpose 
To use him further yet in some great service; 
Not to sit idle with so great a gift 
Useless, and thence ridiculous about him. 
And since his strength with eyesight was not lost, 
God will restore him eyesight to his strength. 

Chm-. Thy hopes are not ill founded, nor seem 
vain 
Of his delivery, and thy joy thereon 
Conceived airrceable to a father's love. 
In both which we, as next, partici[)ate. 

Man. 1 know your friendly minds and — O what 
noise ! — 
Mercy of heaven, what hideous noise was that ? 
Horribly loud, utdike the former shout. 

Chor. Noise call you that, or universal groan. 
As if tiie whole inhaliitation perished! 
Blood, death, and deathful deeds are in that noise. 
Ruin, destruction at the utmost point. 



Man. Of ruin indeed rnethought 1 heard the 
noise ; 
Oh! it continues, they have slain my son. 

Chor. Thy son is rather slaying them; that 
outcry 
From slaughter of one foe could not ascend. 

Man. Some dismal accident it needs must be ; 
What shall we do, stay here or run and see! 
Chor. Best keep together here, lest, running 
thither. 
We unawares run into danger's mouth. 
This evil on the Philistines is fallen; 
From whom could else a geni^ral cry be heard f 
The sufferers then will scarce molest us hero 
From other hands we need not much to fear. 
What if, his eyesight (for to Israel's God 
Nothing is hard) by miracle restored. 
He now be dealing doh; among his foes. 
And over heajis of slaughtered walk his wayl 
Man. That were a joy presumptuous to bo 

thought. 
Chor. Yet God hath wrought things as incre- 
dible 
For his people of old; what hinders now 1 

Man. He can, 1 know, but doubt to think he 
will; 
Yet hope would fain subscribe, and tempts belief. 
A little stay will bring some notice hither. 

Chm\ Of good or had so great, of had the sooner; 
For evil news rides post, while good news baits. 
And to our wish I see one hither speeding. 
An Hebrew, as I guess, and of our tribe. 

[Enter] Messenger. 

Mess. O whither shall I run, or which way fly 
The sight of this so horrid spectacle. 
Which erst my eyes beheld and yet behold 1 
For dire imagination still pursues me. 
But providence or instinct of nature! seems. 
Or reason though disturbed, and scarce consulted, 
To have guided me aright 1 know not how, 
To thee first, reverend Manoah, and to these 
My countrymen, whom here 1 knew remaining, 
As at some distance from the place of horror, 
So in the sad event too much concerned. 

Man. The accident was loud, and here before 
thee 
With rueful cry, yet what it was we hear not; 
No preface needs, thou secst we long to know. 

Mess. It would burst forth, but 1 recover breath 
And sense distract, to know well what 1 utter. 

Alan. Tell us the sum, the circumstance defer. 

Mess. Gazayet stands, but all her sons are fallen, 
All in a moment overwhelmed and fallen. 

Man. Sad, but thou know'st to Israelites not 
saddest 
The desolation of a hostile city. 

Mess. Feed on that first; there may in grief ba 
surfeit. 



133 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Afan. Relate by whom. 

Mess. By Samson. 

Man. That still lessens 

The sorrow, and converts it nigh to joy. 

Mess. Ah, Manoah, I refrain too suddenly 
To utter what will come at last too soon ; 
Lest evil tidings, with too rude irruption 
Hitting thy aged ear, should pierce too deep. 

Man. Suspense in news is torture; speak them 
out. 

Mess. Take then the worst in brief, Samson is 
dead. 

Man. The worst indeed ! O all my hopes de- 
feated 
To free him hence ! but death, who sets all free, 
Hath paid his ransom now and full discharge. 
What windy joy this day had I conceived 
Hopeful of his delivery, which now proves 
Abortive as the first-born bloom of spring 
Nipt with the lagging rear of winter's frost! 
Yet ere I give the reins to grief, say first. 
How died he; death to life is crown or shame. 
All by him fell, thou sayest; by whom fell hel 
What glorious hand gave Samson liis death's 
wound 1 

Mess. Unwounded of his enemies he fell. 

Man. Wearied with slaughter then, or how? 
explain. 

Mess. By his own hands. 

Man. Self-violence'? what cause 

Brought him so soon at variance with himself 
Among his foesi 

Mess. Inevitable cause 

At once both to destroy and be destroyed ; 
The edifice, where all were met to see him, 
Upon their heads and on his own he pulled. 

Man. O lastly overstrong against thyself! 
A dreadful way thou took'st to thy revenge. 
More than enough we know ; but while things yet 
Are in confusion, give us, if thou canst. 
Eyewitness of what first or last was done, 
Relation more particular and distinct. 

Mess. Occasions drew me early to this city; 
And, as the gates I entered with sunrise, 
The morning trumpets festival proclaimed 
Through each high street : little I had despatched. 
When all abroad was rumoured that this day 
Samson should be brought forth, to show the people 
Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games ; 
I sorrowed at his captive state, but minded 
Not to be absent at that spectacle. 
The building was a spacious theatre 
Half-round, on two main pillars vaulted high. 
With seats where all the lords, and each degree 
Of sort, might sit in order to behold ; 
The other side was open, where the throng 
On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand; 
I among these aloof obscurely stood. 
The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice 



Had filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and 

wine. 
When to their sports they turned. Immediately 
Was Samson as a public servant brought, 
In their state livery clad ; before him pipes 
And timbrels, on each side went armed guards, 
Both horse and foot, before him and beliiud 
Archers, and slingers, cataphracts, and spears. 
At sight of him the people with a shout 
Rifled the air, clamouring their god with praise 
Who had made their dreadful enemy their thrall. 
He patient, biit undaunted, where they led him. 
Came to the place ; and what was set before him, 
Which without help of eye might be assayed. 
To heave, pull, draw, or break, he still performed 
All with incredible, stupendous force, 
None daring to appear antagonist. 
At length for intermission sake they led him 
Between the pillars; he his guide requested 
(For so from such as nearer stood we heard) 
As overtired to let him lean a while 
With both his arms on those two massy pillars, 
That to the arched roof gave main support. 
He, unsuspicious, led him; which, when Samson 
Felt in his arms, with head a while inclined. 
And eyes fast fixed he stood, as one who prayed, 
Or some great matter in his mind revolved : 
At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud ; 
"Hitherto, lords, what your commands imposed 
I have performed, as reason was, obeying, 
Not without wonder or delight beheld : 
Now of my own accord such other trial 
I mean to show you of my strength, yet greater, ' 
As with amaze shall strike all who behold.' 
This uttered, straining all his nerves he bowed 
As with the force of winds and waters pent. 
When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars 
With horrible convulsion to and fro 
He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew 
The whole roof after them with burst of thunder 
Upon the heads of all who sat beneath. 
Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests. 
Their choice nobility and flower, not only 
Of this but each Philistian city round. 
Met from all parts to solemnize this feast. 
Samson, with these immixed, inevitably 
Pulled down the same destruction on himself; 
The vulgar only scaped who stood without. 

Chor. O dearly-bought revenge, yet glorious ! 
Living or dying thou hast fulfilled 
The work for which thou wast foretold 
To Israel, and now liest victorious 
Among thy slain, self-killed. 
Not willingly, but tangled in the fold 
Of dire necessity, whose law in death conjoined 
Thee with thy slaughtered foes, in number more 
Than all thy hfe hath slain before. 

1 Semichor, While their hearts were jocund and 
sublime 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



133 



Drunk with idolatry, drunk with wine, 

And fat regorged of bulls and goats. 

Chanting llieir idol, and preferring 

Before our living Dread who dwells 

In Silo, his bright sanctuary : 

Among them he a spirit of phrenzy sent, 

Who hurt their minds. 

And urged them on with mad desire 

To call in haste ibr their destroyer ; 

They, only set on sport and play, 

Unweetingly importuned 

Their own destruction to come speedy upon them. 

So fond arc mortal men, 

Fallon into wrath divine, 

As their own ruin on themselves to invite, 

Insensate left, or to sense reprobate. 

And with blindness internal struck. 

2 Semickor. But he, though blind of sight, 
Despised and thougl'.t extinguished quite 
Witii inward eyes illuminated. 
His fiery virtue roused 
. From under ashes into sudden flame, 
And as an evening dragon came, 
Assailant on the perched roosts 
And nests in order ranged 
Of tame villatic fowl ; but as an eagle 
His cloudless thunder bolted on their heads. 
So virtue, given for lost. 
Depressed, and overthrown, as seemed, 
Like that self-bcgottcn bird 
In the Arabian woods embossed. 
That no second knows nor third, 
And lay ere while a holocaust. 
From out her ashy womb now teemed. 
Revives, rcflourishes, then vigorous most 
When most unactivc deemed ; 
And, though her body die, her fame survives 
A secular bird ages of lives. 

Man. Come, come; no time for lamentation 
now. 
Nor much more cause ; Samson hath quit himself 
Like Samson, and heroicly hath finished 
A life heroic : on his enemies 
Fully revenged, hath left them years of mourning 
And lamentation to the sons of Caphtor 



Through all Philistian bounds; to Isrncl 
Honour hath left, and freedom, let but them 
Find courage to lay hold on this occasion ; 
To himself and father's house eternal fame; 
And, which is best and happiest yet, all tiiia 
With God not parted from him, as was feared. 
But favouring and assistmg to the end. 
Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail 
Or knock the breast ; no weakness, no contempt. 
Dispraise, or blame; nothing but well and fair. 
And what may quiet us in a death so noble. 
Let us go find the body, where it lies 
Soaked in his enemies' blood ; and from the stream 
With lavers pure, and cleansing herbs, wash off 
The clotted gore. 1, with what speed tiie while, 
(Gaza is not in plight to say us nay,) 
Will send for all my kindred, all my friends, 
To fetch him hence, and solemnly attend 
With silent obsequy and funeral train. 
Home to his father's house; there will I l)uild him 
A monument, and plant it round with shade 
Of laurel evergreen, and branching palm, 
With all his trophies hung, and acts enrolled 
In copious legend, or sweet lyric ^ong. 
Thither shall all the valiant youth resort, 
And from his memory inflame their breasts 
To matchless valour, and adventures high: 
The virgins also shall, on feastful days. 
Visit his tomb with flowers; only bewailing 
His lot unfortunate in nu[)tial choice. 
From whence captivity and loss of eyes. 

Chor. All is best, though we oft doubt. 
What the unsearchable dispose 
Of highest Wisdom brings about, 
And ever best found in tiic close. 
Oft he seems to hide his face. 
But unexpectedly returns, 
And to his faithful champion hath in place 
Bore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns, 
And all that band them to resist 
His uncontrollable intent: 
His servants he, with new acquist 
Of true experience, from this great event 
With peace and consolation hath dismissed 
And calm of mind all passion spent. 



m 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



C ni It S)s 



A MASK, 

PRESENTED AT LUDLOW CASTLE, 1G13, BEFORE 

JOHN, EARL OF nUIDGEWATER, 

THEN PRESIDENT DP WALES. 



♦ TO Tim RinilT lIONOlTRAni.R 
JOHN LOUD VIsrOlIN T HU.\(KI,F.Y,t 
Son am\ IIoii-Ainmrent to iho Eiirl of Urulgowaior, &c. 
MY I, OKI), 

This iioem, wliicli ivcinvod its first occasion of 
birtli from yourself ami otliors of your noble family, 
and iniii-h honour from your own jicrson in the 
performance, now returns again to make a final 
dedicntion of itst-lf to you. Although not openly 
ncknowleilged by the autlior,t yet it is a le^ntimate 
olfsprinir, so lovely iinil so nmcli desired, that the 
often copying of it hath tired my pen to give my 
Bevcral friends satisfaction, and brought me to a 
necessity of producing it to tl\e pvd)hc view; and 
now to offer it up in all rightful devotion to those 
fair hopes, and rare endowments of your much pro- 
mising youth, which give a full assurance, to all 
that know you, of a future excellence. Live, 
sweet Lord, to be the honour of your name, and 
receive this as your own, from tlie hands of him, 
who hath by many favours been long obliged to 
your most honoured iinrents, and as in tiiis repre- 
sentation your attendant Thyrsis, so now in nil 
real expression, your faithful and most humble 
servant, H. Lawks. 



niE PERSONS. 

Thp Altonilnnt Spirit, afterwards in the habit o/'Tliyrels. 

Coiiius trith his Cntc. 

Tlioljuly. 

First Hwtlipr. 

Seconil llrollier. 

Salirinii, the Ni/»ipli. 

THE l'llli;i' I'KRSONS, WHO PRESENTED, WERE 
T1\P Lord llriuliloy. 
Mr. 'I'lioiuius l'".);(Tton, his brother, 
Tli9 LftUy Allco Egonon. 



COMUS 



The first scene discovers a wild Wood. 

The Attenp^nt Spirit descends ot enters. 

Before the starry thresliold of Jove's court 
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes 

• Tliis is tlio lit'illcnlioii to Lnwos's oilition of tlie Maslv, 1637. 

t Tlio fliw Itrotlicr ill the Maslc. llurtoi. 

} It iinvcr uvpuurcd ui\i.lor Milton's immo, till tlio year ll>15. 



(M' bright ntM'iid spirits live inspliercd 
In regions mild of calm and serene air, 
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot, 
Which men call Earth; and, with low-thoughted 

care 
Confnied and pester'd in this pin-fold here, 
Slfive to keep ni)a frail and feverish IxMiig, 
Unmindful of tile crown that Virtue gives, 
After this mortal change, to her true servants, 
Amongst the enthroned gods on stiinted seats. 
Yet some tiiere lu", that by due steps aspire 
To lay their just hands on that golden key^. 
That opes the jialace of Kternily : 
To such my errand is; and, but for such, 
1 would not soil these inire ambrosial weeds 
With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould. 

But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway 
Of every salt (lood, and eacii ebbing stream. 
Took in by lot 'twixt high and nether Jovo 
Imiierial rule of all the sea-girt isles. 
That, like to rich and various gems, inlay 
'I'lie unadorn'd bosom of the deep: 
Which he, to grace his tributary gods. 
My course commits to several government. 
And gives them leave to wear tiicir sajTjihiro 

crowns, 
And wield their little tridents: but this Isle, 
'J'he greatest and the best of all the main. 
He quarters to his blue-hnir'd deities; 
And all this tract that fronts the falling sun 
A noble Peer of mickle trust and power 
lias in his charge, with temper'd awe to guide 
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms: 
Where his fair oll'spring, nursed in princely lore. 
Are coming to attend I iieir father's state, 
And new-entrusted sceptre: but their way 
Lies through the perplex'd jiaths of this drear 

wood, 
The nodding horror of wlioso shady brows 
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger; 
And here their tender age might sulVcr peril, 
But that by tpiick command from sovereign .Tovo 
I was despatch'd for their defence and guard; 
.And listen why; for 1 will tell you now 
What never yet was heard in tale or song. 
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower. 

Bacchus, that fn-st from out the pur|)le grape 
Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wim-. 
After tlio Tuscan mariners transform 'd. 



COMUS. 



135 



Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed, 
On Circe's island fell ; (who knows not Circe, 
The daughter of llie Sun, whose ciiiirined cup 
Whoever tasted, lost his ujirijfht shape. 
And downward fell into a groveling swine?) 
1'iiis nymph, tliat gazed u|ion his clustering locks 
"With ivy berries wreath'd, and his blithe youth. 
Had by him, cro he parted thence, a son 
JVIneli like his father, but his mother more, 
Wiioni therefore she brought up, and Comus 

nani'd: 
Who, ripe and frolic of his full grown age, 
Roving the Celtic and llierian fields. 
At last betakes him to this ominous wood ; 
And, in tiiick shelter of black shades iinbower'd, 
Excels his mother at her mighty art, 
Olli-ring to every weary traveller 
His orient liquor in a crystal glass, 
To (piench the drouth of Phoebus; which as thcsy 

tasti!, 
(For most do taste through fond intemperate tliirst) 
Soon as the potion works, their human counte- 

nnnce, 
The express resemblance of the gods, ischang'd 
Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear, 
Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat, 
All other parts remaining as they were; 
And they, so perfect is their misery. 
Not once j)erccive their foul disfigunMTient, 
But boast themselves more com(Jy than IxTorc; 
And all their friends and native home forget, 
To roll with jilcasure in a sensual sty. 
Thervfore when any, favour'd of high Jovo, 
Chances to pass througli this adventurous glade, 
Swift as t!ie's[)arkle of a glancing star 
1 shoot from heaven, to give him safe convoy, 
As now 1 do: but first I must put off 
These my sky robes sj)un out of Iris' woof, 
A nd take the weeds and likeness of a swain 
That to i\w service of this house belongs. 
Who witli his soft pipe, anrl sniooth-dittied song. 
Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar. 
And liiish the waving woods; nor of less faith, 
And ill tliis ofiicc! of his mountain watch 
Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid 
C)f this occasion. But I hear the tread 
Of hateful steps ; I must be viewless now. 

ComuH cntnin with a clmrminKrod in one bnnil, his glass in 
the otli(!r; with him a rout of inonHlers, lieiuled like sundry 
BortH of wild IwuHts, but otlmrwiHo like iiion and women, 
their n|)()iirel gliHl<;riiig ; they come in making a riotous 
anil unruly noise, with torches in their hands. 

COMUS. 

The star that bids the shepherd fold, 
Now the top of he^iven doth hold; 
And the gilded car of day 
His glowing axle doth allay 



In the steep Atlantic stream; 

A nd th(! slope sun his upward beam 

Shoots against his dusky pole, 

facing toward the other goal 

( )f his chambiir in the East, 

Meanwhile welcome Joy, and Fcast, 

Midnight Shout and Revelry, 

Tipsy Dance, and Jollity. 

IJraid your locks with rosy twino. 

Dropping odours, dropping wine. 

Rigour now is gone to bed, 

And Advice with scru[)ulous head. 

Strict Age and sour Severity, 

With their grave saws, in slumber lie. 

We, that are of purer fire, 

liiiilittc the starry quire. 

Who, in their nightly watchful spheres. 

Lead in swift round the months and years., 

The sounds a,nd seas, willi all (heir (limy drove, 

Now to tiie moon in wav(^ring morrici! move: 

7\iid, on the tiiwiiy sands and siiclvi^s, 

Tri[) the jiert faeries and the dapper elves. 

\'>y dimpled brook anil fountain brim, 

The wood nymphs, dcck'd with daisies trim, 

Their merry wakes and ])astime8 keep. 

What hat!) night to do with slec^p? 

Night hath betti^r swi;ets to prove; 

Venus now wakes, and wakens Love, 

Ciimc, let US our rites begin; 

'Tis only daylight that makes sin. 

Which these dun shades will ne'er report. 

Hail, goddess of noctural sport, 

Dark-veil'd tJotylto! to whom the secret flame 

Of midnight torches burns; mysterious dame, 

That ne'er art call'd, but when the dragon womt 

Of Stygian darkness spits her thickest gloom. 

And makes one blot of all the air; 

Stay thy cloudy ebon chair. 

Wherein thou rid'st with 1 Iccat', and befriend 

Us thy vowed jiriests, till utmost end 

Of all thy dues be done, and none left out; 

Ere the babbling eastern scout, 

The nice morn, on the Indian steep 

From her cabined looji-hole i)eep. 

And to the tell-tale sun descry 

Our concealed solemnity. — 

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground. 

In a light fantastic round. 

THE MEASUllE 

Break off, break off: I feel the different pace 
Of some chaste footing near about this ground. 
Run to your shrouds, within these brakes and trees j 
Our number may affright: som(! virgin, sure, 
(For so I can distinguish by my art) 
iienighted in these woods. Now to my charms. 
And to my wily trains; 1 shall, ere long 
Bo well stock'd with as fair a herd as graz'd 



136 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl 

My (lazzliufi spells into the sponjry air, 

Of power toeheat the eye with blear illusion, 

And f;ive it false presentments, le.st the place 

And my quaint hahits breed astonisiunent, 

And put the dumael to suspicious llijjht; 

Whieii must not be, for that's ajjainst my course : 

1, under lair pretence of friendly ends, 

And well placed words of glozinfr courtesy, 

Baited with reasons not unplausible. 

Wind me into the easy-liearted man, 

And liug him into snares. When once her eye 

TTath met the virtue of thismafjic dust, 

1 shall a]'pearsomo hurmlesa villajjer. 

Whom tnrill keeps up about his country gear. 

But here she conies. 1 fairly step aside. 

And hearken, if 1 may, her business here. 

The Lady eriters. 

Lady. This way the noise was, if mine ear be 
true, 
My best guide now. Methought it was the sound 
Of riot and ill managed merriment, 
Such was the jocund llute, or gamesome pipe. 
Stirs up among the loose, unlettered hinds; 
When from their teeming flocks, and granges full. 
In wanton dance tliey praise the bounteous Pan, 
And thank the gods amiss. I should bo loth 
To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence 
Of such late wassailers ; yet (.) ! where else, 
Shall 1 inl'orm my unacquainted feet, 
In the blind mazes of this tangled wood 1 
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out 
With this long way, resolving liere to lodge, 
Under the spreading favour of these pines, 
Stei)t, as tliey said, to the next thicket side, 
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit 
As the kind hospitable woods provide. 
Tlicy leil me then, when the gray-hooded Even, 
Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, 
Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain: 
But where they are, and why they came not back. 
Is now the labour of my tiioughts; 'tis hkelicst 
They had engaged their wandering steps too far; 
And envious Darkness, ere they could return, 
Had stole them from mc: else, thievish Night, 
Why should'st thou, but for some felonious end. 
In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars, , 
That Natua^ hung in heaven, and.tilled their lamps 
With everlasting oil, to give due light 
To the misled and lonely traveller? 
This is the place, as well as 1 may guess. 
Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth 
Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear; 
Yet nought but single darkness do 1 lind. 
What might this be! A thousand fantasies 
Begin to tlirong into my memory, 
Of calling shtipes, ami beckoning shadows dire, 
And airy tongues, that syllable men's names 



On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. 
These thoughts may startle well, but not astound, 
The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 
By a strong siding champion, (Conscience. 

welcome, pure ey'd Faitli, white handed Hope, 
Thou hovering angel, girt with golden wings 
And thou, unblcniish'd form of Chastity! 

1 see ye visibly, and now believe 

That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things 

ill 
Are but as slavish officers of vengeance. 
Would send a glistening guardian, if need were, 
To keep my life and honour unassail'd. 
Was 1 tlcceiv'd, or did a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night 1 
1 ilid not err: there does a sable cloud 
Turn forth her silver lining on the night. 
And casts a gleam over this tulled grove. 
I can not halloo to my brothers, but 
Such noise as [ can make, to be heard farthest, 
I'll venture; for my new-enlivened spirits 
Prompt mo ; ami they, perhaps, are not far oH'. 

SONG. 

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st, unseen, 
Within thy airy shell, 
By slow Meander's margent green. 
And in the violet -embroider'd vale, 

Where the love-lorn nightingale 
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well; 
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair. 
That likest thy Narcissus arel 
O, if thou have 
Hid them in some flowery cave. 
Tell me but where, 
Sweet queen of parley, daughter of tlio sphere! 
So may'st thou bo translated to the skies, 
And give resounding grace to oil Heaven's bar 
monies. 

Enter CoMirs. 

Comns. Can any mortal mixture of earth's 
mould 
Breathe such divine, enchanting ravishmenf? 
Sure something holy lodges in that breast. 
And with these raptures moves the vocal air 
To testily his hidden residence. 
How sweetly did they float upon the wings 
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night. 
At every fall smtwthing the raven down 
Of darkness, till it smiled ! I have oft heard 
My mother Circe, with the Syrens three, 
Amidst the llowery-kirtled Naiades, 
Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs; 
Who, as they sung, would fake the prisoned soul, 
And lap it in Klysium : Scylla wept. 
And chid her barking waves into attention. 
And fell Charybtlis nmrmured soft applause: 
Yet they in pleasing slumber lull'd the sense, 



COMUS. 



I31f 



And in Rwcet niadnrss robbod it of itself: 

Rut such a sacrod and hoinr-fclt <li'iicflit, 

Such sober certainty of wnltiiiir bliss, 

1 never iieard till now. I'll speak to her, 

Atid she shall be n»y queen. Hail, foreign wonder! 

Whom certain these rough shades did n(!ver breed, 

iJnlcss tile goddess that, in rural shrine, 

Dwell'st here with I'an, or 8ylvan, by bless'd song 

Forliidding every bleak, unkindly fog 

To touch the pros|)erous growth of this tall wood. 

Lad. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise, 
That is addressed to unattending cars: 
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift 
How to regain my sever'd company, 
Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo, 
To give me answer from her mossy couch. 

Covi. What chance, good lady, hath licreft you 
thus"? 

Lad. Dim darkness and this leafy labyrinth. 

Com. Could that divide you from near ushering 
guides? 

Lad They left mc weary on a grassy turf. 

Com. By falsehood, or di.soourtesy, or wliyl 

Lad. To seek i' the valley some cool friendly 
spring. 

Com. And left your fair side all unguarded, 
Ladyl 

Lad. They were but twain, and purpos'd quick 
return. 

Com.. Perhaps forestalling night |)revcnted them. 

Lad. How easy my misfortune \a to hit! 

Com. Imports thinr loss, beside the present need? 

Lad. No less than if I should my brothers lose. 

Com. Were they of mardy prime, or youthful 
bloom? 

Lad. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazor'd lips. 

Com. Two such I saw, what time the labour'd ox 
In his loose traces fronj the furrow came, 
And the swinked hcdger at his supjjcr sat. 
I saw them under a green mantling vine, 
That crawls along the side of yon small hill, 
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots. 
Their \mxi was more than human, as they stood: 
I t(«»k it for a fairy vision 
Of some gay creatures of the clement, 
That in the colours of the rainbow live, 
And play i' the plighted clouds. I was awe-struck, 
And, as I pass'd, 1 worshipp'd: if those; you seek, 
It were a journey like the path to Heaven, 
To help you find them. 

Lad. Gentle villager, 
What readiest way would bring mc to that place? 

Com. Due west it rises from this shrubby point. 

Lad. To find out that, good shepherd, I suppose, 
In such a scant allowance of star-light, 
Would overtask the best land-pilot's art, 
Without the sure guess of well-[)ractised feet. 

Com. I know caidi lane, and every alley green, 
Dingle, or bushy dell of tliis wild wood. 



And every bosky bourn from side to side, 
]VIy flaily walks and ancient neighbourhood; 
And if your stray attcmdance In; yet lodged. 
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know 
Kre morrow wake, or the low-rooste<l lark 
From her thatched pallet rouse; if otherwise, 
I can conduct you. Lady, to a low 
But loyal cottage, where you may be safe 
Till further quest. 

Lad. Shepherd I take thy word. 
And trust thy honest ofttired courtesy. 
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds 
With smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls 
In courts of princes, wliere it first was named, 
And yet is most ])retcnded : in a place 
Less warranted than this, or less secure, 
I can not be, that I should fear to change it, — 
Eye me, blessed Providence, and square my trial 
To my proportioned strength. — Shepherd, lead on. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter the Two Broth bus. 

El. lir. Unmuftlo, ye faint stars; and thou, fair 
moon, 
That wont'st to love the travi^ller's benison, 
Stocp thy pale visage through an amber cloud. 
And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here 
In double night of darkness and of shades; 
Or, if your influence be quite dammed up 
With black usurping mists, some gentler taper, 
Through a rush-candle from the wicker hole 
Of some clay habitation, visit us 
With thy long-levelled rule of streaming light. 
And tliou shalt be our star of Arcady, 
Or Tyrian Cynosure. 

Sec. Br. Or, if our eyes 
Be barred that hai)[)iness, might we but hear 
The folded flocks |)eiuic(l in their wattled cotes, 
Or soimd of pastoral reed with oaten stops, 
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock 
Count the nigiit watches to his feathery damca, 
'Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering, 
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs. 
But, O that haiilesH virgin, or lost Sister ! 
Where may she wander now, whither betake hor 
From the chill dew, among rude burs and thistlca^ 
Perhaps some cold bank is Ix^r bolster now, 
Or 'gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm 
Leans her unpillow'd head, fraught with sad fears. 
What, if in wild amazement and afl'right? 
Or, while we speak, within tin; direful grasp 
Of savage liunger, or of savage heat? 

El. Br. Peace, Brother; be not over exquisite 
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils: 
For grant they be so, while they rest unknown, 
What need a man forestall his date of grief, 
And run to meet what he would most avoidl ^ 

Or if they be but false alarms of fear, 
How bitter is such self-delusion ! 



138 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



I do not think my Sister so to seek. 
Or so unprincipled in Virtue's book, 
And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever, 
As that the single want of light and noise 
(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) 
Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts, 
And put them into misbecoming plight. 
Virtue could see to do what Virtue would 
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon 
Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self 
Oil seeks to sweet retired solitude ; 
Where, with her best nurse Contemplation, 
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings. 
That in the various bustle of resort 
Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired. 
He, that has light within his own clear breast, 
May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day : 
But he, that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts. 
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun ; 
Himself is his own dungeon. 

Sec. Br. 'Tis most true, 
That musing Meditation most affects 
The pensive secrecy of desert cell. 
Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds. 
And sits as safe as in the senate-house ; 
For who would rob a hermit of his weeds. 
His few books, or his beads, or maple dish, 
Or do his gray hairs any violence 1 
But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree 
Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard 
Of dragon-watch with unenchanted eye. 
To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit. 
From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. 
You may as well spread out the unsunn'd heaps 
Of misers' treasure by an outlaw's den, 
And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope 
Danger will wink on Opportunity, 
And let a single helpless maiden pass 
Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste. 
Of night, or loneliness, it recks me not ; 
I fear the dread events that dog them both, 
Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person 
Of our unowned Sister. 

EL Br. I do not. Brother, 
Infer, as if I thought my Sister's state 
Secure, without all doubt or controversy ; 
Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear 
Does arbitrate th' event, my nature is 
That I incline to hope, rather than fear, 
And gladly banish squint suspicion. 
My sister is not so defenceless left 
As you imagine ; she has a hidden strength 
Which you remember not. 

Sec. Br. What hidden strength, 
Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that"? 
[ El. Br. I mean that too, but yet a hidden 

strength, 
Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own : 
Tis Chastity, my Brother, Chastity j 



She, that has that, is clad in complete steel ; 

And, like a quivered Nymph with arrows keen, 

May trace huge forests, and unharboured heaths, 

Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds; 

Where, through the sacred rays of Chastity, 

No savage fierce, bandit, or mountaineer, 

Will dare to soil her virgin purity ; 

Yea there, where very Desolation dwells, 

By grots, and caverns shagged with horrid shades, 

She may pass on with unblenched majesty ; 

Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. 

Some say, no evil thing that walks by night 

In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen. 

Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid gho.=it 

That breaks his magic chains at curfew tune, 

No goblin, or swart fairy of the mine, 

Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity. 

Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call 

Antiquity from the old schools of Greece 

To testify the arms of Chastity "? 

Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow, 

Fair silver-shafted queen, for ever chaste. 

Wherewith she tam'd the brinded lioness 

And spotted mountain-pard, but set at nought 

The frivolous bolt of Cupid : gods and men 

Fear'd her stern frown, and she was queen o' the 

woods. 
What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield. 
That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin, 
Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed stone, 
But rigid looks of chaste austerity, 
And noble grace, that dashed brute violence 
With sudden adoration and blank awe 1 
So dear to Heaven is saintly Chastity, 
That, when a soul is found sincerely so, 
A thousand liveried Angels lackey her. 
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt ; 
And, in clear dream and solemn vision. 
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear; 
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants 
Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape. 
The unpolluted temple of the mind, 
And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence. 
Till all be made immortal : but when Lust, 
By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, 
But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, 
Lets in defilement to the inward parts. 
The soul grows clotted by contagion, 
Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose 
The divine property of her first being. 
Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp, 
Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres 
Lingering, and sitting by a new-made grave. 
As loath to leave the body that it lov'd, 
And link'd itself by carnal sensuality 
To a degenerate and degraded state. 

Sec. Br. How charming is divine Philosophy ! 
Not harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 
But musical as is Apollo's lute ; 



COMUS. 



130 



And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets, 
Where no crude surfeit reigns. 

El. Br. List, list ; I hear 
Some far-oH" halloo break the silent air. 

Sec. B. Methought so too; what should it be? 

El. B. For certain 
Either some one like us night-founder'd here, 
Or else some neighbour woodman, or, at worst, 
Some roving robber calling to his fullows. 

Sec. B. Heaven keep my Sister! Again, again, 
and near ! 
Best draw, and stand upon our guard. 

El. B. I'll halloo: 
If he be friendly, he comes well; if not, 
Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us ! 

Enter the Attendant Spirit, habited like a 
shepherd. 

That halloo I should know; what are youl speak; 
Come not too near, you fall on iron stakes else. 

Spir. What voice is that "? my young Lord ; 
speak again. 

Sec. B. O Brother, 'tis my father's shepherd, 
sure. 

El. B. Thyrsis'? Whose artful strains have oft 
delay'd 
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal. 
And sweeten'd every muskrose of the dale"? 
How cam'st thou here, good swain? hath any ram 
Slipt from the fold, or young kid lost his dam, 
Or stragghng wether the pent flock forsook 1 
How could 'st thou find this dark sequester'd nookl 

Spir. O my lov'd master's heir, and his next joy, 
I came not here on such a trivial toy 
As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth 
Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth. 
That doth enrich these downs, is worth a thought 
To this my errand, and the care it brought. 
But, O my virgin Lady, where is shel 
How chance she is not in your company 1 

El. B. To tell thee sadly, Shepherd, without 
blame. 
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came. 

Spir. Ay me unhappy ! then my fears are true. 

El. B. What fears, good Thyrsis 1 Pr'ythee 
briefly shew. 

Spir. I'll tell ye; 'tis not vain or fabulous, 
(Though so esteem'd by shallow ignorance) 
What the sage poets, taught th' heavenly Muse, 
Storied of old in high immortal verse. 
Of dire chimeras, and enchanted isles. 
And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell; 
For such there be, but unbelief is blind. 

Within the navel of this hideous wood, 
Immur'd in cypress shades a sorcerer dwells, 
,Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus, 
Deepskill'd in all his mother's witcheries; 
And here to every thirsty wanderer 
By sly enticement gives his baneful cup, 



With many murmurs mix'd, whose pleasing poison 
The visage quite transforms of him that drinks, 
And the inglorious likeness of a beast 
Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage 
Character'd in the face : this have I learnt 
Tending my flocks hard by i' the hilly crofts, 
That brow this bottom-glade; whence night by 

night 
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl. 
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey, 
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate 
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers. 
Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells, 
To inveigle and invite the unwary sense 
Of them that pass unweeting by the way. 
This evening late, by them the chewing flocks 
Had ta'en their supper on the savoury herb 
Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold. 
I sat me down to watch upon a bank 
With ivy canopied, and interwove 
With flaunting honeysuckle, and began, 
Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy, 
To meditate my rural minstrelsy 
Till Fancy had her fill ; but, ere a close, 
The wonted roar was up amidst the woods. 
And filled the air with barbarous dissonance; 
At which I ceased, and listened them a while, 
Till an unusual stop of sudden silence 
Gave respite to the drowsy frighted steeds, 
That draw the litter of close-curtain'd Sleep : 
At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound 
Rose like a steam of rich distill'd perfumes. 
And stole upon the air, that even Silence 
Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might 
Deny her nature, and be never more. 
Still to be so displaced. 1 was all ear, 
And took in strains that might create a soul 
Under the ribs of Death ! but O ! ere long. 
Too well I did perceive it was the voice 
Of my most honoured Lady, your dear Sister. 
Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and fear, 
And, O poor hapless nightingale, thought I, 
How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly 

snare ! 
Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste, 
Through paths and turnings often trod by day. 
Till, guided by mine ear, I found the place. 
Where that damned wizard, hid in sly disguise, 
(For so by certain signs I knew) had met 
Already, ere my best speed could prevent. 
The aidless innocent Lady, his wished prey; 
Who gently asked if he had seen such two, 
Supposing him some neighbour villager. 
Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guessed 
Ye were the two she meant ; with that I sprung 
Into swift flight, till I had found you here; 
But further know I not. 

Sec. Br. night, and shades! 
How are ye joined with Hell in triple knot 



140 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Against the unanncil weakness of one virgin, 
Alone, and iiaplcss! Is tiiis the confidence 
You gave nie, Brother 1 

El. Br. Yes, and keep it still ; 
Lean on it safely; not a period 
Shall be unsaid for me : against the threats 
Of malice, or of sorcery, or that power 
Which erring men call Chance, this 1 hold firm, — 
Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt, 
Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled; 
Yea, even that, which mischief meant most harm, 
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory: 
But evil on itself shall back recoil, 
And mix no more with goodness; what at last 
Gathered like scum, and settled to itself, 
It shall be in eternal restless change 
Self-fed, and self-consumed: if this fail, 
The pillared firmament is rottenness, 
And earth's base built on stubble. — But come, let's 

on. 
Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven 
May never this just sword be lifted up; 
But for that damned magician, let him be girt 
With all the grisly legions that troop 
Under the sooty flag of Acheron, 
Har[)ies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms 
'Twixt Africa and Ind, I'll find him out, 
And force him to return his purchase back, 
Or drag him by the curls to a foul death, 
Curs'd as his life. 

Spir. Alas! good venturous Youth, 
I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise; 
But here thy sword can do thee little stead; 
Far other arms and other weapons must 
Be those, that quell the might of hellish charms: 
He, with his bare wand, can unthread thy joints, 
And crumble all thy sinews. 

El. Br. Why pr'ythee. Shepherd, 
How durst thou then thyself approach so near, 
As to make this relation 1 

Spir. Care, and utmost shifts. 
How to secure the lady from surprisal. 
Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad, 
Of small regard to see to, yot well skill'd 
In every virtuous plant, and healing herb, 
That spreads her verdant leaf to the morning ray : 
He loved me well, and oft would beg me sing; 
Which when I did, he on the tender grass 
Would sit, and hearken even to ecstacy. 
And in requital ope his leathern scrij), 
And show mo simples of a thousand names, 
Telling their strange and vigorous faculties: 
Amongst the rest a small unsightly root. 
But of divine eftect, he culled me out; 
The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it. 
But in another country, as he said, 
Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil : 
Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull swain 
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon: 



And yet more medicinal is it than that Moly, 

That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave ; 

He called it Hsemony, and gave it me. 

And bade me keep it as of sovereign use 

'Gainst all enchantments, mildew blast, or damp, 

Or ghastly furies' apparition. 

I pursed it up, but little reckoning made. 

Till now that this extremity compelled : 

But now 1 find it true; for by this means 

I knew the foul enchanter though disguised. 

Entered the very lime-twigs of his spells. 

And yet came off: if you have this about you, 

(As I will give you when we go) you may 

Boldly assault the necromancer's hall ; 

Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood 

And brandished blade rush on him; break his 

glass. 
And shed the luscious liquor on the ground. 
But seize his wand ; though he and his cursed crew 
Fierce sign of battle make, and menace high, 
Or like the sons of Vulcan vomit smoke. 
Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink. 

El. Br. Thyrsis, lead on apace, I'll follow thee; 
And some good Angel bear a shield before us. 

The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all manner 
of (Jehciousness: soft music, tables spread with all dainties. 
Coimis appears with his rabble, and the Lady set in an en- 
chanted chair, to whom he oflers liis glass, which she piila 
by, and goes about to rise. 

COMUS. 

Nay, Lady, sit ; if I but wave this wand. 
Your nerves are all chained up in alabaster, 
And you a statue, or as Daphne was, 
Root-bound, that fled Apollo. 

Lady. Fool, do not boast; 
Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind 
With all thy charms, although this corporal rind 
Thou hast immanaded, while Heaven sees good. 

Com. Why are you vexed, Lady 1 Why do you 
frown "? 
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger; from these gates 
Sorrow flies far: see, here be all the pleasures, 
Th:\t fancy can beget on youthful thoughts 
When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns 
Brisk as the April buds in primrose-season. 
And first, behold this cordial julep here, 
That flames and dances in his crystal bounds, 
With spirits of balm and fragrant sirops mix'd: 
Not that Nepenthes, which the wife of Thono 
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena, 
Is of such power to stir up joy as this, 
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst. 
Why should you be so cruel to yourself. 
And to those dainty limbs, which Nature lent 
For gentle usage and soft delicacy ? 
But you invert the covenants of her trust, 
And harshly deal, like an ill borrower. 
With that which you received on other terms: 



COMUS. 



141 



Scorning the unexcmpt condition, 
By wiiich all mortal frailty must subsist, 
Refreshment alter toil, case after pain. 
That have been tired all day without repast, 
And timely rest have wanted; but, lair Virgin, 
This will restore all soon. 

Lady. 'Twill not, false traitor! 
'Twill not restore the truth and honesty. 
That thou hast banished from thy tongue with lies. 
Was this the cottage, and the safe abode. 
Thou told'st mo of! What grim aspects are these, 
These ugly-headed monsters'? Mercy guard mo! 
Hence with thy brewed enchantments, foul de- 
ceiver! 
Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence 
With visored falsehood and base forgery 1 
And would'st thou seek again to traj) me hero 
With lickerish baits, fit to ensnare a brute? 
Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets, 
I would not taste thy treasonous offer; none 
But such as are good men can give good things; 
And that, which is not good, is not delicious 
To a well-governed and wise appetite. 

Com. O foolishness of men! that lend their ears 
To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur. 
And fitch their precepts from the Cynic tub. 
Praising the lean and sallow abstinence. 
Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth 
With such a full and unwithdrawing hand. 
Covering the earth with odours, fruits, and flocks. 
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, 
But all to please and sate the curious taste? 
And set to work millions of spinning worms. 
That in their green shops weave tiie smooth-haired 

silk. 
To deck her sons; and, that no corner might 
Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins 
She hutch'd the all-worshipped ore, and precious 

gems. 
To store her children with: if all the world 
Should in a pet of temperance feed on pulse, 
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but 

frieze, 
The All-giver would be unthanked, would be un- 

praised, 
Not half his wishes known, and yet despised; 
And we should serve him as a grudging master, 
Asa penurious niggard of his wealth; 
And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons, 
Who would be quite surcharged with her own 

weight, 
And strangled with her waste fertility; 
The earth cumbered, and the winged air darked 

with piuiiics, 
The herds would over-multitude their lords, 
The 8(!a o'erfraught would swell, and the un- 
sought diamonds 
Would so imbluze tlie forehead of the deep, 
And so bcstud with stars, that they below 

r2 



Would grow inured to light, and come at last 
To gaze U|)on tiie sun with shameless brows. 
List, Lady ; be not poy, and be not cozened 
With that same vaunted name, virginity. 
Beauty is Nature's coin, must not he hoarded, 
But must be current; and the good thereof 
Consists in nmtual and partaken bliss. 
Unsavoury in the enjoyment of itself: 
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose 
It withers on the stalk with languished head. 
Beauty is Nature's brag, and must be shown 
In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities. 
Where most may wonder at the workmanship; 
It is lor homely features to keep home, 
They had their name thence; coarse complexions, 
And cheeks of sorry grain, will serve to ply 
The sampler and to tease the housewife's wool. 
What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that. 
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn? 
There was another meaning in these gilts; 
Think what, and be advised; you are but young 

yet. 
Lady I had not thought to have unlocked my 

lips 
In this unhallowed air, but tliat this juggler 
Would think to charm my judgment, as my eyes, 
Obtruding false rules pranked in reason's garb. 
I hate when Vice can bolt her arguments. 
And Virtue has no tongue to check her pride.— ) 
Impostor! do not charge most innocent Nature, 
As if she would her children should be riotous 
With her abundance; she, good cateress, 
Means lier provision only to the good, J 

That live according to her sober laws, t 

And holy dictate of spare Temperance: 
If every just man, that now pines with want. 
Had but a moderate and beseeming share 
Of that which lewdly-pampered Luxury 
Now heaps ujion some few with vast excess. 
Nature's full blessings would be well dispensed 
In unsuperlluous even pro[)ortion, 
And she no whit encumbered with her store 
And then the giver would be better thanked, 
His praise due paid ; for swinish Gluttony 
Ne'er looks to neavcii amidst his gorgeous feast. 
But with l)e8otted base ingratitude 
Crams, and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall I go otl^ 
Or have I said enough'! To him that dares 
Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words 
Against the sun-clad power of Chastity, 
Fain would I sorncthing say, yet to what endl 
Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehend 
The suitlime notion and high mystery. 
That must be uttered to untold the sage, 
And siM-ious doctrine of virginity; 
And thou art worthy thattliou should'st not know, 
More hajjpiness than this thy present lot. 
Enjoy your dear wit and gay rhetoric, 
That hath so well been taught her dazzling fencej 



142 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced ; 

Yet, should I try, the uncontrolled worth 

Of tliis pure cause, would kindle my rapt spirits 

To such a flame of sacred vehemence, 

That dumb things would be moved to sympathize, 

And the brute Earth would lend her nerves and 

shake, 
Till all thy magic structures, reared so high, 
Were shattered into heaps o'er thy false head. 

Com. She fables not: I feel that I do fear 
Her words set olfby some superior power; 
And though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering dew 
Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove 
Speaks thunder, and the chains of Erebus, 
To some of Saturn's crew. I must dissemble, 
And try her yet more strongly. — Come, no more ; 
This is mere moral babble, and direct 
Against the canon laws of our foundation ; 
I must not suffipr this; yet 'tis but the lees 
And settlings of a melancholy blood: 
But this will cure all straight; one sip of this 
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight. 
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste. — 

The Brothers rush in with swords drawn, wrest his glass out 
of his hand, and break it against the ground ; his rout make 
Bign of resistance, but are all driven in. The Attendant 
Spirit comes in. 

SPIRIT. 
What, have you let the false enchanter 'scape 1 
O ye mistook, ye should have snatched his wand. 
And bound him fast ; without his rod reversed, 
And backward mutters of dissevering power, 
We can not free the Lady that sits here 
In stony fetters fixed and motionless: 
Yet stay, be not disturbed : now I bethink me, 
Some other means I have which may be used, 
Which once of Meliboeusold I learnt. 
The soothcst shepherd that e'er piped on plains. 
There is a gentle nymph not far from hence. 
That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn 

stream, 
Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure; 
Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, 
That had the sceptre from his father Brute. 
She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit 
Of her enraged stepdameGuendolen, 
Commended her fair innocence to the flood, 
That staid her fliglit with his cross-flowing course. 
The water- nytnplis, that in the bottom played, 
Held up their pearled wrists and took her in, 
Bearing her straight to aged Nereus'hall; 
Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head, 
And gave her to his daughters to imbathe 
In nectared lavers, strewed with asphodel ; 
And through the porch and inlet of each sense 
Dro()ped in ambrosial oils, till she revived, 
And underwent a quick immortal change. 
Made goddess of the river: still she retains 
Her maiden gentleness, and oil at eve 



Visits the herds along the twilight meadows, 

Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs 

That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make, 

Which she with precious vialed liquors heals; 

For which the shepherds at their festivals 

Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, 

And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream 

Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daflJbdils. 

And, as the old swain said, she can unlock 

The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell. 

If she be right invoked in warbled song; 

For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift 

To aid a virgin, such as was herself, 

In hard-besetting need; this will I try. 

And add the power of some adjuring verse. 

SONG. 

Sabrina fair. 

Listen where thou art sitting 
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, 

In twisted braids of lilies knitting 
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; 

Listen for dear honour's sake, 

Goddessof the silver lake, 
Listen, and save. 
Listen, and appear to us. 
In name of great Oceanus; 
By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace, 
And Tetliys' grave majcctic pace, 
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look. 
And the Carpathian wizard's hook, 
By scaly Triton's winding shell, 
And old sooth-saying Glaucus' spell. 
By Leucothea's lovely hands. 
And her son that rules the strands. 
By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet, 
And the songs of Siren's sweet, 
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb. 
And fair Ligea's golden comb. 
Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks, 
Sleeking her soft alluring locks; 
By all the Nymphs that nightly dance 
Upon tliy streams with wdy glance, 
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head, 
From thy coral- paven bed. 
And bridle in thy headlong wave, 
Till thou our summons answered have. 

Listen, and save. 

Sabrina rises, attended by Water-Nymphs, and singa 

By the rushy-fringed bank. 

Where grows the willow and the osier dank, 

My sliding chariot stays. 
Thick set with agate, and the azure sheen 
Of turkis blue, and emerald green, 

That in the channel strays; 
Whilst from off the waters fleet 
Thus I set my printless feet 
O'er the cowslip's velvet head, 

That bends not as I tread; 



COMUS. 



143 



Gentle Swain, at thy request, 

I am here. 

Sp. Goddess dear, 
We implore thy powerful hand 
To undo the charmed band 
Of true virgin here distressed. 
Through the force and through the wile, 
Of unblessed enchanter vile. 

Sabr. Shepherd, 'tis my office best 
To help ensnared chastity: 
Brightest Lady, look on me ; 
Thus I sprinkle on thy breast 
Drops, that from my fountain pure 
I have kept, of precious cure; 
Thrice upon thy finger's tip, 
Thrice upon thy rubied lip: 
Next this marble venomed seat, 
Smeared with gums of glutinous heat, 
I touch with cha.ste palms moist and cold: — 
Now the spell hath lost his hold, 
And I must haste, ere morning hour, 
To wait in Amphitrite's bower. 

Sabnr.a descends, and the Lady rises out of her seat. 

Sp. Virgin, daughter of Locrine 
Sprung of old Anchises' line, 
May thy brimmed waves for thia 
Their full tribute never miss 
From a thousand petty rills, 
That tumble down the snowy hills: 
Summer drouth, or singed air, 
Never scorch thy tresses fair. 
Nor wet October's torrent flood 
Thy molten crystal fill with mud ; 
IVIay tliy billows roll ashore 
The beryl and the golden ore; 
May t!iy lofty head be crowned 
With many a tower and terrace round, 
And here and there thy banks upon 
With groves of myrrh and cinnamon. 

Come, Lady, while Heaven lends us grace, 
Let us fly this cursed place, 
Lest the sorcerer us entice 
With some other new device. 
Not a waste or needless sound, 
Till we come to holier ground; 
1 shall b" your faithful guide 
Through chis gloomy covert wide, 
And not many furlongs thence 
Is your Father's residence, 
Where t'lis night are met in state 
Many a friend to gratulate 
His wis 11(1 presence; and beside 
All the swains, that there abide, 
With jijs and rural dance resort; 
We s . '.'; Catch them at their sport, 
And < :;■ sudden corning there 
Will tl Hide all their mirth and cheer: 



Come, let us haste, the stars grow high. 
But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky. 

The scene changes, presenting Ludlow town and the Presi- 
dent's castle ; then come in Country Dancers, after them 
tlie Attendant Spirit, with the two Brotliers, and the Lady. 

SONG. 
Sp. Back, Shepherds, back; enough you play, 
Till next sun-shine holiday: 
Here be, without duck or nod, 
Other trippings to be trod 
Of lighter toes, and such court guise 
As Mercury did first devise, 
With the mincing dryades. 
On the lawns, and on the leas. 

This second Song presents them to their Father and Mother. 

Noble Lord, and Lady bright, 

I have brought ye new delight ; 

Here behold so goodly grown 

Three fair branches of your own ; 

Heaven hath timely tried their youth. 

Their faith, their patience, and their truth, 

And sent them here through hard assays 

With a crown of deathless praise. 

To triumph in victorious dance 

O'er sensual Folly and Intemperance. 

The Dances ended, the Spirit epiloguises. 

Sp. To the ocean now I fly, 
And those happy climes that lie 
Where day never shuts his eye. 
Up in the broad fields of the sky : 
There I suck the liquid air 
All amidst the gardens fair 
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three 
That sing about the golden tree : 
Along the crisped shades and bowers 
Revels the spruce and jocund Spring; 
The Graces, and the rosy-bosom'd Hours, 
Thither all their bounties bring; 
There eternal Summer dwells. 
And West- Winds, with musky wing, 
About the cedared alleys fling 
Nard and Cassia's balmy smells. 
Iris there with humid bow 
Waters the odorous banks, that blow 
Flowers of more mingled hue 
Than the purfled scarf can shew; 
And drenches with Elysian dew 
(List, mortals, if your ears be true) 
Beds of hyacinth and roses. 
Where young Adonis oft reposes, 
Waxing well of his deep wound 
In slumber soft, and on the ground 
Sadly sits th' Assyrian queen: 
But far above in spangled sheen 
Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced, 
Holds his dear Psyche sweet entranced, 



144 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



After her wandering labours long, 
Till free consent the gods among 
Make her his eternal bride, 
And from her fair unspotted side 
Two blissful twins are to be born, 
Youth and Joy ; so Jove hath sworn. 
But now my task is smoothly done, 
I can fly, or I can run, 
Cluickly to the green earth's end. 



Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend ; 
And from thence can soar as soon 
To the corners of the moon. 

Mortals, that would follow me, 
Love Virtue ; she alone is free : 
She can teach ye how to climb 
Higher than the sphery chime ; 
Or if Virtue feeble were, 
Heaven itself would stoop to her. 



COMPOSED AT SEVERAL TIMES. 



Baccare frontem 

Gingite, ne vati noceat mala lingua future.— Virgil, Eclog. 7. 



ANNO BTATIS 17. 

ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT 

DYING OF A COUGH. 
O FAIREST flower, no sooner blown but blasted. 
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly. 
Summer's chief honour, if thou had'st outlasted 
Bleak Winter's force that made thy blossom dry ; 
For he, being amorous on that lovely dye 

'That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss. 
But killed, alas ! and then bewailed his fatal bliss. 

For since grim Aquilo, his charioteer, 
By boisterous rape the Athenian damsel got, 
He thought it touched his deity full near. 
If Ukewise he some fair one wedded not, 
Thereby to wipe away the infamous blot 

Of long uncoupled bed, and childless eld. 
Which 'mongst the wanton gods, a foul reproach 
was held. 

So, mounting up in icy-pearled car, 
Through middle empire of the freezing air 
He wandered long, till thee he spied from far ; 
There ended was his quest, there ceased his care : 
Down he descended from his snow-soft chair, 

But, all unwares, with his cold kind embrace. 
Unhoused thy virgin soul from herfairbidingplace. 

Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate ; 
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand. 
Whilom did slay his dearly loved mate. 
Young Hyacinth, born on Eurotas' strand : 
Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land ; 

But then transformed him to a purple flower : 
Alack, that so to change thee Winter had no power ! 

Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead, 
Or that thy corse corrupts in earth's dark womb. 
Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed, 
Hid from the world in a low delved tomb ; 



Could Heaven for pity thee so strictly doom 1 
Oh no ! for something in thy face did shine 
Above mortality, that showed thou wast divine. 

Resolve me then, O soul most surely blest, 
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear ;) 
Tell me, bright Spirit, where'er thou hoverest, 
Whether above that high first-moving sphere, 
Or in the Elysian fields, (if such there were ;) 

O say me true, if thou wert mortal wight, 
And why from us so quickly thou did'st take thy 
flight 1 

Wert thou some star which from the ruined roof 
Of shaked Olympus by mischance did'st fall ; . 
Which careful Jove in nature's true behoof 
Took up, and in fit place did reinstall 1 
Or did of late earth's sons besiege the wall 

Of sheeny Heaven, and thou some goddess fled 
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectared head 1 

Or wert thou that just Maid, who once before 

Forsook the hated earth, O tell me sooth. 

And camest again to visit us once more 1 

Or wert thou that sweet smiling youth 1 

Or that crowned matron sage, white- robed Truth t 

Or any other of that heavenly brood 
Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some 
goodl 

Or wert thou of the golden-winged host, 
Who, having clad thyself in human weed. 
To earth from thy prefixed seat did'st post. 
And after short abode fly back with speed, 
As if to show what creatures Heaven doth breed ; 

Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire, 
To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heaven aspire 1 

But oh ! why did'st thou not stay here below 
To bless us with thy heavenly- loved innocence, 
To slake his wrath, whom sin hath made our foe, 
To turn swift-rushing black perdition hence, 
Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence, 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



145 



To stand 'twixt us and our drserved smart 1 
But thou can'st best perform that office where thou 
art. 

Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child, 
Her false-irnagined loss cease to lament, 
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild ; 
Think what a present thou to God hast sent, 
And render him with patience what he lent ; 
This if thou do, he will an offspring give. 
That, till the world's last end, shall make thy name 
to live. 



ANNO ^TATIS 19. 

At a Vacation Exercise in the college, part Latin, part Eng- 
lish. The Latin speeches ended, the English thus began. 

Hail, native Language, that by sinews weak. 
Did'st move my first endeavouring tongue to speak. 
And madest imperfect words with childish trips 
Half unpronounced, slide through my infant lips. 
Driving dumb Silence from the portal door. 
Where he had mutely sat two years before ! 
Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask. 
That now I use thee in my latter task : 
Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee, 
I know my tongue but little grace can do thee : 
Thou needest not be ambitious to be first, 
Believe me I have thither packed the worst : 
And, if it happens as I did forecast. 
The daintiest dishes shall be served up last, 
1 pray thee then deny me not thy aid. 
For this same small neglect that I have made : 
But haste thee straight to do me once a pleasure. 
And from thy wardrobe bring the chiefest treasure. 
Not those new fangled toys, and trimming slight 
Which takes our late fantastics with delight ; 
But cull those richest robes, and gayest attire, 
Which deepest spirits, and choicest wits desire. 
I have some naked thoughts that rove about, 
And loudly knock to have their passage out ; 
And, weary of their place do only stay 
Till thou hast decked them in thy best array; 
That so they may, without suspect or fears, 
Fly swiftly to this fair assembly's ears; 
Yet I had rather, if I were to choose, 
Thy service in some graver subject use. 
Such as may make thee search thy coffers round. 
Before thou clothe my fancy in fit sound : 
Such where the deep transported mind may soar 
Above the wheeling poles, and at Heaven's door 
Look in, and see each blissful deity 
How he before the thunderous throne doth lie, 
Listening to what unshorn Apollo sings 
To the touch of golden wires, wliile Hebe brings 
Immortal nectar to her kingly sire: 
Then passing through the spheres of watchful fire 
And misty regions of wide air next under, 
And hills of snow, and lofts of piled thunder, 
12 



May tell at length how green eyed Neptune raves, 
In Heaven's defiance mustering all his waves; 
Then sing of secret things that came to pass 
When beldam Nature in her cradle was; 
And last of kings, and queens, and heroes old, 
Such as the wise Demodocus once told 
In solemn songs at king Alcinous' feast. 
While sad Ulysses' soul, and all the rest, 
Are held with his melodious harmony 
In willing chains and sweet captivity. 
But fie, my wandering muse, how thou dost strayl 
Expectance calls thee now another way; 
Thou knowest it must be now thy only bent 
To keep in compass of thy predicament: 
Then quick about thy proposed business come, 
That to the next 1 may resign my room. 

Then Ens is represented as father of the predicaments his two 
sons, whereof ihe eldest stood for substance willi his canons, 
which Ens, thus spealiing, explains. 

Good luck befriend thee, son; for at thy birth, 
The fairy ladies danced upon the hearth ; 
Thy drowsy nurse hath swoni she did them spy 
Come tripping to the room where thou didst lie. 
And sweetly singing round about thy bed, 
Strew all their blessings on thy sleeping head. 
She heard them give thee this, that thou shouldst 

still 
From eyes of mortals walk invisible: 
Yet there is something that doth force my fear ; j 
For once it was my dismal hap to hear 
A sybil old, bow-bent with crooked age. 
That far events full wisely could presage. 
And in lime's long and dark prospective glass 
Foresaw what future days should bring to pass; 
" Your son," said she, (" nor can you it prevent,) 
Shall subject be to many an accident. 
O'er all his brethren he shall reign as king, 
Yet every one shall make him underling; 
And those that can not live from him asunder, 
Ungratefully shall strive to keep liim under; 
In worth and excellence he shall outgo them. 
Yet, being above them, he shall be below them; 
From others he shall stand in need of nothing, 
Yet on his brother shall depend for clothing. 
To find a foe it shall not be his hap; 
And peace shall lull him in lier flowery lap; 
Yet shall he live in strife, and at his door 
Devouring war shall never cease to roar; 
Yea, it shall be his natural property 
To harbour those that are at enmity. 
What power, what force, what mighty spell, if not 
Your learned hands, can loose this Gordian knotl" 

The next Quantity and Quality spake in proee, then ReUi' 
lion was called by his name. 

Rivers, arise ; whether thou be the son 
Of utmost Tweed, or Oose, or gulfy Dun, 
Or Trent, who, like some earthborn giant spreads 
His thirty arms along the indented meads ; 



146 



IV1 If. TON'S WORKS. 



Or sullen Molo, that ninnclh uiidiiriu'iith; 
Or Severn HwiH, fjiiiily "I inni'leii's deiitli ; 
Or rorky Avon, or of Hcdfjy liCe, 
Or coaly Tiino, or ancient hiillowod Doo; 
OrlluniliiT loud, tliat keepn the Seytliiiin's name 
Or Medvvay Hinonlh, or royal lowered Thame. 

[Tim rest was proso.] 



ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S 
NATIVITY. 

coMPOaED 1G39. 

This it) the nidiith, mid (liin the hiiiijiy morn, 
Wherein the .Son ol' I leaven's elernid Ivinjf, 
or wedded maid and virij;in naither liorn, 
Our groat redeni|ition I'roni above did bring; 
For HO tlie holy Hat;eK once did Hin^, 

That he onr di'adly llu'leit sliould release, 
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. 

That fj;lorioUB form, that light unKun'erahle, 
And IJLat far-heaminjf blaze of niajesly, 
Wherewith ho wont at heaven's high council- 

tnblo 
To sil the midst of Trinid Unity, 
lie laid aside; and, here willi us to ho, 

Forsook the courts of everlasting day, 
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal 
clay. 

Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 

Allord a present to the Inl'iuit tJod ! 

Ilast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, 

To weh'onu' him to this his new abode, 

Now while the 1 leaven, by the sini's team nntrod, 

Hath took no print of the approaching light, 
And all the spangled host keeji watch in squadrons 
briglit ! 

See, how from far, \\\)o\\ the eastern road 
The star-led wizards, haste with odours sweet; 
O run, prevent them witli thy liund>lo ode, 
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet: 
Have thou the honour first thy LonI to greet. 

And join thy voice unto the angel choir 
From out his secret altar, touched with hallowed 
iire. 

THE HVMN. 

It wa« the winter wild, 
Whil(> the Heaven-born child, 

All meanly wrapt, in the ruilo manger lies; 
Nature, in awe to him, 
Had dolled her gaudy trim, 

With her great Master so to sympathize: 
It was no season (hen for her 
To wanton with the sun, her lusty juxramour. 



Only with 8])ecchc8 fair 
She woos the gentle air 

To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; 
And on her naked shame, 
Pojinle with sinl\d blame, 

The saintly viil of maiden white to throw; 
( ^Mifounded, that her Maker's eyes 
Should look so near upon her foid derormiliea. 

Rut ho, her fears to cease. 

Sent down tiw mock eyed Peace; 

She, crowned with olive green, came softly 
sliding 
Down through tlie turning sphere. 
His ready harbinger. 

With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; 
And, waving wide her myrtle wand, 
She strikes an universal peace through sea and 
land. 

Nor war, or battle's sound 
Was heard tin- world around: 

The idle s|)ear and shield were high Up lunig; 
The i\ookod chariot stood. 
Unstained with hostile blood; 

The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; 1 
And kings sat still with awfid eye. 
As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was 

I'y- ■ 

Hut |ieaccful was the night, 
Wherein the Prince of light 

1 lis reign of |ieace ui>on the earth began: 
The winds, with wonder whist, 
Smoiitldy the waters kist, 

Wiiispering new j(\ys to the mild ocean. 
Who now hath (jnile I'orgot to rave. 
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed 
wave. 

The stars, with deep amaze, 
Stand lixed in stoadt'ast gazn 

liending one way their precious influence; 
And will not take their (light, 
b'or all the morning light, 

Or Lucifer that olleu warned them thcnco; 
Hut in their glinnnering orbs did glow, 
Until tln'ir Lord himself bespakc, and bid them go. 

And, though (he shady gloom 
Had given day her room, 

The sun himself withheld his wonted sliced, 
And hid his head for shame, 
As his inferior llame 

The new enlightened world no more should 

need ; 
Ho saw a greater sun apjiear 
Than his bright throne, or burning axlotrco, could 

bear. 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



147 



The shepherds on the lawn, 
Or cVr tlie point of dawn, 

Sat Miiii)ily chattin|r in a rustic rowj 
Full little thought they then, 
That the mighty Pan 

WaK kindly come to live with them hclow; 
Perliaps their loves, or else their HJieep, 
WaH all that did their Hilly thoughts so busy 
keep. 

When such music sweet 
Their hearts and ears did greet, 

As never was by mortal linger strook ; 
Divinely wart)l(!d voice 
Answering the stringed noise, 

As all their souls in blissful rapture took; 
The air, such pleasures loath to lose. 
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heaven- 
ly close. 

Nature that heard such sound, 
Beneath the hollow round 

Of Cynthia's scat, the airy region thrilling. 
Now was almost won 
To tliink her part was done. 

And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; 
Siif knew such harmony alone 
Could hold all Heaven and earth in happier union. 

At last surrounds their sight 

A globe of circular light. 

That with long beams the shamefaced night ar- 
rayed ; 

The helmed cherubim. 

And swordcd seraphim. 

Arc seen in glittering ranks with wings dis- 
played ; 

Harping in loud and solemn choir, 

Willi unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born 
Heir. 

Such music (as 'tis said) 
Before was never made. 

But when of old the sons of morning sung, 
Wiiile the Creator great 
His constellation set. 

And the well balanced world on hinges hung; 
And cast the dark foundations deep. 
And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel 
keep. 

Ring out, ye crystal spheres, 
Once bless our human ears, 

(If ye have power to touch our senses so;) 
And let your silver chime 
Move in melodious time, 

And let the base of Heaven's deep organ blow; 
And, with your ninefold harmony, 
Make up full concert to the angelic symphony. 



For if such holy song 
Inwru)) our fancy long, 

'J'inu! will run back, and fetch the age of gold; 
And speckled vanity 
Will si('k(!n soon and die, 

And lei)rous Sin will melt from earthly mould ; 
And hell itself will pass away, 
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering 
day. 

Yea, Truth and Justice then 
Will down return to men, 

Orbed in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, 
Mercy will sit lietwfitin. 
Throned in celestial sheen; 

With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steer- 

And Heaven, as at some festival, 

Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall 

Hut wisest Fate says no, 
Tliis must not yet be so. 

The babe yet lies in smiling infancy, 
"^I'liat on the bitter cross 
Must r<!d("ein our loss: 

So both himself and us to glorify: 
Yet first to those yclinined in Hl(!ep, 
TIk! wakc^ful trump of doom must thunder through 
the deep ! 

With such a horrid clang 
As on Mount Sinai rang, 

While the red fire and smouldering clouds out- 
brake : 
The aged earth aghast. 
With terror of that blast, 

Shall from the surface to the centre shake; 
When, at the worl<i's last session. 
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread hia 
throne 

And then at last our bliss 
Full and ijerfc-t is. 

But now "oegins ; for from this happy day, 
The old Dragon, under ground 
In straiter limits bound. 

Not half so far casts his usurped sway; 
And, wroth to sec his kingdom fail, 
Swindgos the scaly horror of his folded tail. 

The oracles are dumb. 
No voice or hideous hum 

Runs through the arched roof in words deceiv- 
ing. 
Apollo from his shrine 
Can no more divine. 

With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. 
No nightly trance, or breathed spell, 
InBi)ires the palo-eycd priest from the prophetic coll. 



148 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



The lonely mountains o'er, 
And the resounding shore, 

A voice of weeping heard and loud lament: 
From haunted spring and dale, 
Edged with pojilar pale, 

The parting Genius is with sighing sent: 
With flower inwoven tresses torn 
The nymphs in twihght shade of tangled thickets 
mourn. 

In consecrated earth, 
And on the holy hearth, 

The Lares, and Lemures, mourn with midnight 
plaint; 
In urns, and altars round, 
A drear and dying sound 

Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; 
And the chill marble seems to sweat, 
While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted 
seat. 

Peor and Baalim 
Forsake their temples dim, 

With that twice battered God of Palestine;* 
And mooned Ashtaroth, 
Heaven's queen and mother both. 

Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; 
The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn. 
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thum- 
muz mourn. 

And sullen Moloch, fled. 
Hath left in shadows dread 

His burning idol all of blackest hue; 
In vain with cymbals' ring 
They call the grisly king. 

In dismal dance about the furnace blue: 
The brutisli gods of Nile as fast, 
Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste. 

Nor is Osiris seen 

In Mcmphian grove or green. 

Trampling the uushowered grass with lowings 
loud : 
Nor can he be at rest 
Within his sacred chest; 

Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud; 
In vain with timbrelled anthems dark 
The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark. 

He feels from Judah's land 
The dreaded Infant's hand. 

The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky ejn ; 
Nor all the gods beside 
Longer dare abide. 

Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : 
Our babe, to show his Godhead true. 
Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. 



• " TTiat twice-battered God of Palestine ;"—'DagOTi, first 
battered by Samson, then by the ark of God. 



So when the sun in bed. 
Curtained with cloudy red, 

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 
The flocking shadows pale 
Troop to the infernal jail, 

Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave ; 
And the yellow skirted fayes. 
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-love 
maze. 

But see, the Virgin blest 
Hath laid her Babe to rest ; 

Time is our tedious song should here have ending ; 
Heaven's youngest teemed star 
Hath fixed her polished car. 

Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attend- 
ing; 
And all about the courtly stable 
Bright harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. 



THE PASSION. 
Erewhile of music, and ethereal mirth. 
Wherewith the stage of air and earth did ring. 
And joyous news of heavenly Infant's birth, 
My muse with angels did divide to sing ; 
But headlong joy is ever on the wing; 

In wintry solstice hke the shortened light, 
Soon swallowed up in dark and long outliving night. 

For now to sorrow must I tune my song, 
And set my harp to notes of saddest wo. 
Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, 
Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than 

so, 
Which he for us did freely undergo : 

Most perfect Hero, tried in heaviest plight 
Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight! 

He, sovereign Priest, stooping his regal head. 
That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes, 
Poor fleshy tabernacle entered. 
His starry front low rooft beneath the skies : 
O what a mask was there, what a disguise : 

Yet more ; the stroke of death he must abide, 
Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's 
side. 

These latest scenes confine my roving verse; 
To this horizon is my Phoebus bound : 
His godlike acts, and his temptations fierce. 
And former sufferings other where are found ; 
Loud o'er the rest Cremona's trump doth sound ;* 

Me softer airs befit, and softer strings 
Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things. 

Befriend me. Night, best patroness of grief; 
Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw, « 



'"Cremona's trump doth sownd;"— alluding to tlM 
Cfiristiad of Vida, a native of Cremona. 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



149 



And work my flattered fancy to belief, 

That Heaven and Earth arc coloured with my wo: 

My sorrows are too dark for day to know : 

The leaves should all be black whereon I write, 
And letters, where my tears have washed, a wan- 
J*' nish white. 

*'See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels, 
That whirled the prophet up at Chebar flood ; 
My spirit some transporting cherub feels. 
To bear me where the towers of Salem stood. 
Once glorious towers, now sunk in guiltless blood ; 

There doth my soul in holy vision sit. 
In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit. 

Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock 
That was the casket of Heaven's richest store, 
And here through grief my feeble hands up lock, 
Yet on the .softened quarry would I score 
My plaining verse as lively as before ; 

For sure so well instructed are my tears. 
That they would fitly fall in ordered characters. 

Or should I thence, hurried on viewless wing. 
Take up a weeping on the mountains wild, 
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring 
Would soon unbosom all their echoes mild, 
And I (for grief is easily beguiled) 

Might think the infection of my sorrows loud 
Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud. 

This subject the Author finding to be above the years he 
had, when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with wliat was 
begun, left it unfinished. 



ON TIME.* 

Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race ; 

Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours. 

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace ; 

And glut thyself with what thy womb devours. 

Which is no more than what is false and vain, 

And merely mortal dross ; 

So little is our loss. 

So little is thy gain! 

For when as each thing bad thou hast entombed. 

And last of all thy greedy self consumed, 

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss 

With an individual kiss; 

And joy shall overtake us as a flood, 

When every thing that is sincerely good 

And perfectly divine. 

With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine 

About the supreme throne 

Of him, to whose happy making sight alone 

' In these poems wliere no date is prefixed, and no circum- 
stances direct us to ascertain the time when they were com- 
posed, we follow the order of Milton's own editions. And 
before this copy of verses, it appears from the manuscript, 
tliatthe poet had written, To be set on a dock-case. 



When once our heavenly guided souls shall chmb; 
Then, all this earthly grossness quit. 
Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit. 

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, 
O Time. 



UPON THE CIRCUMCISION. 

Ye flaming powers, and winged warriors bright, 
That erst with music, and triumphant song. 
First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear. 
So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along 
Through the soft silence of the listening night; 
Now mourn ; and, if sad share with us to bear 
Your fiery essence can distil no tear, 
Burn in your sighs, and borrow 
Seas wept from our deep sorrow: 
He, who with all Heaven's heraldry whilere 
Entered the world, now bleeds to give us ease 
Alas, how soon our sin 

Sore doth begin 

His infancy to seize ! 
O more exceeding love, or law more just! 
Just law indeed, but more exceeding love! 
For we, by rightful doom remediless. 
Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above 
High throned in secret bliss; for us frail dust 
Emptied his glory, even to nakedness. 
And that great covenant which we still transgress 
Entirely satisfied; 
And the full wrath beside 
Of vengeful justice bore for our excess ; 
And seals obedience first, with wounding smart, ' 
This day; but O, ere long. 
Huge pangs and strong 

Will pierce more near his heart. 



AT A SOLEMN MUSIC. 

Blest pair of Syrens, pledges of heavenly joy. 

Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse, 

Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ 

Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce ; 

And to our high-raised fantasy present 

That undisturbed sorjg of pure consent. 

Aye sung before the sapphire coloured throne 

To him that sits thereon. 

With saintly shout, and solemn jubilee; 

Where the bright seraphim, in burning row, 

Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow; 

And the cherubic host, in thousand choirs 

Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 

With those just s[)irits that wear victorious palms, 

Hymns devout and holy psalms, 

Singing everlastingly : 

That we on earth, with undiscording voice, 

May rightly answer that melodious noise; 



150 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



As once we did, till disproportioned sin 

Jarred against Nature's chime, and with harsh din 

Broke the fair music that all creatures made 

To their great Lord, whose love their motions 

swayed 
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
In first obedience, and state of good. 
O may we soon again renew that song, 
And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long 
To his celestial concert us unite, 
To live with him, and sing in endless morn of 

light! 



■r 



AN EPITAPH 



ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER. 

This rich marble doth inter 

The honoured wife of Winchester, 

A viscount's daughter, an earl's heir, 

Besides what her virtues fair 

Added to her noble birth. 

More than she could own from earth. 

Summers three times eight save one 

She had told ; alas ! too soon, 

After so short time of breath, 

To house with darkness, and with death. 

Yet had the number of her days 

Been as complete as was her praise, 

Nature and Fate had had no strife, 

In giving limit to her life. 

Her high birth, and graces sweet, 
Cluickly found a lover meet ; 
The virgin choir for her request 
The God that sits at marriage feast ; 
He at their invoking came, 
But with a scarce well-lighted flame : 
And in his garland, as he stood, 
Ye might discern a cypress bud. 
Once had the early matrons run 
To greet her of a lovely son. 
And now with second hope she goes, 
And calls Lucina to her throes; 
But, whether by mischance or blame 
Atropos for Lucina came; 
And with remorseless cruelty 
Spoiled at once both fruit and tree: 
The hapless babe, before his birth. 
Had burial, yet not laid in earth ; 
And the languished mother's womb 
Was not long a living tomb. 

So have I seen some tender slip, 
Saved with care from winter's nip, 
The pride of her carnation train, 
Plucked up by somcunheedy swain. 
Who only thought to crop the flower 
' New shot up from vernal shower; 
But tiie foir blossom hangs the head 
Sideways as on a dying bed, 



And those pearls of dew she wears, 
Prove to be presaging tears, 
Which the sad morn had let fall 
On her hastening funeral. 

Gentle lady, may thy grave 
Peace and quiet ever have; 
After this thy travail sore 
Sweet rest seize thee ever more. 
That, to give the world increase. 
Shortened hast thy own life's lease. 
Here, besides the sorrowing 
That thy noble house doth bring. 
Here be tears of perfect moan 
Wept for thee in Helicon ; 
And some flowers, and some bays, 
For thy hearse, to strew the ways. 
Sent thee from the banks of Came, 
Devoted to thy virtuous name ; 
Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sit'st in glory, 
Next her, much like to thee in story, 
That fair Syrian shepherdess, 
Who, after years of barrenness. 
The highly favoured Joseph bore 
To him that served for her before, 
And at her next birth, much like thee, 
Through pangs fled to felicity, 
Far within the bosom bright 
Of blazing Majesty and Light; 
There with thee, new welcome Saint, 
Like fortunes may her soul acquaint. 
With thee there clad in radiant sheen; 
No marchioness, but now a queen. 



SONG ON MAY MORNING. 

Now the bright morning-star, day's harbinger. 
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her 
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. 
Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire 
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; 
Woods and groves are of thy dressing. 
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we salute thee with our early song. 
And welcome thee, and wish thee long. 



ON SHAKSPEARE. 1630. 

What needs my Shakspeare for his honoured 

bones, 
The labour of an age in piled stones'? 
Or that his hallowed relics should be liid 
Under a star-ypointing pyramid 1 
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, 
Whatneed'st thou such weak witness of thy name'? 
Thou in our wonder and astonishment 
Hast built thyself a live-long monument. 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



151 



For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art, 
Thy easy numbers flow: and that each heart 
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book, 
Those Delphic lines with deep impression took; 
Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving. 
Dost make us marble with too mucli conceiving; 
And so sepulchred, in such pomp dost lie, 
That kings, for such a tomb, would wish to die. 



ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER, 

Who sickened in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go 
to London, by reaiSon of the plague. 

Here lies old Hobson; Death has broke his girt, 
And here, alas ! hath laid him in the dirt ; 
Or else the ways being foul, twenty to one. 
He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown. 
'Twas such a shifter, that, if truth were known. 
Death was half glad when he had got him down ; 
For he had, any time these ten years full, 
Dodged with him, betwixt Cambridge and The 

Bull. 
And surely Death could never have prevailed, 
Had not his weekly course of carriage failed ; 
But lately finding him so long at home, 
And thinking now his journey's end was come, 
And that he had ta'en up his latest inn, 
In the kind office of a chamberlain 
Showed him his room where he must lodge that 

night. 
Pulled off his boots, and took away the light: 
If any ask for him, it shall be said, 
' Hobson has supped, and 's newly gone to bed.' 



Ease was his chief disease; and, to judge right, 
He died for heaviness that his cart went light: 
His leisure told him that his time was come, 
And lack of load made his life burdensome, 
That even to his last breath, (there be that say't,) 
As he were pressed to death, he cried, more weight; 
But, had his doings lasted as they were, 
He had been an immortal carrier. 
Obedient to the moon he spent his date 
In course reciprocal, and had his fate 
Linked to the mutual flowing of the seas, 
Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase. 
His letters are delivered all and gone, 
Only remains this superscription. 



ANOTHER ON THE SAME. 

Here lieth one, who did most truly prove 
That he could never die while he could move; 
So hung his destiny, never to rot. 
While he might still jog on and keep his trot, 
Made of sphere-metal, never to decay 
Until his revolution was at stay. 
Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime 
'Gainst old truth) motion numbered out his time; 
And, like an engine moved with wheel and weight, 
His principles being ceased, he ended straight. 
Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death, 
And too much breathing put him out of breath; 
Nor were it contradiction to affirm, 
Too long vacation hastened on his term. 
Merely to drive the time away he sickened, 
Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quick- 
ened; 
' Nay,' quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretch'd ; 
' If I may'nt carry, sure I'll ne'er be fetched. 
But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers. 
For one carrier put down to make six bearers.' 



L'ALLEGRO. 

Hence, loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, 

In Stygian cave forlorn, 

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights 
unholy ! 
Found out some uncouth cell, 

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous 
wings, 
And the night raven sings ; 

There, under ebon shades, and low-browed 
rocks. 
As ragged as thy locks, 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
But come, thou goddess, fair and free, 
In Heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne, 
And by Men, heart-easing Mirth; 
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth. 
With two sister Graces more, 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore: 
Or whether (as some sages sing) 
The frolic wind, that breathes the spring, 
Zephyr, with Aurora playing, 
As he met her once a Maying ; 
There on beds of violets blue. 
The fresh-blown roses washed in dew. 
Filled her with thee a daughter fair, 
So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee 
Jest, and youthful Jollity, 
GLuips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, 
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles 
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek. 
And love to live in dimple sleek; 
S|)ort that wrinkled Care derides. 
And Laughter holding both his sides: 
Come, and trip it, as you go, 
On the light fantastic toe ; 
And in thy right hand lead with thee, 
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty; 
And, if I give thee honour due. 
Mirth admit me of thy crew, 



152 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



To live with her, and live with theo, 

In unre|)rov('(l pleasures froo ; 

To hoar the lark begin his (lijrht, 

And sinsin<j; startle the dull niifjit 

From Ills watchtower in the skies 

Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 

Then toeome, in spite of sorrow, 

And at my window hid good morrow, 

Through the sweet brier, or the vine, 

Or the twisted eglantine: 

While the cock, with lively din, 

Scatters the rear of darkness thin ; 

And to the stack, or tiie ham door, 

Stoutly struts his dames before : 

Oil list'ning how the hounds and horn 

Oheerly rouse the slumbering morn, 

From the side of some hoar hill, 

Through the high wood echoing shrill: 

Sometime walking, not unseen, 

By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green. 

Right against the eastern gate. 

Where the great sun begins his state, 

Robed in flames, and amber light. 

The clouds in thousand liveries (light ; 

While the |)loughman, near at hiuid. 

Whistles o'er the furrowed land. 

And the milk maid singeth blithe. 

And the n\ower whets his scythe, 

And every she|)heril tells his tale 

Under the hawthorn in the dale. 

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures. 

Whilst the landscape round it measures, 

Russet lawns, and tallows gray, 

When- tiie nibbling llocks do stray. 

Mountains, on whose barren breast 

The lab'ring clouds do oilen rest; 

Meadows trim with daisies pied, 

Shallow brooks, and rivt-rs wide: 

Towers and battlements it sees 

Bosomed high in tufted trees, 

Where perhaps some beauty lies, 

The cynosure* of neighbouring eyes. 

Hard by a cottage chimney smokes, 

From betwixt two aged oaks. 

Where Corydon and Thyrsis met. 

Arc nt their savoury dinner set 

Of herbs, and other coimtry messes. 

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; 

And then in haste her bower she leaves 

With Thestylis to bind the sheaves: 

Or, if the earlier season lead, 

To the tanned haycock in the mead. 

Sometimes with secure delight 

The upland hamlets will invite. 

When the merry b(>lls ring round, 

And the jocund rebecs sound 

• " Cyiuisuro of neighbouring ei/«s."— The polo star, in 
the loaeer bear 



To many a youth, and many a maid, 

Dancing in the chequered shade ; 

And young and old come forth to play 

On a sunshine holy-day. 

Till the livelong daylight flul : 

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 

With stories told of many a feat. 

How fairy Mab the junkets cat; 

She was pinched, and pulled, she said : 

And he, by friar's lantern led, 

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat. 

To earn his cream-bowl dnly set, 

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 

His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn, 

That ten day-labourers could not end ; 

Then lies him down the lubber liend. 

And, stretched out all the chimney's length, 

Basks at the fire his hairy strength ; 

And cropful out of doors he flings, 

Imv tlie first cock his matin rings. 

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 

By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 

Towered cities please us then. 

And the busy hum of men, 

Where throngs of knights and barons bold. 

In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, 

With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 

Rain inlluence, and judge the prize 

Of wit, or arms, while botli contend 

To win' her grace, whom all commend. 

There let Hymen ofl appear 

In saffron robe, with taper clear, 

And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 

With mask, and antique pageantry; 

Such sights as youthful poets dream. 

On summer eves by haunted stream. 

Then to the well trod stage anon. 

If Jonson's learned sock be on. 

Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, 

Warble his native woodnotes wild. 

And ever, against eating cares, 
Lap me in soft Lydian airs, 
Married to inunortal verse ; 
Such as the meeting soul may pierce, 
In notes, with many a winding bout, 
Of linked sweetness long drawn out, 
With wanton hoed and giddy cunning, 
The melting voice through mazes running. 
Untwisting all the chains that tie 
The hidden soul of harmony; 
That Orpheus' self may heave his head 
From golden slumber on a bed 
()f heaped Elysian flowers, and hear 
Such strains as would have won the ear 
Of Pluto, to have quite sot free 
His half-regained Eurydice. 

These delights if thou canst give, 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live ; 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



1S3 



IL PENSEROSO. 

Hkncr, vain doliuling joys, 

The brood of Folly without father breJ ! 
How little you bested, 

Or fill the (ixed iniiul with all your toys ! 
Dwell in some idle bniin, 

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes posscBS 
As tiiick and numberless 

As tlje gay motes that people the sunbeams; 
Or likest hovering dreams, 

The fickle [)ensioncrs of Morpheus' train. 
But hail, thou goddess, sage and holy, 
Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight, 
And therefore to our weaker view 
O'eriaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; 
Black, but such as in esteem 
Prince Mernnon's sister might beseem, 
Or that starred Etiiiop (jueen* that strove 
To set her beauty's praise above 
The 6ea-nym|)li8, and their powers oflfeudcd : 
Yet thou art higher far descended: 
The bright-haired Vesta, long of yore, 
To solitary Saturn bore ; 
His daughter she ; (in Saturn's reign, 
Such mixture was not held a stain ;) 
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove. 
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 
Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure. 
All in a rolu; of darkest grain. 
Flowing, with majestic train. 
And salile stole of Cy|)ru8 lawn, 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn. 
Come, but kee[) thy wonted state, 
With even step and musing gait. 
And looks commercing with the skies, 
Thy wrapt soul sitting in thine eyes; 
There, held in holy passion still, 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad leaden downward cast 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast: 
AAd join with thee calm Peace, and Cluict, 
Spare Fast, that oil with gods doth diet, 
And hears tiie Muses in a ring 
Aye round alwut Jove's altar sing: 
And add to these retired Leisure, 
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure: 
But first, and cliiefest, with thee bring, 
Him that yon soars on golden wing, 
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 
The cherub Contemplation : 



* " Thai starred Elhiop queen" — Canslopo, wife of 
Cepheua. 

(l2 



And the mute Silence liisi along, 

'Less Philomel will deign a song, 

In her sweetest, saddest plight, 

Smoothing the rugged brow of night. 

While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke. 

Gently o'er the accustomed oak. 

Sweet bird, that shunnest the noise of folly. 

Most musical, most melancholy! 

Thee, chantress, oft, the woods among, 

I woo, to hilar tiiy even-song; 

And, missing thee, I walk unseen 

On th<! dry smooth-shaven green, 

To behold the wanderin" moon. 

Riding near her highest noon. 

Like one that had been led astray 

Through the Heaven's wide; pathless way; 

And ofl, as if her head she bowed. 

Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 

Ofl, on a |)lat of rising ground, 

I hear the far-ofl' curlew sound. 

Over some wide-watered slioro. 

Swinging slow with sullen roar: 

Or, if the air will not permit, 

Some still removed |)lace will fit. 

Where glowing embers through the room 

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom; 

Far from all resort of mirth. 

Save the cricket on the hearth, 

Or the belman's drowsy charm. 

To bless the doors from nightly harm. 

Or let my lamp at midnight hour. 

Be seen in some high lonely tower. 

Where I might oft out watch the Bear, 

With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere 

I'he s[iirit of Plato, to unfold 

What worlds or wiiat vast regions hold 

The immortal mind, that hath forsook 

Her mansion in this fiesliy nook: 

And of those demons that arc found 

in fire, air, (lood, or under ground, 

Whose [wwer hath a true cx)nscnt 

With planet, or with clement. 

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 

In sceptered pall come sweeping by. 

Presenting Thebes, or Pclopa' Uno, 

Or the tale of Troy <livine; 

Or what (though rare) of latter age 

Ennobled hath the buskined stage. 

But, O sad Virgin, that thy power 
Might raise Mus;eus from his bower! 
Or bid the souls of Orpheus sing 
Such notes, as, warbled to the string, 
Drew iron tears down IMuto's cheek, 
And made hell gratit what love did seekt 
Or call up him that left hall-told 
The story of (^ambuscan bold, 
Of Camkdl, and of Algiirsife, 
And who had Canace to wife, 



154 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



That owned the virtuous ring and glass: 
And of the wondrous horse of brass, 
On which the Tartar king (hd ride: 
And if auglit else great bards beside 
In sage and solemn tunes have sung, 
Of turneys, and of trophies hung, 
Of forests, and enchantments drear. 
Where more is meant than meets the ear. 

Thus, night, oft see me in thy pale career, 
Till civil-suited morn appear, 
Not tricked and frounced as she was wont 
With the Attic boy to hunt, 
But kercheft in a comely cloud. 
While rocking winds are piping loud, 
Or ushered with a shower still, 
When the gust hath blown his fill, 
Ending on the rustling leaves. 
With minute drops from off the eaves. 
And, when the sun begins to fling 
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring, 
To arciied walks of twilight groves, 
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, 
Of pine, or monumental oak, 
Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke. 
Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, 
Or frigiit them from their hallowed haunt. 
There in close covert by some brook, 
Where no profoncr eye may look, 
Hide me from day's garish eye; 
While the bee with honied thigh. 
That at her flowery work doth sing 
And the waters murmuring, 
With such consort as tiiey keep, 
Entice the dewy-feathered sleep ; 
And let some strange mysterious dreara 
Wave at his wings in airy stream 
Of lively portraiture displayed, 
Softly on my eyelids laid. 
And, as I wake, sweet music breathi 
About, above, or underneath, 
Sent by some spirit to mortals good, 
Or the unseen genius of the wood. 

But let my due feet never fail 
To walk the studious cloisters pale, 
And love the high embowed roof, 
With antic pillars massy proof, 
And storied windows richly dight. 
Casting a dim religious light : 
There let the pealing organ blow. 
To the full-voiced choir below, 
In service high, and anthems clear. 
As may with sweetness, throup;h mine ear, 
Dissolve me into ecstacies. 
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. 

And may at last my weary age 
Find out the peaceful hermitage. 
The hairy gown and mossy cell, 
Where I may sit and rightly spell 



Of every star that heaven doth show 
And every herh that sips the dew: 
Till old experience do attain 
To something like prophetic strain. 

These pleasures, Melancholy, give. 
And I with thee will choose to hve. 



ARCADES. 

Part of an entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager 
of Derby at Harefield, by some noble persons of ber fami- 
ly ; who appear on the scene in pastoral habit, moving to- 
ward the seat of state, with this song. 

I. SONG. 

Look, nymphs and shepherds, look, 
What sudden blaze of majesty 
Is that which we from hence descry, 
Too divine to be mistook: 

This, this is she 
To whom our vows and wishes bend; 
Here our solemn search hath end. 
Fame, that, her high worth to raise, 
Seemed erst so lavish and profuse, 
We may just now accuse 
Of detraction from her praise; 

Less than half we find exprest. 

Envy bid conceal the rest. 
Mark, what radiant state she spreads. 
In circle round her shining throne. 
Shooting her beams like silver threads; 
This, tliis is she alone. 

Silting like a goddess bright, 

In the centre of her light. 
Might she the wise Latona be. 
Or the towered Cybele, 
Mother of a hundred gods'? 
Juno dares not give her odds; 

Who had thought this clime had held 

A deity so unparalleled'? 

As they come forward, the Genius of the wood appears^ and 
turning towards them, speaks. 

Genius. 

Stay, gentle swains, for, though in this disgtiise, 
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes ; ^ 
Of famous Arcady ye arc, and sprung 
Of that renowned flood, so often sung. 
Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluice 
Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse, 
And ye, the breathing roses of the wood, 
Fair silver buskined nymphs, as great and good, 
I know tins quest of yours, and free intent, 
Was all in honour and devotion meant 
To the great mistress of yon princely shrine, 
Whom with low reverence I adore as mine; 
And, with all helpful service will complj 
To further this night's glad solemnity; 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



155 



And lead ye where ye may more near behold 
What shallow searching fame hath left untold; 
Which I full oft, amidst these shades alone, 
Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon : 
For know, by lot from Jove, I am the power 
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower, 
To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove 
With ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove. 
And all my plants I save from nightly ill 
Of noisome winds, and blasting vapours chill: 
And from the boughs brush ofl' the evil dew, 
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue, 
Or what the cross dire looking planet smites, 
Or hurtful worm with cankered venom bites. 
When evening gray doth rise, I fetch my round 
Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground; 
And early, ere the odorous breath of morn 
Awakes the slumbering leaves, or tasseled horn 
Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about. 
Number my ranks, and visit every sprout 
With puissant words, and murmurs made to bless. 
But else in deep of night, when drowsiness 
Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I 
To the celestial Syren's harmony. 
That sit upon the nine infolded spheres. 
And sing to those that hold the vital shears. 
And turn the adamantine spindle round. 
On which the fate of gods and men is wound. 
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie, 
To lull tlie daughters of Necessity, 
And keep unsteady Nature to her law, 
And the low world in measured motion draw 
After the heavenly tune, which none can hear 
Of human mould, with gross unpurged ear: 
And yet such music worthiest were to blaze 
The peerless height of her immortal praise, 
Whose lustre leads us, and for her most fit, 
If my inferior hand or voice could hit 
Inimitable sounds : yet, as we go, 
Whate'er the skill of lesser gods can show, 
I will assay, her worth to celebrate, 
And so attend ye toward her glittering state; 
Where ye may all, that are of noble stem, 
Approach, and kiss her sacred vesture's hem. 

II. SONG. 

O'er the smooth enameled green. 
Where no print of step hath been 

Follow me, as I sing 

And touch the warbled string, 
Under the shady roof 
Of branching elm star-proof. 

Follow me : 
I will bring you where she sits, 
Clad in splendour as befits, 

Her deity. 
Such a rural queen 
All Arcadia hath not seen. 



III. SONG. 

Nymphs and Shepherds, dance no more 

By sandy Ladon's lilied banks: 
On old Lycoiua, or Cyllene hoar, 

Trip no more in twilight ranks; 
Though Erymanth your loss deplore, 

A better soil shall give ye thanks. 
From the stony Ma;nalus 
Bring your flocks, and live with us; 
Here yc shall have greater grace. 
To serveithe lady of this place. 
Though Syrinx your Pan's mistress were. 
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her. 

Such a rural queen 

All Arcadia hath not seen. 



LYCIDAS. 



In this monody the author bewails a learned Friend, unfortu- 
nately drowned in hia passage from Chester on the Irish 
seas, 1637, and by occasion foretells the ruin of our cor- 
rupted clergy, then in their height. 

Yet once more, O yc laurels, and once more 
Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, 
And, with forced fingers rude. 
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year: 
Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, 
Compels me to disturb your season due: 
For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 
Young Lycidas, and has not left his peer: 
Who would not sing for Lycidas 1 he knew 
Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
He must not float upon his watery bier 
Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
Without the meed of some melodious tear. 

Begin then, sisters of the sacred well. 
That from beneath the seatof jove doth spring; 
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse 
So may some gentle Muse* 
With lucky words favour my destined urn; 
And, as he passes, turn. 
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. 

For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, 
Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill. 
Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 
Under the opening eyelids of the morn. 
We drove afield, and both together heard 
What ,l|ime tlie gray-fly winds her sultry horn, ; 
Battening our iflocks with the fresh dews of night, 
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright. 
Toward Heaven's descent had sloped his wester- 
ing wheel. 



• " So may some gentle Muse"— Mase in the maaculina 
gender here means Poet. 



156 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



Meanwliilc the rural ditties were not mute, 
Tempered to the oaten flute; 
Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel 
From the glad sound would not be absent long; 
And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 

But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone, 
JNow thou art gone, and never must return ! 
Thee, shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves 
With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'crgrown, 
And all their echoes mourn: 
The willows, and the hazel copses greeh, 
Shall now no more be seen 
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays, 
As killing as the canker to the rose, 
Or taint worm to the weanling herds that graze, 
Or frost to flowers that their gay wardrobe wear, 
When first the whitethorn blows; 
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 

Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless 
deep 
Closed over the head of your loved Lycidas"? 
For neither were ye playing on the steep. 
Where your old bards, the famous Druids lie, 
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high. 
Nor yet wliere Dcva spreads her wizard stream: 
Ah me! I fondly dream! 

Had ye been there — for what could that have done"! 
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore. 
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, 
Whom universal nature did lament, 
When, by the rout that made the hideous roar. 
His gory vistige down the stream was sent, 
Down the swift Hcbrus to the Lesbian shore 1 

Alas! what boots it with incessant care 
To tend the homely slightod sliepherd's trade, 
And strictly meditate the thankless Muscl 
Were it not better done, as others use. 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade. 
Or witli the tangles of Ncfcra's hair? 
Fame is the spur tliat the clear spirit doth raise 
(That last infirmity of noble mind) 
To scorn delights, and live laborious days: 
But the fair guerdon, when we hope to find. 
And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears. 
And slits the thin-spun life. " But not the ])raise," 
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears: 
" Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
Nor m the glistering foil 
Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies: 
But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, 
And perfect witness of all judging .Tove; 
As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 
Of so mucl) fame in Heaven expect thy meed." 

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood. 
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal 

reeds ! ■ 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood: 
But now my oat proceeds, 



And listens to the herald of the sea* 

That came in Neptune's plea: 

He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds. 

What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain i 

And questioned every gust of rugged wings, 

That blows from off each beaked promontory: 

They know not of his story; 

And sage Hippotades their answer brings. 

That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed: 

The air was calm, and on the level brine 

Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. 

It was that fatal and perfidious bark. 

Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, 

That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 

Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, 
His mantle liairy, and his bonnet sedge. 
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 
Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with wo. 
' Ah I who hatli reft (quoth he) my dearest pledge?' 
Last came, and last did go. 
The pilot of the Galilean lake; 
Two massy keys he bore of metals twain, 
(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain,) 
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: 
" How well could I have spared for thee, young 

swain. 
Enow of such as for their bellies' sake 
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold? 
Of other care they little reckoning make. 
Than how to scramble at the shearer's feast, 
And shove away the worthy bidden guest: 
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how 

to hold 
A sheephook, or have learned aught else the least 
That to the faithful herdsman's art belongs! 
What recks it them? What need they ? They are 

sped ; 
And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs 
Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; 
The hungry sheep look up, an<l are not fed, 
But, swollen with wind and the rank mist they 

draw, 
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: 
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 
Daily devours apace, and nothing said : 
But that two-handed enginet at the door. 
Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." 

Return, Alpheus, the divad voice is past. 
That shrunk tiiy streams; return, Sicilian Muse, 
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
Their bells, and llow'rots of a thousand hues. 
Ye valleys low, where the mild wiiispers use 
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks. 
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks; 
Throw hitiicr all your quaint enameled eyes. 
That on the green turf suck the honied shower, 



* "The herald of ihe sea."— TVi/on. 

t "Two-handed enghio."— tte axe of reformation. 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



157 



And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 
The tufted crowtoe, and pale jessamine, 
The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet. 
The glowing violet, 

The muskrose, and the well attired woodbine, 
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head. 
And every flower that sad embroidery wears: 
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, 
And dailbdillies fill their cups with tears. 
To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies. 
For, so to interpose a little ease. 
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. 
Ah me 1 Whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled, 
Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, 
Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, 
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world ; 
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied 
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old,* 
Where the great vision of the guarded mount 
Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold ; 
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth : 
And, O ye Dolphins, waft the hapless youth. 

Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, 
For Lycidas your sorrow is not dead, 
Sunk though he be beneath tlie watery floor; 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head. 
And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore 
Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : 
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high. 
Through the dear might of him that walk'd the 

waves ; 
Where, other groves and other streams along. 
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, 
In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love, 
There entertain him all the saints above, 



• " The fable of Bellerus old," <fec. The Bellerian pro- 
inonlory or Land's end in Cornwall, near which is Mount St. 
Michael, a fortress on a rock, named from a supposed vision 
or apparition of St. Michael 



In solemn troops, and sweet societies. 
That sing, and, singing, in their glory move, 
And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. 
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; 
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore, 
In thy large recompense, and shall be good 
To all that wander in that perilous flood. 
Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and 
rills. 
While the still morn went out with sandals gray; 
He touched the tender stops of various quills. 
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: 
And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, 
And now was dropt into the western bay: 
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue; 
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. 



ON THE NEW FORCERS OF CON- 
SCIENCE UNDER THE LONG PAR. 
LIAMENT. # 

Because you have thrown off your prelate lord, 
And with stift' vows renounced his liturgy. 
To seize the widowed whore Plurality 
From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorred; 

Dare ye for this abjure the civil sword 

To force our consciences that Christ set free, 
And ride us with a classic hierarchy 
Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rotherfordl 

Men, whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent 
Would have been held in high esteem with Paul, 
Must now be named and printed heretics 

By shallow Edwards and Scotch what d'ye call: 
But we do hope to find out all your tricks, 
Your plots and packing worse than those of 
Trent. 

That so the parliament 

May with theirjwholesome and preventive shears, 

Clip your phylacteries, though bauk your ears. 

And succour our just fears, 

When they shrJl read this clearly in your charge, 

New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large. 



15^ 



SONNETS. 



Sonnets. 



TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 

O NIGHTIKGALE, that on joti bloomy spray 
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still ; 
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, 
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May, 

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day. 
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, 
Portend success in love ; O if Jove's will 
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, 

Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate 

Foretell my liopeless doom in some grove nigh; 
As thou from year to year hast sung too late 

For my relief, yet had'st no reason why: 

Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, 
Both them I serve, and of their train am I. 

ON HIS BEING ARRIVED TO THE 
AGE OF TWENTY-THREE. 

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth. 
Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! 
My hasting days fly on with full career, 
But my late spring no bud nor blossom showeth. 

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, 
That I to manhood am arrived so near; 
And inward ripeness doth much less appear, 
That some more timely happy spirits inducth. 

Tet be it less or more, or soon or slow, 
It shall be still in strictest measure even 
To that same lot, however mean or high, 

Toward which time leads me, and the will of 
Heaven ; 
All is, if I have grace to use it so, 
As ever in my great Taskmaker's eye. 



WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTEND- 
ED TO THE CITY. 
Captain, or colonel, or knight in arms. 

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may 

seize. 
If deed of honour did thee ever please. 
Guard them, and him within protect from 
harms. 
He can requite thee ; for he knows the charms 
That call fame on such gentle acts as these. 
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and 

seas. 
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. 
Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: 
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 
Went to the ground : and the repeated air 
Of sad Elect ra's poet had the power 
To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 



TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY. 
Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth 

Wisely hast shunned the broadway and the 

green, 
And with those few art eminently seen. 
That labour up the hill of heavenly truth, 
The better part with Mary and with Ruth 
Chosen thou hast ; and they that overween, 
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen, 
No anger find in thee, but piety and ruth. 
Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends 

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light. 
And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be 
sure 
Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful 
friends 
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night. 
Hast gained thy entrance, virgin wise and pure. 



TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY. 

Daughter to that good earl, once president 
Of England's council and her treasury. 
Who lived in both, unstained with gold or fee, 
And left them both, more in himself content, 

Till sad the breaking of that Parliament 
Broke him, as that dishonest victory 
At Chseronea, fatal to liberty, 
Killed with report that old man eloquent. 

Though later born than to have known the days 
Wherein your father flouished, yet by you, 
Madam, methinks I see him living yet; 

So well your words his noble virtues praise. 
That all both judge you to relate tliem true, 
And to possess them, honoured Margaret. 



ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOL- 
LOWED UPON MY WRITING CER- 
TAIN TREATISES. 

A BOOK was writ of late called Tetrachordon, 
And woven close, both matter, form, and style: 
The subject new: it walked the town a wliile, 
Numbering good intellects; now seldom pored 
on. 
Cries the stall-reader. Bless us ! what a word on 
A title page is this! and some in file 
Stand spelling false, while one might walk to 

Mile- 
End Green. Why is it harder, Sirs, than Gor- 
don, 
Colkitto, or Macdonnel,or Galasp? 

Those rugged names to our Uke mouths grow 
sleek. 



SONNETS. 



159 



That would have made Cluintilian stare and 
gasp. 
Thy age, Uke ours, O soul of Sir John Cheek, 
Hated not learning worse than toad or asp, 
, When thou taught'st Cambridge, and King 
Edward Greek. 



ON THE SAME. 

I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs 
By the known rules of ancient liberty. 
When straight a barbarous noise environs me 
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs: 

As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs 
Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny. 
Which after held the sun and moon in fee. 
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs; 

That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood, 
And still revolt when truth would set them free. 
License they mean when they cry liberty; 

For who loves that, must first be wise and good ; 
But from that mark how far they rove we see. 
For all this waste of wetdth, and loss of blood. 



TO MR. H. LA WES, 

ON THE PUBLISHING HIS AIRS. 

Harry, whose tuneful and well measured song 
First taught our English music how to span 
Words with just note and accent not to scan 
With Midas' ears, committing short and long ; 

Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng, 
With praise enough for envy to look wan ; 
To after age thou shall be writ the man. 
That with smooth air could'st humour best our 
tongue. 

Thou honour'st verse, and ver?e must lend her 
wing 
To honour thee the priest of Phoebus' choir, 
That tun'st their happiest lines in hymn, or 
story. 

Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher 
Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing 
Met in the milder shades of purgatory. 



ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY 

OF MRS. CATHARINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN 
FRIEND, DECEASED 16th DECEMBER, 1646. 

When faith and love, which parted from thee 
never. 
Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, 
Meekly thou did'st resign the earthy load 
Of death, called life; which us from life doth 
sever. 
Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour 
Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod; 



But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod, 
Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever. 

Love led them on, and Faith, who knew them best. 
Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple 

beam 
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, 

And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes 
Before the Judge ; who thenceforth bid thee rest, 
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams. 



TO THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX. 

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe 
rings, 
Filling each mouth with envy or with praise. 
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze ( 

And rumours loud, that daunt remotest kings; 

Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings 
Victory home, though new rebellions raise 
Their hydra heads, and the false north displays 
Her broken league to imp their serpent wings. 

O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand, 
(For what can war, but endless war still breed 1) 
Till truth and right from violence be freed. 

And public faith cleared from the shameful brand 
Of public fraud. In vain doth valour bleed, 
While avarice and rapine share the land. 



TO THE LORD GENERAL CROM- ' 
WELL. 

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud, 
Not of war only, but detractions rude. 
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude, 
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast 
plonghed. 
And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud 
Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pur- 
sued. 
While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots im- 
brued, . 
And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud. 
And Worcester's laureat wreath. Yet much re- 
mains 
To conquer still ; peace hath her victories 
No less renowned than war : new foes arise 
Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: 
Help us to save free conscience from the paw 
Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their ma,w. 



TO SIR HENRY VANE, 

THE YOUNGER. 

Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old, 
Than whom a better senator ne'er held 



m 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms re- 
pelled 
The fierce Epirot and the African bold ; 

Whether to settle peace or to unfold 

The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled ; 
Then to advise how war may, best upheld, 
Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold, 

In all her equipage : besides to know 

Both spiritual power and civil, what each means, 
What severs each, thou hast learned, which few 
have done ; 

The bounds of either sword to thee we owe : 
Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans 
In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son. 



ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIE- 
MONT. 

AvEKGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose 
bones 
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold ; 
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old. 
When all our fathers worshipped stocks and 
stones, 
Forget not : in thy book record their groans 
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
Slain by the bloody Piemontese that rolled 
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their 
moans 
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 

To Heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes 

sow 
O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway 
The triple tyrant ; that from these may grow 
A hundred fold, who, having learned thy way, 
Early may fly the Babylonian wo. 



ON HIS BLINDNESS. 

When I consider how my life is spent 

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide. 
And that one talent which is death to hide, 
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more 
bent 

To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest he returning, chide ; 
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied 1 
I fondly ask: But patience, to prevent 

That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need 
Either man's work, or his own gifts ; who best 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his 
state 

Is kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed. 
And post o'er land and ocean without rest; 
They also serve who only stand and wait. 



TO MR. LAWRENCE. 

Lawrence, of virtuous father, virtuous son, 
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, 
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire 
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won 

From the hard season gaining 1 Time will run 
On smoother, till Favonius reinspire 
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire 
The lily and rose, that neither sowed nor spun. 

What neat repast shall feast us; light and choice. 
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise 
To hear the lute well touched or artful voice 

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air 1 

He who of those delights can judge, and spare 
To interpose them oft, is not unwise. 



TO CYRIAC SKINNER. 

Cyriac, whose grandsire, on the royal bench 
Of British Themis, with no mean applause 
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, 
Which others at their bar so often wrench ; 

To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 
In mirth, that, after, no repenting draws ; 
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, 
And what the Swede intends, and what the 
French 

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know 
Toward soUd good what leads the nearest way; 
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, 

And disapproves that care, though wise in show, 
That with superfluous burden loads the day 
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrcuns. 



ON HIS DECEASED WIFE.* 

Methought I saw my late espoused saint 
Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave, 
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, 
Rescued from death by force, tho' pale and faint. 

Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child bed taint 
Purification in the' old Law did save, 
And such, as yet once more I trust to have 
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint. 

Came vested all in white, pure as her mind : 
Her face was veil'd ; yet to my fancied sight 
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shin'd 

So clear, as in no face with more delight : 
But O ! as to embrace me she inclin'd, 
I wak'd ; she fled ; and day brought back my night. 



• This sonnet was written about the year 1656, on the death 
of his second wife, Catharine, the daughter of Captain Wood- 
cocl:, of Hackney, a rigid sectarist. She died in child-bed of 
a daughter, within a year after their marriage. Milton had 
now been long totally blind. 



SONNETS. 



161 



TO CYRIAC SKINNER. 

CvniAC, these three years'day these eyes, tho' clear, 
To outward view, of blemish or of spot, 
Bereft of Hght tlieir seeinji have forgot ; 
Nor to their idle orbs doth signt appear 

Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, 
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not 
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot 



Of heart or hope ; but still bear up and steer 
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask 1 
The conscience, friend, to have lost them over- 
plied 
Tn liberty's defence, my noble task. 
Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 
This thought might lead me through the world's 

vain mask 
Content though blind, had I no better guide. 



Kv^inulutionn. 



THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. I. 

What slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odours 
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave, 

Pyrrhal For whom bind'st thou 

In wreaths thy golden hair, 
Plain in thy neatness 1 O, how oft shall he 
On faith and changed gods complain, and seas 

Rough with black winds and storms 

Unwonted shall admire ! 
Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold, 
Who always vacant always amiable 

Hopes thee, of flattering gales 

Unmindful. Hapless they 
To whom thou untried seem'st fair ! Me, in my vow'd 
Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung 

My dank and dropping weeds 

To the stern god of sea. 

FROM GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH.* 

Brctds thus addresses Diana in the country of 
Leogecia. 

Goddess of shades, and huntress, who at will 
Walk' st on the rolling8phere8,and through the dee >; 
On thy third reign, the earth, look now, and tell 
What land, what seat of rest, thou bid'st me seek ; 
What certain seat, where I may worship thee 
For aye, with temples vow'd and virgin quires. 

To whom, sleeping before the altar, Diana an- 
swers in a vision, the same night. 

Brutus, far to the west, in the ocean wide, 
Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies, 
Sea-girt it lies, where giants dwelt of old ; 
Now void, it fits thy people : thither bend 
Thy course; there shall thou find a lasting seat; 
There to thy sons another Troy shall rise, 
And kings be born of thee, whose dreadful might 
Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold. 



PROM DANTE. 



Ah, Constantino, of how much ill was cause, 
Not thy conversion, but those rich domains 
That the fiirst wealthy pope receiv'd of thee. 



FROM DANTE. 



Founded in chaste and humble poverty, 
'Gainst them that rais'd thee dost thou lift thy horn, 
Impudent whore, where hast thou plac'd thy hope "I 
In thy adulterers, or thy ill-got wealth 1 
Another Constantine comes not in haste. 



FROM ARIOSTO. 



'Hist. Brit. i. xi. "Diva potens nemorura," &c 
13 R 



Then pass'd he to a flowery mountain green, 
Which once smelt sweet, now stinks as odiously; 
This was the gift, if you the truth will have, 
That Constantine to good Sylvester gave. 

FROM HORACE. 

Whom do we count a good man ■? Whom but he 
Who keeps the laws and statutes of the senate, 
Who judges in great suits and controversies, 
Whose witness and opinion wins the cause 1 
But his own house, and the whole neighbourhood, 
Sees his foul inside through his white'd skin. 

FROM EURIPIDES. 

This is true liberty, when freeborn men, 
Having to' advise the public, may speak free; 
Which he who can, and will, deserves high praisa . 
Who neither can, nor will, may hold his peace; 
What can be juster in a state than this 1 

FROM HORACE. 



Laughing to teach the truth, 

What hinders 1 As some teachers give to boys 
Junkets and knacks, that they may learn apace. 

FROM HORACE. 



Joking decides great things. 



Stronger and better oft than earnest can. 



162 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



FROM SOPHOCLES. 



'Tra you that say it, not I. You do the deeds, 
And your ungodly deeds find me the words. 



f ROM SENECA. 



-Tlierc can be slain 



No sacrifice to God more acceptable, 
Than an unjust and wicked king. 

PSALM 1. 
Done into verse, 1653 

Blessed is the man wiio hath not walked astray 
In counsel of the wicked, and i' the way 
Of sinners hath not stood, and in the seat 
Of scornors hath not sat : but in the great 
Jehovali's law is ever his deligiit, 
And in his law he studies day and night. 
He shall Iw as a tree whicii planted grows 
By watery streams, and in his season knows 
To yield his fruit, and his leaf shall not fall, 
And what he takes in hand shall prosper all. 
Not so the wicked, but as chaff which fann'd 
The wind drives, so the wicked shall not stand 
In judgment, or abide their trial then. 
Nor sinners in the assembly of just men. 
For the Lord knows the upright way of the just, 
And the way of bad men to ruin must. 

PSALM II. 
Done Aug. 8, 1653. Terzetti. 

Why do the Gentiles tumult, and the Nations 
Muse a vain thing, the kings of the earth upstand 
With power, and princes in their congregations 

Lay deep their plots together through each land 
Against the Lord and his Messiah dear 1 
Let us break ort", say they, by strength of hand 

Their IkjikIs, and cast from us, no more to wear. 
Their twisted cords : He, who in heaven doth 

dwell. 
Shall laugh; the Lord shall scoff them; then, 
severe. 

Speak to them in his wrath, and in his fell 
And fierce ire trouble them ; but I, saith he, 
Anointed have my King (though yo rebel) 

On Sion my holy hill. A firm decree 
I will declare: The Lord to me hath said, 
Thou art my Son, I have begotten thee 

This day; ask of me, and the grant is made; 
As thy possession I on thee bestow 
The heathen ; and, as thy conquest to be sway'd. 

Earth's utmost bounds: them shalt thou bring full 
low 
With iron sceptre bruised, and them disperse 
Like to a potter's vessel shivered so. 

And now bo wise at length, yo kings averse, 



Be taught, ye judges of the earth; with fear 
Jehovah serve, and let your joy converse 

With trembling ; kiss the Son, lest he appear 
In anger and ye perish in the way. 
If once his wrath take fire, like fuel sere, 

Happy all those who have in him their stay. 

PSALM III. Aug. 9, 1653. 

When hejledfrom Absalom. 

Lord, how many are my foes ! 
How many those. 
That in arms against me rise. 
Many are they. 
That of my life distrustfully thus say; 
No help for him in God there lies. 

But thou. Lord, art my shield, my glory 
Thee, through my story. 
The exalter of my head 1 count 
Aloud I cried 
Unto Jehovah, he full soon replied, 
And heard me from his holy mount. 

I lay and slept; I waked again; 
For my sustain 
Was the Lord. Of many millions 
The populous rout 
I fear not, though, encamping round about, 
They pitch against me their pavilions. 

Rise, Lord ; save me, my God ; for thou 
Hast smote, ere now 
On the cheek-bone all my foes, 
Of men abhorred 
Hast broke the teeth. This help was from tha 
Lord; 
Thy blessing on thy people flows. 

PSALM IV. Aug. 10, 1653. 

Answer me when I call, 
God of my righteousness; 
In straits and in distress. 
Thou didst me disenthrall 
And set at large ; now spare, 

Now pity me, and hear my earnest prayer. 
Great ones, how long will ye 
My glory have in scorn 1 m 

How long be thus forborne 
Still to love vanity 1 
To love, to seek, to prize. 

Things false and vain, and nothing else but liesl 
Yet know the Lord hath chose, 
Chose to himself apart. 
The good and meek of heart ; 
(For whom to choose he knows) 
Jehovah from on high 
Will hear my voice, what time to him I cry. 
Be awed, and do not sin; 



TRANSLATIONS. 



163 



Speak to your hearts alone, 
Upon your beds, each one, 
And be at peace within: 
Offer the offerings just 

Of righteousness, and in Jehovah trust 
Many there be that say, 
Who yet will show us good'? 
Talking hke this world's brood; 
But, Lord, thus let me pray; 
On us lift up the light. 

Lift up the favour of thy countenance bright. 
Into my heart more joy 
And gladness thou hast put, 
Than when a year of glut 
Their stores doth over-cloy. 
And from their plenteous grounds 

With vast increase their corn and wine abounds. 
In peace at once will I 
Both lay me down and sleep; 
For thou alone dost keep 
Me safe where'er I lie ; 
As in a rocky cell 
Thou, Lord ! alone, in safety makest me dwell. 

PSALM V. Aug. 12, 1653. 

Jehovah! to my words give ear, 
My meditation weigh; 
The voice of my complaining hear, 
My King and God ; for unto thee I pray. 
Jehovah ! thou my early voice 
Shalt in the morning hear; 
I' the morning I to thee with choice 
Will rank my prayers, and watch till thou appear. 
For thou art not a God that takes 

In wickedness delight; 
Evil with thee no biding makes ; 
Fools or madmen stand not within thy sight. 
All workers of iniquity 

Thou hat'st; and them unblessed 
Thou wilt destroy that speak a lie; 
The bloody and guileful man God doth detest. 
But I will, in thy mercies dear. 
Thy numerous mercies, go 
Into thy house; I, in thy fear, 
Will toward thy holy temple worship low. 
Lord ! lead me in thy righteousness. 

Lead me, because of those 
That do observe if I transgress; 
Set thy ways right before, where my step goes. 
For in his faltering mouth unstable, 

No word is firm or sooth, 
Their inside, troubles miserable; 
An open grave their throat, their tongue they 
smooth. 
God ! find them guilty, let them fall 

By their own counsels quelled ; 
Push them in their rebellions all 
Still on ; for against thee they liave rebelled. 



Then all, who trust in thee, shall bring 

Their joy ; while thou from blame 
Defend'st them, they shall ever sing 
And shall triumph in thee, who love thy name: 
For thou, Jehovah ! wilt be found 

To bless the just man still ; 
As with a shield, thou wilt surround 
Him with thy lasting favour and good will. 

PSALM VI. Aug-. 13, 1653. 

Lord, in thine anger do not reprehend me, 

Nor in thy hot displeasure me correct; 

Pity me. Lord, for I am much deject. 

And very weak and faint; heal and amend me: 

For all my bones, that ev'n with anguish ake. 

Are troubled, yea my soul is troubled sore, 

And thou, O Lord! how longl Turn, Lord 
restore 
My soul ; O save me for thy goodness' sake ! 
For in death no remembrance is of thee ; 

Who in the grave can celebrate thy praise *? 

Wearied I am with sighing out my days ; 
Nightly my couch I make a kind of sea ; 
My bed I water with my tears ; mine eye 

Through grief consumes, is waxen old and dark 

I' the midst of all mine enemies that mark. 
Depart, all ye that work iniquity. 
Depart from me ; for the voice of my weeping 

The Lord hath heard ; the Lord hath heard my 
prayer; 

My supplication with acceptance fair 
The Lord will own, and have me in his keeping. 
Mine enemies shall all be blank, and dashed 

With much confusion; then, grown red with 
shame. 

They shall return in haste the way they came, 
And in a moment shall be quite abash'd. 

PSALM VII. Aug. 14, 1653. 

Upon the words of Cu^h, the Benjamite, against 
him. 

Lord, my God, to thee I fly ; 
Save me and secure me under 
Thy protection, while I cry; 
Lest, as the lion, (and no wonder,) 
He haste to tear my soul asunder. 
Tearing, and no rescue nigh. 

Lord, my God, if I have thought 
Or done this ; if wickedness 
Be in my hands ; if I have wrought 
111 to him that meant me peace ; 
Or to him have rendered less. 
And not freed my foe for nought; 

Let the enemy pursue my soul 
And overtake it ; let him tread 
My life down to the earth, and roll 



164 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



In the dust my glory dead, 

In the dust ; and, there outspread, 

Lodge it with dishonour foul. 

Rise, Jehovah ! in thine ire, 
Rouse thyself amidst the rage 
Of my foes, that urge like fire; 
And wake for nic, their fury assuage; 
Judgment here thou didst engage 
And command, which I desire. 

So the assemblies of each nation 
Will surround thee, seeking right; 
Thence to thy glorious habitation 
Return On high, and in their sight. 
Jehovah judgeth most upright 
All people from the world's foundation. 

Judge me, Lord; be judge in this 
According to my righteousness, 
And the innocence which is 
Upon me : cause at length to cease 
Of evil men tlic wickedness, 
And their power that do amiss. 

But the just establish fast. 

Since thou art the just God that tries 

Hearts and reins. On God is cast 

My defence, and in him lies. 

In him who, both just and wise. 

Saves the upright of heart at last. 

God is a just judge and severe, 

And God is every day offended ; 

If the unjust will not forbear, 

His sword he whets, his bow hath bended 

Already, and for him intended 

The tools of death that wait him near. 

(His arrows purposely made he 
For them that persecute:) Behold, 
He travails big with vanity ; 
Trouble lie hath conceived of old. 
As in a womb ; and from that mould 
Hath at length brought forth a lie. 

He digged a pit, and delved it deep, 

And foil into tlie pit he made; 

His mischief, that due course doth keep 

Turns on his head ; and his ill trade 

Of violence will, undelayed, 

Fall on his crown with ruin steep. 

Then will I Jehovah's praise 
According to his justice raise, 
And sing the Name and Deity 
Of Jehovah the Most High ! 



PSALM VIII. Aug. 14, 1653. 
O jEHOVjm, bur Lord, how wondrous great 
And glorious is thy Name through all the earth! 



So as above the heavens thy praise to set 
Out of the tender mouths of latest birth. 

Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings thou 
Hast founded strength, because of all thy foes, 

To stint the enemy, and slack th' avenger's brow, 
That bends his rage thy Providence t' oppose. 

When I behold thy heavens, thy fingers' art. 
The moon, and stars, which thou so bright hast 
set 

In the pure firmament: then saith my heart, 
O, what is man that thou rememberest yet, 

And think'st upon him ; or of man begot. 
That him thou visit'st, and of him art timnd ! 

Scarce to be less than gotls, thou mad'st his lot, 
With honour and with state thou hast hira 
crowned. 

O'er the works of thy hand thou mad'st him Lord, 
Thou hast put all under his lordly feet; 

All flocks, and herds, by thy commanding word, 
All beasts that in the field or forest meet; 

Fowl of the heavens, and fish that through the wet 
Sea-paths in shoals do slide, and know no dearth : 

O Jehovah, our Lord, how wondrous great 
And glorious is thy name through all the earth ! 



April, 1648. J. M. 

Nine of the Psalms done into metre, wherein all, but what ia 
in a (litlorfnt character, ai'e the very words of tlie text trans- 
lated from itie original. 

PSALM LXXX. 

1 Thou, Shepherd, that dost Israel keep, 

Give ear in time of need; 
Who leadest like a flock of sheep 
Thy loved Joseph's seed ; 

That sitt'st between the Cherubs bright, 
Between their wings outspread ; 

Shine forth, and from thy cloud give light, 
And on our foes thy dread. 

2 In Ephraim's view and Benjamin's, 

And in Manasse's sight. 
Awake thy strength, come, and be seen 
To save us by thy might. 

3 Turn us again ; thy grace divine 

To us, O God, vouchsafe ; 
Cause thou thy face on us to shine. 
And then wo shall be safe. 

4 Lord God of Hosts! how long wilt tliou. 

How long wilt thou declare 
Thy smoking wrath, and angry brow 
Against thy people's prayer ! 



TRANSLATIONS, 



16? 



6 Thou fecd'st them with the bread of tears; 
Their bread with tears they eat; 
And niak'st them largely drink the tears 
Wherewilli their checks are wet, 

6 A strife thou mak'st us and a prey 

To every neighbour foe ; 
Among themselves they laugh, they play, 
And flouts at us they throw. 

7 Return us, and thy grace divine, 

O God of Hosts! vouchsafe: 
Cause thou tliy face on us to shine, 
And then we shall be safe. 

8 A vine from Egypt thou hast brought. 

Thy free love made it thine, 
And drov'st out nations, proud and haught, 
To plant this lovely vine. 

9 Thou didst prepare for it a place, 

And root it deep and fast, 
That it began to grow apace, 
And filled the land at last. 

10 With her green shade that covered all, 

The hills were over-spread ; 
Her boughs as high as cedars tall 
Advanced their lofty head. 

11 Her branches on the western side 

Down to the sea she sent, 

And upward to that river wide 

Her other branches went. 

12 Why hast thou laid her hedges low, 

And broken down her fence, 
That all may pluck her, as they go, 
With rudest violence? 

13 The tusked boar out of the wood 

Up turns it by the roots; 
Wild beasts there browse, and make their food 
Her grapes and tender shoots. 

14 Return now, God of Hosts! look down 

From Heaven, thy seat divine ; 
Behold us, hut vnthout a frown, 
And visit this thy vine. 

15 Visit this vine, which thy right hand 

Hath set, and planted long, 
And the young branch, that for thyself 
Thou hast made firm and strong. 

16 But now it is consumed with fire, 

And cut with axes down; 

They perish at thy dreadful ire. 

At thy rebuke and frown. 

' Upon the man of thy right hand 
Let thy good hand be laid ; 
Upon the son of man, whom thou 
Strong for tliyscif hast made. 

r2 



18 So shall we not go back from thee 

To ways of sin and shame ; 
Quicken us thou ; then gladly we 
Shall call upon thy Name. 

19 Return us, and thy grace divine, 

Lord God of Hosts! vouchsafe; 
Cause thou thy face on us to shine, 
And then we shall be safe. 

PSALM LXXXI. 

1 To God our strength sing loud, and clear, 

Sing loud to God our King ; 
To Jacob's God, that all may hear, 
Loud acclamations ring. 

2 Prepare a hymn, prepare a song, 

The timbrel hither bring ; 
The cheerful psaltery bring along, 
And harp with pleasant string. 

3 Blow, as is wont, in the new moon, 

With trumpets' lofty sound. 
The appointed time, the day whereon 
Our solemn feast comes round. 

4 This was a statute given of old, 

For Israel to observe ; 
A law of Jacob's God, to hold, 
F'rom whence they might not swerve. 

5 This is a testimony ordained 

In Joseph, not to change; 
When as he passed through Egypt lanJ^ 
The tongue I heard was strange. 

6 From burden, and from slavish toil, 

I set his shoulder free: 
His hands from pots, and miry soil. 
Delivered were by me. 

7 When trouble did thee sore assail, 

On me then didst thou call; 
And I to free thee did not fail, 
And let thee out of thrall. 

I answered thee in thunder deep, 
With clouds encompassed round; 

I tried thee at the water steep, 
Of Meriba renown'd. 

8 Hear, O my people, hearken well; 

I testify to thee. 
Thou ancient stock of Israel, 
If you wilt list to me: 

9 Throughout the land of thy abode 

No alien god shall be, 
Nor shall tliou to a foreign god 
In honour bend thy knee. 



4 



166 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



10 I am the Lord thy God, which brought 

Thee out of Egypt land ; 
Ask large enough, and I, besought, 
Will grant thy full demand. 

11 And yet my people would not hear, 

AW hearken to my voice; 
And Israel, whom I loved so dear, 
Misliked me for his choice. 

13 Then did I leave them to their will, 
And to their wandering mind ; 
Their own conceits they followed still, 
Their own devices blind. 

13 O, that my people would be wise. 

To serve me all their days ! 
And O, that Israel would advise 
To walk my righteous ways ! 

14 Then would I soon bring down their foes, 

That now so proudly rise; 
And turn my hand against all those, 
That are their enemies. 

15 Who hate the Lord should then be fain 

To bow to him and bend ; 
But they, his people, should remain, 
Their time should have no end. 

16 And he would feed them from the shock 

With flower of finest wheat. 

And satisfy them from the rock 

With honey ybr their meat. 

PSALM LXXXIl. 

1 God in great assembly stands 

Of kings and lordly states; 
Among the gods, on both his hands, 
He judges and debates. 

2 How long will ye pervert the right 

With judgment false and wrong, 
Favouring the wicked by your might, 
Who thence grow bold and strong? 

3 Regard the weak and fatherless, • 

Despatch the poor man's cause; 
And raise the man in deep distress 
By just and equal laws, 

4 Defend the poor and desolate, 

And rescue from the hands 

Of wicked men the low estate 

Of him that help demands. 

5 They know not, nor will understand. 

In darkness they walk on; 
The earth's foundations all are moved, 
And out of order gone. 



6 I said that ye were gods ; yea, all 

The sons of God Most High; 

7 But ye shall die hke men, and fall 

As other princes die. 

8 Rise, God ; judge thou the earth in might, 

This wicked earth redress; 
For thou art he who shall by right 
The nations all possess. 

PSALM LXXXin. 

1 Be not thou silent noip at length, 

O God ! hold not thy peace ; 
Sit thou not still; O God of strength, 
}Vhy cry, and do not cease. 

2 For lo, ihy furious foes now swell, 

And storm outrageously; 
And they that hate thee, proud and fell, 
Exalt their heads full high. 

3 Against thy people they contrive 

Their plots and counsels deep; 
Them to ensnare they chiefly strive 
Whom thou dost hide and keep. 

4 Come, let us cut them off", say they. 

Till they no nation be; 
That Israel's name for ever may 
Be lost in memory. 

5 For they consult with all their might, 

And all. as one in mind, 
Themselves against thee they unite. 
And in firm union bind. 

6 The tents of Edom, and the brood 

Of scornful Ishmael, 
Moab, with them of Hagar's blood. 
That in the desert dwell; 

7 Gebal and Ammon there conspire, 

And hateful Amalec, 
The Philistines, and they of Tyre, 
Whose bounds the sea doth check; 

8 With them great Ashur also bands, 

And doth confirm the knot : 
All these have lent their armed hands 
To aid the sons of Lot. 

9 Do to them as to Midian bold. 

That wasted all the coast; 
To Sisera; and, as is told, 
Thou did'st to Jabin's host, 

10 When, at the brook of Kishon old, 
They were repulsed and slain, 
At Endor quite cut off, and rolled 
As dung upon the plain. 



TRANSLATIONS. 



167 



11 As Zeb and Oreb evil sped, 

So let their princes speed ; 

As Zeba and Zaimunna bled, 

So let their princes bleed. 

12 For they amidst their pride have said, 

By right now shall we seize 
God's houses, and will now invade 
Their stately palaces. 

13 My God ! O make them as a wheel, 

No quiet let them find; 
Giddy and restless let them reel 
Like stubble from the wind. 

14 Asw/ienan agedvrooi takes fire. 

Which on a sudden strays, 
The greedy flame runs higher and higher. 
Till all the mountains blaze; 

15 So with thy whirlwind them pursue, 

And with thy tempest chase; 
And, till they yield thee honour due, 
Lord ! fill with shame their face. 

16 Ashamed and troubled, let them be, 

Troubled and shamed forever; 
Ever confounded, and so die 

With shame, and 'scape it never. 

17 Then shall they know that Thou, whose name 

Jehovah is alone, 
Art the Most High, and Thou the same 
O'er all the earth art One! 

PSALM LXXXIV. 

1 How lovely are thy dwellings fair! 

O Lord of Hosts, how dear 
The pleasant tabernacles are, 
Where thou dost dwell so near! 

2 My soul doth long, and almost die, 

Thy courts, O Lord, to see; 
My heart and flesh aloud do cry, 
O living God ! for thee. 

3 There ev'n the spa.TTOvr, freed from wrong, 

Hath found a house of rest; 
The swallow there, to lay her young. 
Hath built her brooding nest ; 

Ev'n by thy altars. Lord of Hosts, 

They find their safe abode ; 
And home they fiy from round the coasts, 

Tow'rd thee, my King, my God! 

4 Happy, who in thy house reside, 

Where thee they ever praise ! 



5 Happy, whose strength in thee doth 'bide, 

And in their hearts thy ways ! 

6 They pass through Baca's thirsty vale, 

That dry and barren ground ; 
As through a fruitful watery dale. 
Where springs and showers abound. 

7 They journey on from strength to strength 

With joy and gladsome cheer, 
Till all before our God at length 
In Sion do appear. 

8 Lord God of Hosts I hear now my prayer, 

O Jacob's God ! give ear : 

9 Thau God, our shield, look on the face 

Of thy anointed dear. 

10 For one day in thy courts to be, 

Is better, and more blessed, 
Than in the joys of vanity 
A thousand days at best. 

I, in the temple of my God, 

Had rather keep a door, 
Than dwell in tents, and rich abode, 

With sin for evermore. 

11 For God the Lord, both sun and shield. 

Gives grace and glory bright ; 
No good from them shall be withheld. 
Whose ways are just and right. 

12 Lord God of Hosts! that reign' st on high; 

That man is truly blessed, j 

Who only on thee doth rely, 
And in thee only rest. 

PSALM LXXXV. 

1 Thy land to favour graciously 

Thou hast not, Lord, been slack; 
Thou hast from ho.rd captivity 
Returned Jacob back. 

2 The iniquity thou did'st forgive 

That wrought thy people wo; 
And all their sin, that did thee grieve, 
Hast hid where none shall know. 

3 Thine anger all thou had'st removed. 

And calmly did'st return 
From thy fierce wrath, which we had proved 
Far worse than fire to burn. 

4 God of our saving health and peace ! 

Turn us, and us restore ; 
Thine indignation cause to cease 
Toward us, and chide no more. 



168 



MILTON'S WORKS 



5 Wilt thou be angry without end, 

For ever angry thusi 
Wilt thou thy frowning ire extend, 
From age to age on usl 

6 Wilt thou not turn and hear our voice, 

And us again revive, 
That so thy people may rejoice. 
By thee preserved alive 1 

7 Cause us to see thy goodness, Lord, 

To us thy mercy show; 
Thy saving health to us afford. 
And life in us renew. 

8 And now, what God the Lord will speak 

I will go straight and hear, 
For to his people he speaks peace. 
And to his saints. /«" dear. 

To his dear saints he will speak peace; 

But let them never more 
Return to folly, but surcease 

7'o trespass as before. 

9 Surely, to such as do him fear 

Salvation is at hand; 
And glory shall ere long appear 
To dwell within our land. 

10 Mercy and truth, that long were missed. 

Now joyfully are met ; 
Sweet Peace and Righteousness have kissed, 
And hand in hand are set. 

11 Truth from the earth, like to a flower, 

Shall bud and blossom then; 
And Justice, from her heavenly bower, 
Look down on mortal men. 

12 The Lord will also then bestow 

Whatever thing is good; 
Our land shall forth in plenty throw 
Her fruits tobe our food, 

13 Before him Righteousness shall go, 

His royal harbinger : 
Then will he come, and not be slow; 
His footsteps can not err. 

PSALM LXXXVI. 

1 Thy gracious ear, O Lord ! incline, 

O hear me, / thee pray ; 
For I am poor, and almost pine 
With need, and sad decay. 

2 Preserve my soul ; for I have trod 

Thy ways, and love the just; 

Savelhoii thy servant, O my Grod! 

Who still in thee doth trust. 



3 Pity me. Lord, for daily thee 

4 I call ; O make rejoice 

Thy servant's soul ; for, Lord, to thee 
I lift my soul and voice. 

5 For thou art good, thou, Lord! art prone 

To pardon, thou to all 
Art full of mercy, thou alone 
To them that on thee call. 

6 Unto my supplication. Lord, 

Give ear, and to the cry 
Of my incessant prayers afford 
Thy hearing graciously. 

7 I, in the day of my distress, 

Will call on thee ^or aid; 
For thou wilt grant me free access. 
And answer what I prayed. 

8 Like thee among the gods is none, 

Lord ; nor any works 

Of all that other gods have done 
Like to thy glorious works. 

9 The nations all whom thou hast made 

Shall come, and all shall frame 
To bow them low before thee, Lord, 
And glorify thy name. 

10 For great thou art, and wonders great 

By thy strong hand are done; 
Thou, in thy everlasting seat, 
Remainest God alone. 

11 Teach me, O Lord, thy way most right 

1 in thy truth will bide ; 

To fear thy name, my heart unite, 
So shall it never slide. 

12 Thee will I praise, O Lord my God! 

Thee honour and adore 
With my whole heart, and blaze abroad 
Thy Name for Evermore. 

13 For great thy mercy is tow'rd me, 

And thou hast freed my soul. 
Even from the lowest hell set free. 
From deepest darkness foul. 

14 O God, the proud against me rise. 

And violent men are met 
To seek my life, and in their eyes 
No fear of thee have set. 

15 But thou. Lord, art the God most mild, 

Readiest tiiy grace to show, 
Slow to be angry, and art styVd 
Most merciful, most true. 



TRANSLATIONS. 



169 



16 0, turn to me thy face at length, 

And me have mercy on ; 
Unto thy servant give thy strength, 
And save thy handmaid's son. 

17 Some sign of good to me afford, 

And let my foes then see, 
And be asham'd: because thou, Lord, 
Dost help and comfort me. 

PSALM LXXXVIL 

1 Among the holy mountains high 

Is his foundation fast; 
There seated in his sanctuary, 
His temple there is placed. 

2 Sion's fair gates the Lord loves more 

Than all the dwreUings fair 
Of Jacob's land, though there he store, 
And all within his care. 

3 City of God, most glorious things 

Of thee abroad are spoke ; 

4 I mention Egypt, where proud kings 

Did oV.r forefathers yoke ; 

I mention Babel to my friends 

Philistia full of scorn ; 
And Tyre with Ethiops' utmost ends, 

Lo this man there was born : 

5 But twice that praise shall in our ear 

Be said of Sion last ; 
This and this man was born in herj 
High God shall fix her fast. 

6 The Lord shall write it in a scroll 

That ne'er sliall be outworn, 
When he the nations doth enrol, 
That this man there was born. 

7 Both they who sing, and they who dance. 

With sacred songs are there ; 
In thee fresh brooks, and soft streams glance, 
And all my fountains clear. 

PSALM LXXXVIII. 

1 LoRn God! that dost me save and keep. 

All day to thee I cry; 
And all night long before thee weep, 
Before thee prostrate lie. 

2 Into thy presence let my prayer 

With sighs devout ascend; 
And to my cries, that ceaseless are, 
Thine ear with favour bend. 

3 For, cloy'd with woes and trouble sore, 

Surcharg'd my soul doth lie ; 
My life, at Death's uncheerful door, 
Unto the grave draws nigh. 



4 Reckon'd I am with them that 

Down to the dismal pit ; 

I am a man, but weak, alas! 

And for that name unfit. 

5 From life discharg'd and parted quite 

Among the dead to sleep ; 
And like the slain in bloody fight, 
That in the grave lie deep. 

Whom thou rememberest no more. 

Dost never more regard, 
Them, from thy hand deliver'd o'er. 

Death's hideous house hath barr'd. 

6 Thou in the lowest pit profound 

Hast set me all forlorn, 
Where thickest darkness hovers round, 
In horrid deeps to mourn. 

7 Thy wrath, from which no shelter saves, 

Full sore doth press on me ; 
Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, 
And all thy waves break me. 

8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange, 

And niak'st me odious, 
Me to them odious, for they change, 
And 1 here pent up thus. 

9 Through sorrow and affliction great, 

Mine eye grows dim and dead; 
Lord ! all the day I thee entreat. 
My hands to thee I spread. 

10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead 1 

Shall the deceas'd arise, 
And praise thee from their loathsome bed, 
With pale and hollow eyes 1 

11 Shall they thy loving kindness tell, 

On whom the grave hath hold ? 
Or they, who in perdition dwell, 
Thy faithfulness unfold? 

12 In darkness can thy mighty hand 

Or wondrous acts be known 1 
Thy justice in the gloomy land 
Of dark oblivion? 

13 But I to thee, O Lord! do cry, 

Ere yet my life be spent ; 
And up to thee my prayer doth hie 
Each morn, and thee prevent. 

14 Why wilt thou, Lord, my soul forsake, 

And hide thy face from me, 

15 That am already bruis'd, and shake 

With terror sent from thee "? 

Bruis'd and afflicted, and so low 

As ready to expire; 
While I thy terrors undergo, 

Astonish'd with thine ire. 



170 



MILTON'S WORKS. 



16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow; 

Thy threatenings cut me through: 

17 All day they round about me go, 

Like waves they me pursue. 

18 Lover and friend thou hast remov'd, 

And sever'd from me far: 
They Jly me now whom I have lov'd, 
And as in darkness are. 

A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM CXIV. 

This and, the following Psalm were done by the 
Author at ff teen years old. 

When the bless'd seed of Terah's faithful son, 
After long toil, their liberty had won; 
And past from Pharian fields to Canaan land, 
Led by the strength of the Almighty's hand ; 
Jehovah's wonders were in Israel shown, 
His praise and glory was in Israel known : 
That saw the troubled Sea, and shivering fled. 
And sought to hide his froth-becurled head 
Low in the earth ; Jordan's clear streams recoil, 
As a faint host that hath receiv'd the foil. 
The high huge-bellied mountains skip, like rams 
Amongst their ewes; the little hills, like lambs. 
Why fled the ocean 1 and why skipt the mountains 1 
Why turned Jordan tow'rd his crystal fountains 1 
Shake, Earth- and at the presence be aghast 
Of him that ever was, and aye shall last ; 
That glassy floods from rugged rocks can crush. 
And make soft rills from fiery flint-stones gush. 

PSALM CXXXVI. 

Let us, with a gladsome mind. 
Praise the Lord, for he is kind ; 

For his mercies aye endure, 

Ever faithful, ever sure. 
Let us blaze his name abroad, 
For of gods he is the God. 

For his, &c. 
O, let us his praises tell, 
Who doth the wrathful tyrants quell, 

For his, &c. 
Who vdth his miracles, doth make 
Amazed Heaven and Earth to shake. 

For his, &c. 
Who, by his wisdom, did create 
The painted heavens so full of state. 

For his, &c. 
Who did the solid earth ordain 
To rise above the watery plain. 

For his, &c. 



Who, by his all-commanding might, 
Did fill the new-made world with light 

For his, &c. 
And caus'd the golden-tressed sun 
All the day long his course to run. 

For his, &c. 
The horned moon to shine by night, 
Amongst her spangled sisters bright 

For his, &c. 
He, with his thunder-clasping hand, 
Smote the first-born of Egypt land. 

For his, &c. 
And, in despite of Pharaoh fell, 
He brought from thence his Israel, 

For his, &c. 
The ruddy waves he cleft in twain 
Of the Erythraean main. 

For his, &c. 
The floods stood still, hke walls of glass, 
While the Hebrew bands did pass. 

For his, &c. 
But full soon they did devour 
The tawny king with all his power. 

For his, &c. 
His chosen people he did bless 
In the wasteful wilderness. 

For his, &c. 
In bloody battle he brought down 
Kings of prowess and renown. 

For his, &c. 
He foil'd bold Seon and his host, 
That rul'd the Amorrean coast. 

For his, &c. 
And large-limb'd Og he did subdue, 
With all his over-hardy crew. 

For his, &c. 
And, to his servant Israel, 
He gave their land therein to dwell. 

For his, &c. 
He hath, with a piteous eye, 
Beheld us in our misery. 

For his, &c. 
And freed us from the slavery 
Of the invading enemy. 

For his, &c. 
All living creatures he doth feed, 
And with full hand suppUes their need. 

For his, &c. 
Let us therefore warble forth 
His mighty majesty and worth. 

For his, &c. 
That his mansion hath on high 
Above the reach of mortal eye. 

For his mercies aye endure, 

Ever faithful, ever sure. 



THE 



:©,*-' 



rr5>T^ 



OP 



DR. EDWARD YOUNG. 



eontrntj^* 



Life of the Author, 



Page. I 
iii! 



raE COMPLAINT; or, NIGHT-THOUGHTS. 

Night I. On Life, Death, and Immortality, - • 1 

Night II. On Time, Death, and Friendship, • 5 

Night in. Narcissa, 11 

Night IV. The Christian Triumph, ... 16 

Night V. The Relapse, 24 

Night VI. The Infidel Reclaimed. Part I, • 33 

Night vn. The Infidel Reclaimed. Part II, - • 41 
Night Vin. Virtue's Apology ; or, The Man of the 

World answered, -55 

THE CONSOLATION. 

Night K, and Last, containing, among other 
things, — 1. A Moral Survey of the Nocturnal 
Heavens. — 2. A Night-address to the Deity, ■ • 68 

THE LAST DAY, A POEM : in three Books. 

Dedication to the Queen, 90 

Book I, 91 

Book n, 94 

Book III, 97 

THE FORCE OF RELIGION: in two Books. 

Book I, . . 100 

Book II, 103 

LOVE OF FAME : in seven characteristical Satires. 

Preface, 106 

Satire I. — To his grace the Duke of Dorset, . . 107 

Satire II, 110 

Satire III.— To the Right Hon. Mr. Dodington, - 112 
Satire IV.— To the Rt.Hon. Sir Spencer Conipton, 115 

Satire V. — On Women, 117 

Satire VL — On Women. Inscribed to the Right 

Hon. Lady Elizabeth Germain, ... 123 
Satire VIL— To the Right Hon. Sir Robert Wal- 

pole, 128 



Page, 
EPISTLES. 

Epistles to Mr. Pope, concerning the Authors of 

the Age, Epistle I, 130 

Epistle n, from Oxford, • • . 133 

An Epistle to the Right Hon. George Lord Lans- 
downe, 135 

Letter to Mr. Tickell, 140 



ODES. 



To the King, 

Ocean, 

Sea-Piece. Dedication to Mr. Voltaire, 

Ode the first, .... 
Ode the second, ... 
Imperium Pelagi, a Naval Lyric, 
The Merchant. Prelude, 

Strain I, - • • 

Strain 11, - • • 

Strain in, . 

Strain rv, ... 

Strain V, . 

The Moral, • 

The Close, 

A Paraphrase on part of the Book of Job, 

Resignation. Part I, 

Part n, 

Postscript, 

rasCELLANEOUS PIECES. 

On the Death of Queen Anne, and the Accession 

of King George, 

Verses occasioned by that famous piece of the 

Crucifixion, done by Michael Angelo, - 
An historical Epilogue to the Brothers, 
Epitaph on Lord Aubrey Beauclerk, 
To Mr. Addison, on the Tragedy of CatOy 
Epitaph, at Welwyn, Hertfordshire, 

DRAMATIC. 

The Revenge, a Tragedy, . • • • 



142 
144 
148 
ib. 



149 
150 
151 
ib. 
153 
155 
157 
153 
160 
161 

162 
167 
174 
182 



183 

185 
ib. 
ib. 
1S6 
iU 



186 



Kilt 2Ltfe of Pr. Strtua^rtr gouns* 



Dr. Young's father, whose name was also Ed- 
ward, was Fellow of Winchester College, Rector 
of Upham in Hampshire, and in the latter part of 
his life. Dean of Sarum ; chaplain to William and 
Mary, and afterwards to queen Ann. Jacob tells 
us that the latter, when Princess Royal, did him 
the honour to stand godmother to our poet ; and 
that, upon her ascending the throne, he was ap- 
pointed Clerk of the Closet to her Majesty. 

It does not appear that this gentleman distin- 
guished himself in the Republic of Letters, other- 
wise than by a Latin Visitation Sermon, preached 
in 1686, and by two volumes of Sermons, printed 
in 1702, and which he dedicated to Lord Bradford, 
through whose interest he probably received some 
of his promotions. The Dean died at Sarum in 
1705, aged 63 ; after a very short illness, as appears 
by the exordium of Bishop Burnet's sermon at the 
Cathedral on the following Sunday. " Death (said 
he) has been of late walking round us, and making 
breach upon us, and has now carried away the 
liead of this body with a stroke ; so that he, whom 
you saw o week ago distributing the holy myste- 
ries, is now laid in the dust. But he still lives in 
the many excellent directions he has left us, both 
how to live and how to die." 

Our author, who was an only son, was born at 
his father's rectory, in 1681, and received the first 
part of his education (as his father had formerly 
done) at Winchester College; from whence, in his 
nineteenth year, he was placed on the foundation 
of New College, Oxford ; whence again, on the 
death of the Warden in the same year, he was 
removed to Corpus Christi. In 1708, Archbishop 
Tennison nominated him to a law fellowship at 
AH Souls, where, in 1744, he took the degree of 
Bachelor of Civil Law, and five years afterward 
that of Doctor. 

Between the acquisition of these academic hon- 
ours. Young was appointed to speak the Latin 
Oration on the foundation of the Codrington Li- 
brary; which he afterwards printed, with a dedi- 
cation to the ladies of that family, in English. 

In this part of his life, our author is said not 
to have been that ornament to virtue and religion 
which he afterwards became. This is easy to be 
accounted for. He had been released from parental 
authority by his father's death; and his genius and 
conversation had introduced him to the notice of 

S 



the witty and profligate Duke of Wharton,* and 
his gay companions, by whom his finances might 
be improved, but not his morals. This is the pe- 
riod at which Pope is said to have told Warburton, 
our young author had " much genius without com- 
mon sense :" and it should seem likewise that he 
possessed a zeal for religion with little of its prac- 
tical influence; for, with all his gaiety and ambi- 
tion, he was an advocate for Revelation and Chris- 
tianity. Thus when Tindel, the atheistical philo- 
sopher, used to spend much of his time at All 
Souls, he complained: " The other boys I can al- 
ways answer, because I know whence they have 
their arguments, which I have read an hundred 
times ; but that fellow Young is continually pes- 
tering nie with something of his own." 

This apparent inconsistency is rendered the 
more striking from the different kinds of composi- 
tion in which, at this period, he was engaged : viz. 
a political panegyric on the new Lord Lansdowne, 
and a sacred Poem on the Last Day, which was 
written in 1710, but not published till 1713. It 
was dedicated to the Clueen, and acknowledges an 
obligation, which has been differently understood, 
either as referring to her having been his godmo- 
ther, or his patron ; for it is inferred from a couplet 
of Swift's, that Young was a pensioned advocate 
of government : 

" Whence Gay was banished in disgrace, 
Where Pope will never show his face. 

Where Y must torture his invention, 

To flatter knaves, or lose his pension." 

This, however, might be mere report, at this pe- 
riod, since Swift was not over-nice in his authori- 
ties, and nothing is more common than to suppose 
the advocate, and the flatterer of the great, an hire- 
ling. Flattery seems indeed to have been our po- 
et's besetting sin through life; but if interest was 
his object, he must have been frequently disappoint- 
ed; and to those disappointments we probably owe 
some of his best reflections on human life. 

Of his Last Day, (his first considerable perform- 
ance) Dr. Johnson observes, that it " has an equa- 
bility and propriety which he afterwards either 



• At the instigation of this peer he was once candidate for 
a seat in Parliament, but without success, and the expences 
were paid by Wharton. 



IV 



LIFE OF DR. EDWARD YOUNG. 



never endeavoured for, or never attained. Many 
paragraphs are noble, and few are mean ; yet the 
whole is languid: the plan is too much extended, 
and a succession of images divides and weakens 
the general conception. But the great reason why 
the reader is disappointed is, that the thought of 
The Last Day makes every man more than poeti- 
cal, by spreading over his mind a general obscurity 
of sacred horror, that oppresses distinction and 
disdains expression." The subject is indeed truly 
awful, and was peculiarly affecting to this cele- 
brated critic, who never could, without trembling, 
meditate upon death, or the eternal world. The 
poet's theological system, moreover, was not, at 
least when he wrote this, the most consistent and 
evangelical : I mean he had not those views of the 
Christian atonement, and of pardoning grace, which 
give such a glory to his Night Thoughts, and 
would much more have illumined this composition. 



connexion with the Duke of Wharton, who went 
thither in 1717. But he can not have long re- 
mained there, as in 1719, he brought out his first 
tragedy of Busiris, at Drury Lane, and dedicated 
it to the Duke of Newcastle. This tragedy had 
been written some years, though now first perform- 
ed ; for it is to our author's credit, that many of 
his works were laid by him a considerable time be- 
fore they were offered to the public. Our great 
dramatic critic pronounces this piece " too far re- 
moved from known life," to affect the passions. 

His next performance was The Revenge, the 
the dramatic character of which is sufficiently as- 
certained by its still keeping possession of the stage. 
The hint of this is supposed to have been taken 
from Othello ; " but the reflections, the incidents, 
and the diction, are original." The success of this 
induced him to attempt another tragedy, which 
was written in 1721, but not broujiht upon the 



All the preparation he seems to have there in view, stage for thirty years afterwards ; and then with- 
out success, as we shall have farther occasion to 
observe. It has been remarked, that all his plays 
conclude with suicide,* and I much fear the fre- 
quent introduction of this unnatural crime upon 
the stage, has contributed greatly to its commission. 
We have passed over our Author's Paraphrase 
on Part of the Book of Job, in order to bring his 



16 

By tears and ^oans, and never-ceasing care, 
"And all the pious violence of prayer," 

to fit himself for the Tribunal. Moreover, the 
project of future misery is too awful for poetic en- 
largement, and makes the piece too terrible to be 
read with pleasure ; while the attempt to particu 



larize the solemnities of judgment, lowers their j dramatic performances together. The Paraphrase 
sublimity, and makes some parts of the description, has been well received, and has often been print- 
as Dr. Johnson has observed, appear mean, and ed with his Night Thoughts. This would be ad- 
even bordering on burlesque. This poem, how- mired, perhaps, as much as any of his works, could 
ever, was well received upon the whole, and the i we forget the original ; but there is such a dignifi- 
better for being written by a layman, and it was ed simplicity even in our prose translation of the 
commended by the ministry and their party, be- poetic parts of scripture, that we can seldom bear 
cause the dedication flattered their mistress and to see them reduced to rhyme, or modern measures, 
her government — far too much, indeed, for the na- His next, and one of his best performances, is 



ture of the subject. 

Dr. Young's next poem was entitled, the Force 
of Religion, and founded on the deaths of Lady 
Jane Grey and her husband. " It is written with 
elegance enough," according to Dr. Johnson; but 
was "never popular :" for " Jane is too heroic to be 
pitied." The dedication of this piece to the count- 
ess of Salisbury was also inexcusably fulsome, 
and, I think, profane. Indeed, the author himself 
eeems afterwards to have thought so ; for when he 
collected his smaller pieces into volumes, he very 
judiciously suppressed this and most of his other 
dedications. 

In some part of his life. Young certainly went 
to Ireland,* and was there acquainted with the ec- 
centrical Dean Swift; and his biographers seem 
agreed, that this was, most probably, during his 

* From his seventh Satire it appeal's also, that he was once 
abroad, probably about this time, and saw a field of battle co- 
vered with the slain ; and it is affirmed that once, with a clas- 
8ic in his hand,he wandered into the enemy's encampment, 



entitled The Love of Fame the Universal Passion, 
in seven characteristic Satires, originally publish- 
ed separately, between the years 1725 and 1728. 
This, according to Dr. Johnson, is a " very great 
performance. It is said to be a series of epigrams^ 
and if it be, it is what the author intended : his 
endeavour was at the production of striking dis- 
tichs, and pointed sentences ; and his distichs have 
the weight of solid sentiment, and his points the 
sharpness of resistless truth. His characters are 
often selected with discernment, and drawn with 
nicety ; his illustrations are often happy, and his 
reflections often just. His species of Satire is be- 
tween those of Horace and Juvenal : he has the 
gaiety of Horace without his laxity of numbers ; 
and the morality of Juvenal, with greater variety 
of images." Swift, indeed, has pronounced of 
these Satires, that they should have been either 
more merry, or more severe :" in that case, they 



* Our author seems early to have been enamoured with the 
I Tragic Muse, and with the charms of melancholy. Dr. Rid 
and had some difficulty to convince them, that he was only an ley relates, that, when at Oxford, he would sometimes shut UJ 
aJbaent poet, and not a spy. | his room, and study by a lamp at mid-day 



LIFE OF DR. EDWARD YOUNG. 



might jirobably have caught the popular taste more; I as his visiter was a man of rank, his patron, and 



but tliis does not prove that they would have been 
better. The opinion of the Duke of Grafton, 
however, was of more worth than all the opinions 
of the wits, if it be true as related by Mr. S pence, 
that his grace presented the author with two thou- 
sand pounds. " Two thousand pounds for a po- 
em !" said one of the Duke's friends: to whom his 
grace replied, that he had made an excellent bar- 
gain, for he thouglit it worth four. 

On the accession of George I., Young flattered 
him with an Ode, called Ocean, to which was pre- 
li.xed an introductory Ode to the King, and an es- 
say on Lyric Poetry: of these the most observa- 
ble thing is, that the poet and the critic could not 
agree : for the Rules of the Essay condemned the 
Poetry, and the Poetry set at defiance the maxims 
of the Essay. The biographer of British Poets 
has truly said, " he had least success in his lyric 
attempts, in which he seems to have been under 
some malignant influence : he is always labouring 
to be great, and at last is only turgid." 

We now leave awhile the works of our author, 
to contemplate the conduct of the man. About 
this time his studies took a more serious turn ; and, 
forsaking the law, which he had never practised, 
when he was almost fifty, he entered into orders, 
and was, in 1728, appointed Chaplain to the King. 
One of Pope's biographers relates, that, on this 
occasion Young apphed to his brother poet for di- 
rection in his studies, who jocosely recommended 
Thomas Aquinas, which the former taking seri- 
ously, he retired to the suburbs with the angelic 
doctor, till his friend discovered him, and brought 
him back. 

His Vindication of Providence, and Estimate 
of Human Life, were published in this year; they 
have gone through several editions, and are gene- 
rally regarded as the best of his prose compositions: 
but the plan of the latter never was completed. 
The following year he printed a very loyal sermon 
on King Charles' Martyrdom, entitled. An Apo- 
logy for Princes. In 1730, he was presented by 
his college to the rectory of Welwyn, in Hertford- 
shire, worth about 300/. a year, beside the lordship 
of the manor annexed to it. Tliis year he relaps- 
ed again to poetry, and published a loyal Naval 
Ode, and Two Epistles to Pope, of which nothing 
particular need be said. 

He was married, in 1731, to Lady Elizabeth 
Lee, widow of Colonel Lee, and daughter to the 
Earl of Litchfield ; and it was not long before she 
brought him a son and heir. 

Sometime before his marriage, the Doctor walk- 
ing in his garden at Welwyn, with his lady and 
another, a servant came to tell him a gentleman 
wished to speak to him. " Tell him," said the 
Doctor, " 1 am too happily engaged to change my 
situation." The ladies insisted that he should go, 



his friend ; and as persuasion had no effect on him, 
they took him, one by the right hand, and the other 
by the left, and led him to the garden-gate. He 
then laid his hand upon his heart, and ir» the ex- 
pressive manner, for which he was so remarkable, 
uttered the following fines : 

" Thus Adam look'd when from the garden driven, 
And thus disputed orders sent from Heav'n; 
Like him 1 go, but yet to go am loth : 
Like him I go, for angels drove us both. 
Hard was his fate, but mine still more unkind : 
His Eve went with him, but mine slays behind." 

Another striking instance of his wit is related 
in reference to Voltaire : who, while in England, 
(probably at Mr. Doddington's seat in Dorsetshire,) 
ridiculed, with some severity, Milton's allegorical 
personages. Sin and Death ; on which Young, 
who was one of the company, immediately ad- 
dressed him in the following extemporaneous dis- 
tich: 

" Thou art so witty, profligate, and thin, 

Thou seem'st a Milton, with his Death and Sin." 

Soon after his marriage, our author again in-- 
dulged his poetical vein in two odes, called The 
Sea Peace, with a poetical Dedication to VoltairS- 
in which the above incident seems alluded to in 
these lines, 

" On Dorset dow^s, when Milton's page 
Wiih Sin and Death provok'd thy rage." 

In 1734 he printed an Argument for Peace, 
which afterward, with several of his smaller pieces, 
and most of his dedications, was consigned by his 
own hand to merited oblivion : in which circum- 
stance he deserves both the thanks and imitation 
of posterity. 

About the year 1741 he had the unhappiness to 
lose his wife ; her daughter by Colonel Lee, and 
this daughter's husband, Mr. "Temple. What af- 
fliction he felt for their loss, may be seen in his 
Night Thoughts, written on this occasion. They 
are addressed to Lorenzo, a man of pleasure, and 
of the world ; and who, it is generally supposed, 
was his own son, then labouring under his father's 
displeasure. His son-in-law is said to be charac- 
terized by Philander, and his lady's daughter was 
certainly the person he speaks of under the appel- 
lation of Narcissa. — (See Night III.) In her last 
illness, which was a consumption, he accompani- 
ed her to Montpellier, or, as Mr. Croft says, to 
Lyons, in the south of France, at which place she 
died soon after her arrival. 

Being regarded as an heretic, she was denied 
christian burial, and her afflicted father was obUged 
to steal a grave, and inter her privately with his 
own hands;* (See Night III.) In this celebrated 
poem he thus addresses Death: 



• I talre the liberty of inserting here a passage from a letter 
written by- Mr. W. Taylor, from Montpellier, to hia sister, 



VI 



LIFE OF DR. EDWARD YOUNG 



" Insatiate archer ! could not one suffice 1 

Thy shaft flew thrice, and tlirice my peace was slain ; 

And thi'lcc, ere Ihrice yon moon had filled her liorn." 

Those lines have been universally understood 
of the above deaths ; but this supposition can no 
way be reconciled with Mr. Croll's dates, who 
Bays, Mrs. Temple died in 173G, Mr. Temple in 
1740, and Lady Young in 174L Which quite in- 
verts the order of the poet, who makes Narcissa's 
death follow Philandcr's : 

"Narcissa follows e'er liis tomb is closed." 

Night in. 

There is no possible way to reconcile these con- 
tradictions: cither we must reject Mr. Croft's 
dates, for which he gives us no authority, or we 
must suppose the characters and incidents, if not 
entirely fictitious, as the author assures us that 
they are not, were accommodated by poetic licence 
to his purpose. As to the character of Lorenzo, 
whether taken from real life, or moulded purely in 
the author's imagination, Mr. Croft has sufficiently 
proved that it could not intend his son, who was 
but eight years old when the greater part of the 



*f«i Moiini-her, in the precedina; yesr 1789, which may be 
considered as curious, and will be interestins and afllctiag to 
the admirers of Dr. Young and his Narcissi : 

"I Ifnow yon, as well ks myself, are not a little partial to 
Dr. Young. Had you been witli me ift a solitary walk the 
other day, you would have shed a tear over the remains of his 
dear Narcissa. I Wius walking in a place called the King's 
Garden; and there I saw the spot where she was interred. 

Mr. J , Mrs. H , and myself, had some conversiUion 

with the gardener respecting it ; who told us, that about 45 
years ago, Dr. Young was here with his daughter for her 
health ; that ho used constantly to be walking backward and 
forward in this garden (no doubt as he saw lier gradually de- 
clining, to find the most solitary spot, where he might show 
his last token of atfection, by leaving her remains as secure 
as po.'ssible from those savages, who would have denied her a 
christian burial: for at that time, an Englishman in this 
country was looked ujion as an heretic, infidel, and devil. 
They begin now to verge from their bigotry, and allow them 
at least to be men, thougli not christiaas, I believe ; ) and that 
he bribed the under gardener, belonging to his father, to let 
him bury his daugliler, which he did; pointed out the most 
solitary place, and dug the grave. The man, through a pri- 
vate door, admitted the Doctor at midnight, bringing his be- 
loved daughter, wrapped U[) in a sheet, upon his shoulder: he 
laid her in the hole, sat down, and (:i3 the man expressed it) 
' rained team !' ' With pious sacrilege a grave I stole.' The 
man who was thus bribed is dead, hut the master is still living. 
Before tlie man died, they were one day going to dig, and set 
some flowers, &c. in this spot where slie was buried. The 
man said to his master, 'Don't ilig there; for, so many years 
ago, I buried an English lady there.' The master was much 
surprised ; and as Doctor Yoiuig's book had made much noise 
in France, it led him to inquire into the matter: and only two 
yeiiis ago it was known for a certainty that that was the place, 
and in this way : There was an English nobleman here, who 
was acquainted with the governor of this place ; and wishing 
to ascertain the fact, he obtained permission to dig up the 
ground, where he found some bones, wliich were examined 
by a surgeon, and pronounced to be the remains of a human 
body : this, therefore, puts the authenticity of it beyond a 
doubt."— Sc9 Evan. Mag. for 1797, p. 444. 



Night Thoughts was written; for Night Seventh 
is dated, in the original edition, July 1744. 

For the literary merits of this work we shall 
again refer to the criticism of Dr. Johnson, which 
is seldom exceptionable, when he is not warped by 
political prejudices. " In his Night Thoughts," 
says the Doctor, speaking of our author, " he has 
exhibited a very wide display of original poetry, 
variegated with deep reflections and striking allu- 
sions ; a wilderness of thought, in which the fer- 
tility of fancy scatters flowers of every hue, and 
of every odour. This is one of the few poems in 
which blank verse could not be changed for rhyme, 
but with disadvantage. The wild diflusion of the 
sentiments and the digressive sallies of imagina- 
tion, would have been compressed and restrained 
by confinement to rhyme. The excellence of this 
work is not exactness, but copiousness : particular 
lines are not to be regarded ; the power is in the 
whole ; and in the whole there is a magnificence 
like that ascribed to Chinese plantations, the mag- 
nificence of vast extent and endless diversity." 

So far Dr. Johnson.— Mr. Croft says, "Of 
these poems the two or three first have been perused 
more eagerly and more frequently than the rest. 
When he got as far as the fourth or fifth, his ori- 
ginal motive for taking up the pen was answered: 
his grief was naturally either diminished or ex- 
hausted. We still find the same pious poet; but 
we hear less of Philander and Narcissa, and less 
of the mourner whom he loved to pity." 

Notwithstanding one might be tempted, from 
some passages in the Night Thoughts, to suppose 
he had taken his leave of terrestrial things, in the 
alarming year 1745, he could not refrain from re- 
turning again to politics, but wrote Poetical Re- 
flections on the State of the Kingdom, originally 
ap[)ended to the Night Thoughts, but never re- 
printed with them. 

In 1753, his tragedy of The Brothers, written 
thirty years before, now first appeared upon the 
stage. It had been in rehearsal when Young took 
orders, and was withdrawn on that occasion. The 
Rector of Welwyn devoted lOOOZ. to " The So- 
ciety for the propagation of the Gospel," and esti- 
mating the probable produce of this play at such a 
sum, he perhaps thought the occasion might sancti- 
fy the means; and not thinking so unfavourably 
of the stage as other good men have done, he com- 
mitted the monstrous absurdity of giving a play for 
the propagation of the gospel! The author was, 
(as is often the case with authors) deceived in his 
calculation. The Brothers was never a favourite 
with the public: but that the society might not 
suffer, the doctor made up the deficiency from his 
own pocket. 

His next was a prose performance, entitled, 
" The Centaur not fabulous ; in Six letters to a 
Friend on the Life in Vogue." The third of these 



LIFE OP DR. EDWARD YOUNG. 



Vll 



letters describes the death-bed of " the gay, young, 
noble, ingenious, accompUshed, and most wretched 
Altamont," whom report supposed to be Lord 
Euston. But whether Altamont or Lorenzo were 
real or fictitious characters, it is certain the author 
could be at no loss for models for them among the 
gay nobility, with whom he was acquainted. 

In 1759, appeared his lively "Conjectures on 
Original Composition ;" which, according to Mr. 
Croft, appear " more like the production of untam- 
ed, unbridled youth, than of jaded fourscore." This 
letter contains the pleasing account of the death 
of Addison, and his dying address to Lord War- 
wick, — " See how a Christian can die !" 
, In 1762, but little before his death. Young pub- 
lished his last, and one of his least esteemed poems, 
" Resignation," which was written on the follow- 
ing occasion: — Observing that Mrs. Boscawen, in 
the midst of her grief for the loss of the admiral, 
derived consolation from a perusal of the Night 
Thoughts, her friend Mrs. Montague, proposed a 
visit to the author, by whom they were favourably 
received ; and were pleased to confess that his " un- 
bounded genius appeared to greater advantage in 
the companion than even in the author; that the 
Christian was in him a character still more inspir- 
ed, more enraptured, more sublime than the poet, 
and that in his ordinary conversation, 

— T-" Letting down the golden chain from high, 
He drew his audience upward to the sky." 

'On this occasion, at the request of these ladies, 
the author produced his Resignation, above-men- 
tioned, and which has been so unmercifully treated 
by the critics, but it has, in some measure, been 
rescued from their hands by Dr. Johnson, who 
says, " It was falsely represented as a proof of de- 
cayed faculties. There is Young in every stanza, 
such as he often was in his highest vigour." 

We now approach the closing scene of our au- 
thor's life of which, unhappily, we have few par- 
ticulars. For three or four years before his death, 
he appears to have been incapacitated, by the in- 
firmities of age for public duty; yet he perfectly en- 
joyed his intellects to the last, and even his vivaci- 
ty; for in his last illness, a friend mentioning the 
recent decease of a person who had long been in a 
dechne, and observing "that he was quite worn to 
a shell before he died ;" " very likely," replied the 
doctor; " but what is become of the kernel ?" — He 
is said to have regretted to another friend, that his 
Night Thoughts, of all his works most calculated 
to do good, were written so much above the un- 
derstanding of common readers, as to contract their 
sphere of usefulness : This, however, ought not, 
perhaps to be regretted, since there is a great suffi- 
ciency of good books for common readers, and the 
style of that work will always introduce it where 
plainer compositions would not be read. 

He died at the Parsonage House, at Welwyn 
14 a 2 



April 12, 1765, and was buried, according to hia 
desire, by the side of his lady, under the altar-piece 
of that church, which is said to be ornamented in 
a singular manner with an elegant piece of needle- 
work by Lady Young, and some appropriate in- 
scriptions, painted by the direction of the doctor. 

Hia best monument is to be found in his works; 
but a less durable one in marble was erected by 
his only son and heir, with a very modest and sen- 
sible inscription. This son, Mr. Frederick Young, 
had the first part of his education at Winchester 
school, and becoming a scholar upon the founda- 
tion, was sent, in consequence thereof, to New Col- 
lege, in Oxford ; but there being no vacancy (though 
the society waited for one no less than two years) 
he was admitted in the mean time in Baliol, where 
he behaved so imprudently as to be forbidden the 
college.* This misconduct disobliged hia father so 
much, that it is said he would never see him after- 
wards: however, by his will he bequeathed to him 
the bulk of his fortune, which was considerable, re- 
serving only a legacy to his friend Stevens, the hat- 
ter at Temple-gate, and lOOOZ. to his house-keepef, 
with his dying charge to see all his manuscripts de- 
stroyed ; which may have been some loss to pos- 
terity, though none, perhaps, to his 6wn fame. 

Dr. Young, as a christian and divine, has been 
reckoned an example of primeval piety. He was 
an able orator, but it is not known whether he 
composed many sermons, and it is certain that he 
published very few. The following incident does 
honour to his feelings: when preaching in his turn 
one Sunday at St. James's, finding he could not 
gain the attention of his audience, his pity for 
their folly got the better of all decorum; he sat 
back in the pulpit, and burst into a flood of tears. 

His turn of mind was naturally solemn ; and he 
usually when at home in the country, spent many 
hours walking among the tombs in his own church 
yard. His conversation, as well as writings, had 
all a reference to a future Ufe; and this turn of 
mind mixed itself even with his improvements in 
gardening ; he had, for instance, an alcove, with a 
bench so well painted in it, that at a distance it 
seemed to be real ; but upon a nearer approach the 
deception was perceived, and this motto appeared : 

INVISIBILU NON DECIPIUNT. 

The things unseen do not deceive us. 

In another part of his garden was also this in- 
scription: 



* Mr Croft denies this circunristance, and calls the poet's son 
his /riend.— He does not, however, pretend to vindicate tha 
conduct of the youth ; but he relates his repentance and regret, 
which is far better. Perliaps it is not possible wholly to vin- 
dicate the father. Great genius, even accompanied with piety, 
is not always most ornamental to domestic life; and "th» 
pruee of ordinary occurrences," says Croft, ''is beneath tb»i 
dignity of iioeis." 



Via 



LIFE OF DR. EDWARD YOUNG. 



AMBULANTES IN IIORTO AUDIKKUNT VOCEM DEI. 
Tliey heanl the voice of GcxI walking in the garden. 

This seriousness occasioned him to be charged 
with gloominess of temper; yet he was fond of 
rural sports and innocent annasements. He would 
sometimes visit the assembly and the bowling 
green ; and we see in liis satires that ho knew 
iiow to laugh at folly. His wit was poignant, and 
always levelled at those who showed any contem[)t 
for decency or religion ; an instance of which wc 
have remarked in his extemporary epigram on Vol- 
taire. 

Dr. Young rose betimes, and engaged with his 
domestics in the duties of Morning Prayer. He 
is said to have read but little; but he noted what 
he read, and many of his books were so swelled 
with folding down his favourite passages, that they 
would hardly shut. He was moderate in his meals, 
and rarely drank wine, except when he was ill; 
being (as he used to say) unwilling to waste the 
succours of sickness on the stability of health. 
Alter a slight refreshment, he retired to rest early 
in the evening, even though he might have com- 
pany who wished to prolong his stay. 

He lived at a moderate expense, rather inclined 
to parsimony than profusion; and seems to have 
possessed just conceptions of the vanity of the 
world; yet (such is the inconsistency of man!) he 
courted honours and preferments at the borders 
of the grave, even so late as 1758; but none were 
then conferred. It has, however, been asserted, 
that he had a pension of 200^ a year from govern- 
ment, conferred under the auspices of Walpolc. 

A last, when he was full fourscore, the author 
of the Night Thoughts, 

" Who thought e'en gold itself might come a day too late," 

was made Clerk of the Closet to the Princess Dow- 
ager of Wales. What retarded his promotion so 
long is not easy to determine. Some attriliute it 
to his attachment to the Prince of Wales and his 
friends; and others assert, that the King thought 
him sufliciently provided for. Certain it is, that 
he knew no straits in pecuniary matters; and that 
in the method he has reconnnended of estimating 
human hfe, honours are of little value. 

His merits as an author have already been con- 
sidered in a review of his works ; and nothing seems 
necessary to be added, but the following general 
characters of his composition, from Blair and 
Johnson. 

Dr. Blairsays, in hiscelebrated lectures: "Among 
moral and didactic poets, Dr. Young is of too great 



eminence to be passed over without notice. In all 
his works, the marks of strong genius appear. His 
Universal Passion, possesses the full merit of that 
animated conciseness of style, and lively descrip- 
tion of character, which I mention as requisite in 
satirical and didactic compositions. Though his 
wit may oilen be thought too sparkling, and his 
sentences too pointed, yet the vivacity of his fancy 
is so great, as to entertain every reader. In his 
Night Thoughts there is much energy of expres- 
sion ; in the three first, there are several pathetic 
passages ; and scattered through them all, happy 
images and allusions, as well as pious reflections, 
occur. But the sentiments are frequently over- 
strained, and turgid; and the style is too harsh 
and obscure to be pleasing." 

The same critic has said of our author in ano- 
ther place, that his " merit in figurative language 
is great, and deserves to be remarked. No writer, 
ancient or modern, had a stronger imagination 
than Dr. Young, or one more fertile in figures of 
every kind ; his metaphors are often new, and often 
natural and beautiful. But his imagination was 
strong and rich, rather than delicate and correct." 

These strictures may be thought severe; but it 
should be remembered, that an author derives far 
more honour from such a discriminate character, 
from ajudicious critic, than from the indiscriminate 
commendation of an admirer. The following is 
the conclusion of Dr. Johnson's critique, and shall 
conclude these memoirs. 

" It must be allowed of Young's poetry, that it 
abounds in thought, but without much accuracy 
of selection. — When he lays hold on a thought, ho 
pursues it beyond expectation, [and] sometimes 
happily, as in his parallel of quicksilver and plea- 
sure .... which is very ingenious, very subtle, 
and almost exact 

" His versification is his own; neither his blank 
nor his rhyming lines have any resemblance to 
those of former writers; he picks up no hemisticks, 
liC cojiies no favourite expressions; he seems to 
have laid up no stores of thought or diction, but 
to owe all to the fortuitous suggestions of the pre- 
sent moment. Yet 1 have reason to believe that, 
when he once formed a new design, he then la- 
boured it with very patient industry, and that ho 
composed with great labour and frequent revisions. 

" His verses are formed by no certain model; 
he is no more like himself in his different produc- 
tions than he is like others. He seems never to 
have studied prosody, nor to have any direction, 
but from his own ear. But with all his defects, 
he was a man of genius, and a poet." 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OP 



srtie ComiJUint* 



PREFACE. 

As the occasion of this Poem was real, not fictitious, so ttie methoct pursued in it was rather imposed by what spontv 
neously arose in the Author's mind on that occasion, than medilaled or designed; which will appear very probable from 
the nature of it ; for It differs from ihe common mode of poetry, which i;^, from long narrations to draw short morals ; here, 
on ihe contrary, the narrative is short, and the morality arising from it makes the bulk of the Poem. The reason of it is, 
Uiat tlie facts mentioned did naturally pour these moral reflections on the thoughts of llic writer. 



NIGHT I 



ON LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY. 



To the Right Hon. Arthur Onslow, Esq., Speaker of the 
House of Commons. 



Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! 
He, like the world, his ready visit pays, 
Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes; 
Swiil on his downy pinion flics from wo, 
And lights on lids unsullied with a tear. 

From short (as usual) and disturbed repose 
I wake : how happy they who wake no more ! 
Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave. 
[ wake, emerging from a sea of dreams 
Tumultuous, where my wrecked desponding 

thought 
From wave to wave of fancied misery 
At random drove, her helm of reason lost. 
Though now restored, 'tis only change of pain, 
(A bitter change!) severer for severe; 
The day too short for my distress; and night, 
Ev'n in the zenith of her dark domain, 
Is sunshine to the colour of my fate. 
Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne. 
In rayless majesty now stretches forth 
Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. 
Silence how dead ! and darkness how profound! 
Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds; 
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause; 
An awful pause! prophetic of her end. 
And let her prophecy be soon fulfilled : 
fate drop the curtain; I can lose no more. 

Silence and Darkness! solemn sisters! twins 
From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought 



To reason, and on reason build resolve, 

(That column of true majesty in man) 

Assist me: I will thank you in the grave; 

The grave your kingdom: there this frame shall 

fall 
A victim sacred to your dreary shrine. 
But what are ye? — 

Thou who did'st put to flight 
Primeval Silence, when the morning stars, 
Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball; 

Thou! vvliose word from solid darkness struck 
That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul; 
My soul, which flies to thee, her trust her treasure, 
As misers to their gold, while others rest. 

Through this opaque of nature and of sovil. 
This double night, transmit one pitying ray, 
To lighten and to cheer. O lead my mind, 
(A mind that fain would wander from its wo) 
Lead it through various scenes of life and de^ith, 
And from each scene the noblest truths inspire. 
Nor less inspire my conduct than my song; 
Teach my best reason, reason; my best will 
Teach rectitude; and fix my firm resolve 
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear: 
Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, poured 
On this devoted head, He poured in vain. 

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time 
But from its loss: to give it then a tongue 
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke 

1 feel the solemn sound. If heard aright. 
It is the knell of my departed hours. 

Where are they? With the years beyond the 

flood. 
It is the signal that demands despatch: 
How much is to be done! My hopes and fears 
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Look tlown— on whati A fathomless abyss. 
A dread eternity! how surely miiie! 
And can eternity belong to me, 
Poor pensioner on tlie bounties of an hour ! 

How poor, how rieh, how abjeet, how august, 
How complicate, how wonderful, is man! 
How passintr wonder He who made him such ! 
Who centered in our make such strange extremes. 
From dillerent natures marvellously mixed, 
Connexion exquisite of distant worlds! 
Distinguished link in being's endless chain! 
Midway from nothing to the Deity ! 
A beam ethereal, sullied and absorpt! 
Though sullied and dishonoured, still divine! 
Dim miniature of greatness absolute! 
An heir of glory, a frail child of dust ! 
Helpless inunortal ! insect infinite ! 
A worm! a god I — I tremble at myself, 
And in myself am lost. At home a stranger. 
Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, 
And wondering at her own. How reason reels? 
O what a miracle to man is man! 
Triumphantly distressed ! what joy! what dread! 
Alternately transported and alarmed ; 
What can preserve my life! or what destroy! 
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; 
Legions of angels can't confine me there. 

'Tis past conjecture; all things rise in proof. 
While o'er my limbs Sleep's soil dominion spread, 
What though my soul fantastic measures trod 
O'er fairy fields, or mourned along the gloom 
Of pathless woods, or down the craggy steep 
Hurled headlong, swam with pain the mantled 

pool, 
Or scaled the clilf, or danced on hollow winds 
With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain! 
Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her 

nature 
Of subtler essence than the trodden clod ; 
Active, aerial, towering, unconfuied, 
Unfettered with her gross companion's fall. 
Even silent night proclaims my soul immortal; 
Even silent night proclaims eternal day ! 
For human weal Heaven husbands all events: 
Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. 

Why then their loss deplore, that are not lost"? 
Why wanders wretched Thought their tombs 

around 
In infidel distress 1 Are angels there 1 
Slumbers, raked up in dust, ethereal firel 

They live ! they greatly live a life on earth 
Unkindled, uncouceived, and from an eye 
In Of tenderness let heavenly i>ity fall, 
" On me, more justly numbered with the dead. 
This is the desert, this the solitude : 
How populous, how vital is the grave ! 
This is creation's melancholy vault, 
The vole funereal, the sad cypress gloom; 
The land of apporitiona, empty shades ! 



All, all on earth is shadow, all beyond 
Is substance; the reverse is Folly's creed. 
How solid all, where change shall be no morel 

This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, 
The twilight of our day, the vestil)ule. 
Life's theatre as yet is shut, and Death, 
Strong Death, alone can heave the massy bar, 
This gross impediment of clay remove, 
And make us, embryos of existence, free. 
From real life but little more remote 
Is he, not yet a candidate for light. 
The future embryo, slumbering in his sire. 
Embryos we must be till we burst the shell, 
Yon and)ient azure shell, and spring to life, 
The life of gods, O transport! and of man. 

Yet man, fool man ! here buries all his thoughts, 
Inters celestial hopes without one sigh : 
Prisoner of earth and pent beneath the moon, 
Here pinions all his wishes; vving'd by Heav'n 
To fly at infinite, and reach it there, 
Where seraphs gather immortality. 
On Life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God, 
What golden joys ambrosial clustering glow 
In his full beam, and ripen for the just, 
Where momentary ages are no more ! 
Where Tinje, and Pain, and Chance, and Death 

expire ! 
And is it in the flight of threescore years 
To push eternity from human thought. 
And smother soids inunortal in the dusti 
A soul immortal, spending all her fires. 
Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness. 
Thrown into tumult, raptur'd, or alarm'd 
At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, 
Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, 
To wufl a featlier, or to drown a fly. 

Where falls this censure ? it o'crwhelms myself. 
How was my heart instructed by the world ! 
O how self-fetter'd was my groveling soul ! 
How, like a worm, was I wrapt round and round 
In silken thought, which reptile Fancy spun. 
Till darken'd Reason lay quite clouded o'er. 
With soft conceit of endless comfort here, 
Nor yet put forth her wings to reach the skies! 

Night-visions may befriend, (as sung above:) 
Our waking dreams are fatal. How 1 dream, 
Of things impossible ! (could sleep do more 1) 
Of joys perpetual in perpetual change ! 
Of stable pleasures on the tossing wave; 
Eternal sunshine in the storms of life ! 
How richly were my noon-tide trances hung 
With gorgeous tapestries of pictur'd joys, 
Joy behind joy, in endless perspective; 
Till at Death's toll, whose restless iron tongue 
Calls daily for his millions at a meal, 
Starting I woke, ond found myself undone. 
Where now my frenzy's {wmpous furniture! 
The cobweb'd cottage, with its ragged wali 
Of mouldering mud, is royalty to nie ! 



i 



THE COMPLAINT. 



Tlic spider's most attenuated thread 
Is cord, is cable, to man's tender lie 
On earthly bliss: it breaks at every breeze. 

O ye blest scenes of [)erinaneiit deli;!f lit ! 
Full above measure ! lasting beyond bound ! 
A perpetuity of bliss is bliss. 
Could you, so rich in rapture, fear an end. 
That gliastiy thought would drink up all your joy, 
And quite unparadise the realms of light. 
Safe are you Kxlged above these rolling spheres, 
The baleful inlluence of who.se giddy dance 
Sheds sad vicissitude on all beneatii. 
Here teems with revolutions every hour, 
And rarely for tlie better; or the best 
More niortid than the common births of Fate. 
Eax'h Moment has its sickle, enmious 
Of Time's enormous scythe, whose ample sweep 
Strikes emj)ires from the root: each Moment plays 
His little weapon in the narrower sphere 
Of sweet domestic comfort, and cuts down 
The fairest bloom of sublunary bliss. 

Bliss! sublunary bliss! — proud words, and vain! 
Im[)licit treason to divine decree ! 
A bold invasion of the rights of Heaven ' 
I clasped the phantoms, and I found tiiem air. 
O had I weighed it ere my fond embrace, 
"What darts of agony had missed my heart! 

Deiith ! great pro()rietor of all ! 'tis thine 
To tread out empire, and to quench the stars. 
The sun himself by tiiy permission shines. 
And, one day, thou slialt pluck him from his sphere: 
Amid such mighty plunder, why exhaust 
Thy partial quiver on a mark so mean'? 
Why thy peculiar rancour wreaked on me "i 
Insatiate archer! could not one suflicel 
Thy shull Hew thrice, and thrice my jH^ace wasslain : 
And tlirice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn. 

Cynthia ! why so pale 1 dost thou latnent 
Thy wretched neighbour '? grieve to sec tliy wheel 
Of ceaseless change outwhirled in human life"? 
How wa ncs my borrow'd bliss ! from Fortune's smile 
Precarious courtesy ! not virtu(^'s sure, 
Self-given, solar ray of sound delight. 

In every varied posture, place, and hour, 
How widowed every thought of every joy ! 
Thought, busy thought ! too busy for my pcaee, 
Through the dark postern of time long elaps'd, 
Led sottly, by the stillness of the night. 
Led, like a murderer, (and such it proves !) 
Strays (wretched rover!) o'er the pleasing past; 
In quest of wretchedness perversely strays, 
And finds all desert now; and meets the ghosts 
Of my departed joys, a numerous train ! 

1 rue the riches of my former fate ; 
Sweet comfort's blasted clusters I lament; 
1 tremble at the blessings once so dear, 
And every pleasure pains me to the heart. 

Yet why complain 1 or why complain for onol 
Hangs out the sun his lustre but for me, 



The single man 1 are angels all beside 1 
I mourn for millions; 'tis the common lot: 
In this shape or in that has FaU; eiityil'd 
The motlicr's throes on all of woiiuin born; 
Not more the children than sure heirs of jjain. 

War, famine, pest, volcano, storm, and fire, 
Intestine broils, Op()ression, with her heart 
Wrapt up in tri|)le brass, besiege mankind. 
God's image, disinherited of day, 
Here plung'd in mines, forgets a sun was made: 
There beings, deatidess as their hauglity lord, 
Arc hammer'd to tiie galling oar for life, 
And plough the winter's wave, and reap despair. 
Some for hard masters, broken under arms, 
In battle lopt away, with half their limbs. 
Beg bitter bread through realms their valour saved, 
If so the tyrant or his minion doom. 
Want and incurable disease, (fell pair!) 
On hopeless multitudes remorseless seize 
At once, and make a refuge of tiic grave. 
How groaning lios|)itais eject their dead ! 
What numbers groan for sad admission there! 
What numbers, once in Fortune's lap high-fed, 
Solicit the cold hand of Charity! 
To shock us more, solicit it in vain 1 
Ye silken sons of Pleasure! since m pains 
You rue more modish visits, visit here. 
And breathe from your debauch: give, and reduce 
Surfeits dominion o'er you. But so great 
Your impudence, you blush at what is right. 

Happy! did sorrow seize on sueli alone. 
Not prudence can defend, or virtue save, 
Disease invades the chastest temperance, 
And punishment the guiltless; and alarm, 
Through thickest shades, pursues the fond of pcaca. 
Man's caution often into dangi^r turns. 
And, his guard falling, crushes him to death. 
Not Happiness itself makes good her name ; 
Our very wishes gives us not our wish. 
How distant oft tlic thing we dote on most 
From that for which we dote, felicity! 
The smoothest course of Nature has its pains. 
And truest friends, through error, wound our rest. 
Without misfortune, what calamities! 
And what hostilities, without a foe! 
Nor are foes wanting to the best on earth. 
But endless is the list of human ills, 
And sighs might sooner fail than cause to sigh. 

A part how small of the terraqueous globo 
Is tenanted by man ! the rest a waste. 
Rocks, deserts, frozen seas, and burning sands! 
Wild haunts of monsters, poisons, stings, and 

death, 
Such is earth's melancholy map ! but, far 
More sad! this earth is a true map of man: 
So bounded are its haughty lord's deligiits 
To wo's wide empire, wiiere deep troubles toss. 
1 Loud sorrows howl, envenom'd passions bite, 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Ravenous calamities bur vitals seize, 
And throatciiing Fame wide opens to devour. 
"What then am I, who sorrow for myself 7 
In age, in infancy, from others' aid 
Is all our hope ; to teach us to be kind : 
That Nature's first, last lesson to mankind. 
The selfish heart deserves the pain it feels: 
More generous sorrow, while it sinks exalts, 
And conscious virtue mitigates the pang. 
Nor virtue more than prudence bids me give 
Swoln thought a second channel : who divide, 
They weaken, too, the torrent of their grief 
Take, then, O World! tiiy much indebted tear. 
How sad a sight is human happiness 
To those, whose thought can . pierce beyond an 
hour! 

thou ! whate'er thou art, whose heart exults, 
Wouldst thou 1 should congratulate thy fate ! 

1 know thou wouldst; thy pride demands it from 

me: 
Let thy pride pardon what thy nature needs, 
The salutary censure of a friend; 
Thou happy wretch! by blindness thou art bless'd; 
By dotage dandled to perpetual smiles. 
Know, smiler! at thy peril art thou pleas'd; 
Thy pleasure is the promise of thy pain. 
Misfortune, like a creditor severe. 
But rises in demand for her delay; 
She makes a scourge of past prosperity, 
To sling thee more, and double thy distress. 

Lorenzo! Fortune makes her court to thee; 
Thy fond heart dances while the syren sings. 
Dear is thy welfare ; think me not unkind; 
I would not damp, but to secure thy joys. 
Think not that fear is sacred to the storm ; 
Stand on thy guard against the smiles of Fate. 
Is Heaven tremendous in its frowns'? most sure: 
And in its favours formidable too: 
Its favours here are trials, not rewards; 
A eall to duty, not discharge from care, 
And should alarm us full as much as woes. 
Awake us to their cause and consequence. 
And make us tremble, weighed with our desert; 
Awe Nature's tumult, and chastise her joys. 
Lest while we clasp we kill them ; nay, invert 
To worse than simple misery their charms. 
Revolted joys, like foes in civil war, 
Like bosom friendships to resentments soured, 
With rage envenomed rise against our peace. 
Beware what earth calls happiness ; beware 
All joys but joys thsit never can expire. 
Who builds on less than an immortal base, 
Fond as he seems, condemns his joys to death. 

Mine died with thee. Philander; thy last sigh 
Dissolved the charm ; the disenchanted earth 
Lost all her lustre. Where her glittering towers'? 
Her golden mountains wherel all darkened down 
To naked waste; a dreary vale of tears. 
The great magician's dead ! Thou poor, pale piece 



Of outcast earth, in darkness : what a change 
From yesterday ! Thy darling hope so near, 
(Long-laboured prize!) O how ambition flushed 
Thy glowing cheek ; ambition truly great. 
Of virtuous praise. Death's subtle seed within, 
(Sly, treacherous miner !) working in the dark. 
Smiled at thy well concerted scheme, and beckoned 
The worm to riot on that rose so red, 
Unfaded ere it fell, one moment's prey! 

Man's foresiglit is conditionally wise. 
Lorenzo ! wisdom into folly turns. 
Oft the first instant its idea fair 
To labouring thought is born. How dim our eye! 
The present moment terminates our sight ; 
Clouds, thick as those on Doomsday, drown the 

next: 
We penetrate, we prophesy in vain 
Time is dealt out by particles, and each 
Are mingled with the streaming sands of lif^ 
By Fate's inviolable oath is sworn 
Deep silence, — where Eternity begins. 

By Nature's law, what may be may be now : 
There's no prerogative in human hours. 
In human hearts what bolder thoughts can rise 
Than man's presumption on to-morrow's dawn? 
Where is to-morrow 1 In another world. 
For numbers this is certain ; the reverse 
Is sure to none ; and yet on this perhaps, 
This peradvenhire, infamous for lies. 
As on a rock of adamant we build 
Our mountain-hopes, spin out eternal schemes, 
As we the fatal sisters could outspiii. 
And, big with life's futurities expire. 

Not even Philander had bespoke his shroud ; 
Nor had he cause ; a warning was denied. 
How many fall as sudden, not as safe ! 
As sudden, though for years admonished home; 
Of human ills the last extreme beware ; 
Beware, Lorenzo ! a slow sudden death ; 
How dreadful that deliberate surprise ! 
Be wise to-tlay ; 'tis madness to defer: 
Next day the fatal precedent will plead, 
Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life. 
Procrastination is the thief of time ; 
Year after year it steals, till all are fled. 
And to the mercies of a moment leaves 
The vast concerns of an eternal scene. 
If not so frequent, would not this be strange "? 
That 'tis so frequent, this is stranger still. 

Of man's miraculous mistakes ttiis bears 
The palm, ' That all men are about to live,' 
For ever on the brink of being born : 
All pay themselves the compliment to think 
They one day shall not drivel, and their pride 
On this reversion takes up ready praise ; 
At least their own ; their future selves applauds, 
How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! 
Time lodged in their own hands is Folly's vails; 
That lodged in Fate's to wisdom they consignj 



THE COMPLAINT. 



The thing they can't but purpose, they postpone. 

'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool, 

And scarce in human wisdom to do more. 

All promise is poor dilatory man, 

And that through every stage. When young, in 

deed, 
In full content we sometimes nobly rest, 
Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish. 
As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. 
At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; 
Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; 
At fifty chides his infamous delay. 
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; 
In all the magnanimity of thought 
Resolves, and re- resolves; then dies the same. 
And whyl because he thinks himself immor- 
tal. 
All men think all men mortal but themselves ; 
Themselves, when some alarming shock of Fate 
Strikes through their wounded hearts the sudden 

dread : 
But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air. 
Soon close ; where past the shaft no trace is found. 
As from the wing no scar the sky retains, 
The parted wave no furrow from the keel, 
So dies in human hearts the thought of death : 
Even with the tender tear which Nature sheds 
O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave. 
Can I forget Philander 1 that were strange ! 

my full heart ! — But should I give it vent. 
The longest night, though longer far, would fail. 
And the lark listen to my midnight song. 

The sprightly lark's shrill matin wakes the morn. 
Grief's sharpest thorn hard pressing on my breast, 

1 strive, with wakeful melody, to cheer 
The sullen gloom, sweet Philomel! hke thee, 
And call the stars to listen : every star 
Is deaf to mine, enamoured of thy lay. 
Yet be not vain ; there are who thine excel. 
And charm through distant ages. Wrapt in 

shade. 
Prisoner of darkness ! to the silent hours 
How often I repeat their rage divine. 
To lull my griefs, and steal my heart from wo! 
In roll their raptures, but not catch their fire. 
Dark, though not blind, like thee Maeonidas! 
Or, Milton! thee; ah, could I reach your strain 
Or his* who made Maeonidas our own. 
Man, too, he sung: immortal man I sing: 
Oft bursts my song beyond the bounds of life: 
What, now, but immortality can please"? 
O had he pressed his theme, pursued the track 
Which opens out of darkness into day! 
O had he mounted on his wing of fire, 
Soared where I sink, and sung immortal man. 
How had it blessed mankind, and rescued mel 



•Pope. 



NIGHT II. 



ON TIME, DEATH, AND FRIENDSHIP. 



To the Right Honourable, the Earl of Wilmington. 



' When the cock crew he wept,' — smote by that eye 
Which looks on me, on all ; that Power who bids 
This midnight sentinel, with clarion shrill. 
Emblem of that which shall awake the dead. 
Rouse souls from slumber, into thoughts of Heaven, 
Shall I too weep? where then isfortitudel 
And fortitude abandoned, where is man"? 
I know the terms on which he sees the light : 
He that is born is listed : life is war ; 
Eternal war with wo: who bears it best 
Deserves it least. — On other themes I'll dwell. 
Lorenzo ! let me turn my thoughts on thee 
And thine; on themes may profit; profit there 
Where most thy need. Themes, too, the genuine 

growth 
Of dear Philander's dust. He thus, though dead, 
May still befriend. — What themes 1 Time's won- 
drous price 1 
Death, friendship, and Philander's final scene. 

So could I touch these themes as might obtain 
Thine ear, nor leave thy heart quite disengaged, 
The good deed would delight me ; half-impress 
On my dark cloud an iris, and from grief 
Call glory. — Dost thou mourn Philander's fate 1 
I know thou say'st it: says thy fife the samel 
He mourns the dead who lives as they desire. 
Where is that thirst, that avarice of time, 
(O glorious avarice!) thought of death inspires. 
As rumoured robberies endear our gold 1 
O Time ! than gold more sacred ; more a load 
Than lead to fools, and fools reputed wise. 
What moment granted man without account 1 
What years are squandered, wisdom's debt un- 
paid! 
Our wealth in days all due to that discharge. 
Haste, haste, he lies in wait, he's at the door; 
Insidious Death! should his strong hand arrest, 
No composition sets the prisoner free. 
Eternity's inexorable chain 
Fast binds, and vengeance claims the full arrear. 
How late I shuddered on the brink ! how late 
Life called for her last refuge in despair ! 
That time is mine, O Mead! to thee I owe; 
Fain would I pay thee Swith eternity, 
But ill my genius answers my desire uw'^.i 
My sickly song is mortal, past thy cure. 
Accept the will : — that dies not with my strain. 

For what calls thy disease, Lozenzo? not 
For Esculapian, but for moral aid. 
Thou think'st it folly to be wise too soon. 
Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor: 
Part with it as with money, sparing; pay 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



No moment, but in purchase of its wortli ; 
And what its Wortli, ask ileath-lxMls; they can tell. 
Part with it as with life, reluctant ; big 
With holy hope of nobler time to come ; 
Time higher aimeil, still nearer the great mark 
Of men anil angels, virtue more divine. 

Is this our duty, wisdom, glory, gninl 
(These Heaven benign in vital union binds) 
And sport we like the natives of the bough, 
When vernal suns inspired Amusement reigns, 
Man's great demand ; to trille is to live : 
And is it then a trifle, too, to die "i 

Thou say'st I preach, Lorenzo"? 'tis confest. 
What if, for once, I preach thee quite awake? 
Wlio wants amusement in the 11a me of battle 1 
Is it not treason to the soul inunortal. 
Her Ibes in arms, eternity the prize? 
Will toys amuse, when med'cines can not cure? 
When spirits ebb, when life's enchanting scenes 
Their lustre lose, and lessen in our sight, 
As lands and cities with their glittering spires, 
To the poor shattered bark, by sudilen storm 
Thrown od'to sea, and soon to jierish there; 
Will toys amuse 1 No; thrones will then be toys, 
And earth and skies seem dust upon the scale. 

Redeem we time ? — Its loss we dearly buy. 
What pleads Lorenzo for his high-priz'd sports? 
He pleads time's numerous blanks ; ho loudly 

pleads 
The straw-like t rides on life's common stream. 
From whom those blanks and trifles but from thee? 
No blank, no trille, Nature made, or meant. 
Virtue, or purposed virtue, still be thine; 
This cancels thy comiilaint at once; this leaves 
In act no trille, and no blank in time. 
This greatens, fills, immortalizes all; 
This the blest art of turning all to gold; 
This the good heart's prerogative to raise 
A royal tribute from the poorest hours: 
Immense revenue! every moment pays. 
If nothing more than purpose in thy power, 
Thy purpose lirm is equal to the deed. 
Who does tlic best his circumstance allows, 
Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more. 
Our outward act, indeed, admits restraint: 
'Tis not in things o'er thought to domineer. 
Guard well thy thought : our thoughts are lieard 
in Heaven ! 

On all-important time, through every age, 
Though much and warm the wise have urged, the 

man 
Is yet unborn who duly weighs an hour. 
' I've lost a day,' — the prince who nobly cried. 
Had been an emperor, without his crown. 
Of Rome? say, rather, lonl of human race: 
Ho spoke as if deputed by mankind. 
So should all speak: so reason speaks in all: 
From the soil whis^iers of that God in man. 
Why fly to folly, why to frenzy fly, 



For rescue from the blessings we possess? 
Time, the supreme ! — Time is Eternity; 
Pregnant with all eternity can give; 
Pregnant with all that makes archangels smile. 
Who murders Time, he crushes in the birth 
A power ethereal, only not adored. 

Ah I how unjust to Nature and himself 
Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent man ! 
Like children babbling nonsense in their sports, 
We censure Nature for a span too short ; 
That span too short we tax as tedious too ; 
Torture invention, all expedients tire, 
To lash the lingering moments into speed, 
And wliirl us (happy riddance!) from ourselves. 
Art, brainless Art! our furious charioteer, 
(For Nature's voice unstilled would recall) 
Drives headlong towards the precipice of death ; 
Death most our dread ; death thus more dreadful 

made. 
O what a riddle of absurdity ! 
Leisure is pain; takes ofl'our chariot- wheels: 
How heavily we drag the load of lite ! 
Blest leisure is our curse ; like that of Cain, 
It makes us wander, wander earth around. 
To fly that tyrant Thought. As Atlas groaned 
The world beneath, we groan beneath an hour : 
We cry for mercy to the next amusement ; 
The next amusement mortgages our fields ; 
Slight inconvenience ! prisons hardly frown, 
From hateful Time if jirisons set us free. 
Yet when Death kindly tenders us relief, 
We call him cruel ; years to moments slirink. 
Ages to years. The telescope is turned : 
To man's false optics (from his folly false) 
Time, in advance, behind him hides his Avings, 
And seems to creep, decrepit with his age. 
Behold him when past by; what then is seen 
But his broad pinions swifter than the winds? 
And all mankind, in contradiction strong. 
Rueful, aghast, cry out on his career. 

Leave to thy foes these errors and these ills; 
To Nature just, their cause and cure explore. 
Not short Heaven's bounty, Iwundless our expense; 
No niggard Nature, men arc prodigals. 
We waste, not use our time ; we breathe, not live. 
Time wasted is existence ; used, is life : 
And bare existence man, to live ordained. 
Wrings and oppresses with enormous weight. 
And why? since time was given for use, not waste, 
Enjoined to fly, with tempest, tide, and stars, 
To keep his speed, nor ever wait for man. 
Time's use was doomed a pleasure, waste a pain. 
That man might feel his error if unseen. 
And, feeling, fly to labour for his cure; 
Not blundering, split on idleness for ease. 
Life's cares are comforts; such by Heaven do- 
signed ; 
He that has none must make them, or be wretched, 
Cares are employments, and without employ 



THE COMPLAINT. 



The soul is on a rack, the rark of rest, 
To souls most advLTsc, action all tlifir joy. 

Ilore tlien the riddle, marked above, unfolds; 
Then time turns torment, when man turns a fool. 
We rave, wo wrestle with great Nature's plan; 
Wo thwart the Deity; and 'tis decreed, 
Who thwart llis will sliall contradict their own. 
Hence our uiniatural quarrels with ourselves; 
Our thoughts at enmity; our hosom-broil: 
We push Time from us, and wo wish him back: 
Lavish of lustrums, and y<'t fond of life: 
Life we think long and short; death seek and shun: 
Bo<ly and soul, like peevish man and wife, 
United jar, and yet arc loth to part. 

Oh the <lark days of vanity! while here 
How tasteless! and how terrible when gone! 
Gone? they ne'er go; when past, they haunt us 

still : 
The spirit walks of every day deceased, 
And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns. 
Nor death nor life delight us. If time past 
And time jxjsscst both pain us, what can [>lcasc? 
That which the Deity to please ordained, 
Time used. The man who consecrates his hours 
By vigorous cflbrt and an honest aim, 
At once he draws the sting of life and death; 
He walks with Nature, and her paths arc peace. 
Our error's cause and cure are seen; sec next 
Time's nature, origin, importance, sp^^cd. 
And thy great gain from urging Ins career. 
All sensual man, because untouch'd, unseen, 
He looks on time as nothing. Nothing else 
Is truly man's; 'tis Fortune's — Time's a god! 
Hast thou ne'er heard of Time's omnipotence 1 
For, or against, what wonders can he do! 
And will: to stand blank neuter he disdains. 
Not on those terms was Time (Heaven's stranger !) 

sent 
On his important embassy to man. 
Lorenzo! no: on the long destin'd hour, 
From everlasting ages growing ripe. 
That memoralilc hour of wondrous birth, 
When the Dread Sire, on emanation bent. 
And big with Nature, rising in his might, 
Call'd (brlh Creation (for then Time was born) 
By Godhead streaming through a thousand worlds; 
Not on tliose terms, from the great days of Heaven, 
From old eternity's mysterious orb 
Was Time cut off, and cast beneath the skies; 
The ski(!s, which watch him in his new abode, 
Measuring his motions by revolving spheres. 
That horologe machinery divine. 
Hours, days, and months, and years, his children 

Like numerous wings, around him, as he flics ; 
Or rather, as unequal plumes, they shape 
His ample pinions, swill as darted flame. 
To gaiti his goal, to reach his ancient rest, 
And join anew Eternity, his sire; 

'1' 



In his immutability to nest, 

When worlds, that count his circles now,unhing'cl 
(Fate the loud signal sounding) headlong rush 
'i\> timeless night and chaos, whence they rose. 

Why spur the 8[)eedy1 why with levities 
New-wing thy short, short day's too rapid flightf 
Know'wt thou, or what thou dost, or what is donol 
Man flies from time, and time from man: too soon, 
In sad divorce this double flight must end; 
And then, where are we1 where, Lorenzo, then, 
Thy sports, tliy ponqis? I grant thee in a state 
Not unambitious, in the ruflled shroud, 
Thy Parian tomb's triumphant arch beneath. 
Has Death his fopperies] then well may Life 
Put on her plume, and in her rainbow shine. 

Ye well-array'd ! ye lilies of our land! 
Ye Hlies nmU'l who neither toil nor spin, 
(As sister-lilies might) if not so wise 
As Solomon, more sumptuous to the sight! 
Yc delicate! who nothing can support. 
Yourselves most insupportable! for whom 
The winter-rose must blow, tiie sun put on 
A brighter beam in Leo; silky soft, 
Favonious! breathe .still softer, or be chid; 
And other world send odours, snuce, and fipng. 
And robes, and notions, f'ram'd in foreign loomBt 
O yo Lorenzos of out age! who deem 
One moment unamus'd a misery 
Not made ibr feeble man! who call aloud 
For every bawble drivell'd o'er by sense; 
For rattles and conceits of every cast; 
For change of follies atid relays of joy 
To drag your patient through the tedious length 

Of a short winter's day say, sages! say. 

Wit's oracles! say dreamers of gay dreams! 
IIow will you weather an eternal night, 
Where such expedients fail 1 — 
O treacherous Conscience! while she scctna to 
sleep 
On rose and myrtle, lull'd with syren song 
While she seems, nodding o'er her charge, to drop 
On headlong Ap|)etite tiie slackened rein. 
And givers us up to license urirecall'd, 
Uninark'd: — see, from behind her secret stand, 
The sly informer minutes every fault. 
And her dread diary with horror fills. 
Not the gross act alone employs her pen; 
She reconnoitres Fancy's airy band. 
A watchful foe! the formidable spy 
Listening, o'erhears the whispers of our camp. 
Our dawning purposes of heart explores, 
An<l isteals our embryos of iniquity. 
As all-rapacious usurers conceal 
Their doomsday-book from all-consuming heirs, 
Thus, with indulgence most severe, she treats 
Us s})endthrills of inestimable time, 
Unnoted, notes each moment misapplied; 
In leaves more durable than leaves of brass 
Writes our whole history, which Death sliall read 



8 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



In every pale delinqueiu s private ear, 
And judfjincnt pulilisli; publtHh to more worlds 
Thau tills, niid endU-sa age in {froans resound. 
Lorenzo! such that sleeper in thy breast; 
Such is her slumber, and her veni^eancc such 
For slicrlited counsel; such thy future peace; 
And think'st tlioii still thou canst be wise too soon'? 

But why on time so lavish is my songl 
On this ijreat theme kind Nature keeps a school 
To teach her sons herself. Each nii^iit we die; 
Each morn are horn anew: each day a lite! 
And shall we kill each dayl If trillini; kills, 
Sure vice must butcher. O what hea()s of slain 
Cry out lor veni^eance on us! Time destroy'd 
Is suicide, where more than blood is spilt. 
Time flies, death urjjes, knells call. Heaven invites, 
Hell threatens: all exerts; in ellort all, 
More than creation labours! Labours more? — 
And is there in creation what, amidst 
This tumult universal, winjf'd despatch, 
And ardent enerjjy, supinely yawns'! 
Man sleeps, and man alone ; and man, whose fate, 
Fate irresistible, entire, extreme, 
Endless, hnir-huni^, bree/.e-shaken, o'er the gulf 

A moment treiubles; drops! and man, for whom 

All else is an alarm — man, the sole cause 

Of this surroundinij storm! und yet he sleeps, 

As the storm rocked to rest. — Throw years awayl 

Throw empires, and be blameless; monicnts seize, 

V Heaven's on their wing! a moment we may wish, 

I When worlds want wealth to buy. Bid Day stand 

I still, 

i Bid him drive back his car, and reimport 
/ The period past, regive the given hour. 
I Lorenzo! more than miracles we want. 

Lorenzo — O for yesterdays to come! 

Such is the language of the man awake, 

His ardour such for what oppresses thee. 

And is his ardour vain, Lorenzo? No; 

That more than miracle the gotls indulge. 

To-day is yesterday return'd ; return'd 

Full-powered to cancel, expiate, raise, adorn, 

And reinstate us on the rock of peace. 

Let it not share its predecessor's fate, 

Nor like its elder sisters, die a fool. 

Shall it evaporate in fume, fly off 

Fuliginous, and stain us deeper still? 

Shall we be jworer for the plenty poured ? 

More wretched for the clemencies of Heaven? " 
Where shall I find him? Angels! tell me where: 

You know him : he is near you; point him out. 

Shall I see glories beaming from his brow, 

Or trace his footsteps by the rising (lowers? 

Your golden wings, now hovering o'er him, shed 

Protection; now are waving in applause 

To that blest son of foresight ! lord of fate ! 

That awful independent on tomorrow! 

Whose work' is done ; who triumphs in the past; 

Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile, 



Nor, like the Parthian, wound him as they fly; 

That common, but opprobious lot! Past hours. 

If not by guilt, yet wound us by their flight; 

If folly bounds our prospect by the grave; 

All feeling of futurity benumbed; 

All godlike jiassion for eternals quenched ; 

y\ll relish of realities ex))ired; 

Renounced all corresjwndence with the skies; 

()ur freedom chained; quite wingless our desire; 

In sense dark-prisoned all that ought to soar; 

Prone to the centre; crawling in the dust; 

Dismounted every great and glorious aim; 

Iiiibruted every faculty divine; 

Heart-buried in the rubbish of the world, 

The world, that gulf of souls, immortal souls, 

Souls elevate, angelic, winged with fire 

To reach the distant skies, and triumph there 

On thrones, which shall not mourn their masters 

changed ; 
Though we from earth, ethereal they that fell. 
Such veneration due, O man, toman! 

Who venerate themselves the world despise, 
For what, gay friend! is the esciitcheoned world, 
Which hangs out death in one eternal night? 
A night that glooms us in the noon-tide ray. 
And wraps our thought at banquet in the shroud. 
Life's little stage is a small eminence, 
Inch iilgh the grave above, that home of man, 
Where dwells the multitude: we gaze around; 
We read their monuments; we sigh; and while 
We sigh we sink ; and are what we deplored ; 
Lamenting or lamented all our lot! 

Is Death at distance? No; he has l)eenonthee, 

And given sure earnest of his final blow. 

Those hours that lately smiled, where are they 
now? 

Pallid to thought, and ghastly! drowned, all 
drowned 

In that great deep which nothing disembogues! 

And, dying, they bequeathed thee small renown. 

The rest are on the wing: how fleet their flight! 

Already has the fatal train took fire; 

A moment, and the world's blown up to thee; 

The sun is darkness, and the stars are dust. 
'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours. 

And ask them what report they bore to Heaven, 

And how they might have borne more welcome 
news. 

Their answers form what men Experience call; 

If Wisdom's friend her best, if not, worst foe. 

O reconcile them! kind Experience cries, 

" There's nothing here but what as notliing 
weighs; 

The more our joy, the more we know it vain, 

And by success are tutored to despair." 

Nor is it only thus, but must be so. 

Who knows not this, though gray, is still a child, 

Loose then from earth the grasp of fond desire; 

Weigh anchor, and some happier clime explore. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



Art thou 80 moored thou canst not disengage, 
Nor give thy thoughts a ply to future scenes 1 
Since by Hfe's passing breatli, blown up from earth 
Liglit as tlie summer's dust, we take in air 
A moment's giddy flight, and fall again, 
Join the dull mass, increase the trodden soil. 
And sleep, till Earth herself shall be no more; 
Since then (as emmets, their small world o'er- 

thrown) 
We, sore-amazed, from out earth's ruins crawl, 
And rise to fate extreme of foul or fair. 
As man's own choice, (controller of the skies!) 
As man's despotic will, perhaps one hour, 
(O how omnipotent is time!) decrees; 
Should not each warning give a strong alarm? 
Warning, far less than that of bosom torn 
From bosom, bleeding o'er the sacred dead ! 
Should not each dial strike us as we pass. 
Portentous, as the written wall which struck, 
O'er midnight bowls, the proud Assyrian pale, 
Ere-while high-flushed with insolence and winel 
Like that, the dial speaks, and points to thee, 
Lorenzo ! loth to break thy banquet up : — 
" O Man! thy kingdom is departing from thee, 
And, while it lasts, is emptier than my shade." 
Its silent language such; nor need'st thou call 
Thy Magi to decipher what it means. 
Know, like the Median, Fate is in thy walls: 
Dost ask how? whence? Belshazzar-like, amazed: 
Man's make incloses the sure seeds of death; 
Lifefeeds the murderer: ingrate ! he thrives 
On her own meal, and then his nurse devours. 

But here, Lorenzo, the delusion lies; 
That solar shadow, as it measures Ufe, 
It life resembles too. Life speeds away 
From point to point, though seeming to stand still. 
The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth: 
Too subtle is the movement to be seen ; 
Yet soon man's hour is up, and we are gone. 
Warnings point out our danger; gnomons, time: 
As these are useless when the sun is set. 
So those, but when more glorious Reason shines. 
Reason should judge in all ; in Reason's eye 
That sedentary shadow travels hard: 
But such our gravitation to the wrong, 
So prone our hearts to whisper what we wish, 
'Tis later with the wise than he's aware. 
A Wilmington goes slower than the sun; 
And all mankind mistake their time of day; 
Even age itself Fresh hopes are hourly sown 
In furrowed brows. So gentle life's descen t, 
We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain. 
We take fair days in winter for the spring. 
And turn our blessings into bane. Since oft 
Man must compute that age he can not feel, 
He scarce believes he's older for his years. 
ThuB at life's latest eve we keep in store 
One disappointment, sure to crown the rest, 
The disappointment of a promised hour. 



On this, or similar. Philander! thou 
Whose mind was moral as the preacher's tongue, 
And strong to wield all science worth the name, 
How often we talked down the summer's sun. 
And cooled our passions by the breezy stream : 
How often thawed and shortened winter's eve 
By conflict kind, that struck out latent truth, 
Best found so sought, to the recluse more coy ! 
Thoughts disentangle pa.ssing o'er the lip ; 
Clear runs the thread ; if not, tis thrown away, 
Or kept to tie up nonsense for a song ; 
Song, fashionably fruitless, such as stains 
The fancy, and unhallowed passion fires, 
Chiming her saints to Cytherea's fane. 

Know'st thou, Lorenzo ! what a friend contains? 
As bees mixed nectar draw from fragrant flowers. 
So men from Friendship, wisdom and delight ; 
Twins, tied by Nature ; if they part they die. 
Hast thou no friend to set thy mind abroach ? 
Good sense will stagnate. Thoughts shut up 

want air. 
And spoil, like bales unopened to the sun. 
Had thought been all. sweet speech had been de- 
nied ; 
Speech! thought's canal; speech! thought's cri- 
terion too : 
Thought in mine may come forth gold or dross: 
Wlien coined in word we know its real worth 
If sterhng, store it for thy future use; 
'Twill buy thee benefit, perhaps renown 
Thought, too, delivered, is the more possessed ; 
Teaching, we learn ; and giving, we retain 
The births of intellect ; when dumb, forgot. 
Speech ventilates our intellectual fire ; 
Speech burnishes our mental magazine ; 
Brightens for ornament, and whets for use. 
What numbers, sheathed in erudition, lie 
Plunged to the hilts in venerable tomes, 
And rusted in, who might have borne an edge, 
And played a sprightly beam, if born to speech, 

If born blest heirs of half their mother's tongue ! 

'Tis thought's exchange, which, like the alternate 
push 

Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned scum. 

And defecates the student's standing pool. 
In contemplation is his proud resource ? 

'Tis poor as proud, by converse unsustained. 

Rude thought runs wild in contemplation's field; 

Converse, the menage, breaks it to the bit 

Of due restraint ; and Emulation's spur 

Gives graceful energy, by rivals awed. 

'Tis converse qualifies for solitude, 

As exercise for salutary rest : 

By that untutored. Contemplation raves; 

And Nature's fool by Wisdom's is outdone. 
Wisdom, though richer than Peruvian mines, 

And sweeter than the sweet ambrosial hive, 

What is she but the means of happiness 1 

That unobtained, than Folly more a fool ; 



10 



YOUNG'S WOllKS. 



A luolmicholy fiml, wllhout hrr bolli. 

Frlt'iutNliii', llu' in.MiiiN olwiH'loin, ri.-lily j:'vt>»< 
'ri\t' piociiiviJt <<iul, vvliicli nmkcH niiv wisdoiii wine. 

Niilmv, ill /nil lor liiiiimuiunily, 

PrllicH iiidiimim nn uiulividi'il jov. 
Joy iH lui inipoil ; joy xmxw (>\i-lu\iij;i>i 
Joy llioM moi\o|)oli»ti« ; it imiIIh lor two: 

Iticli iViiit ' liriivni pliinli'ill iicvcr |iliu'k«'il l>y oiuv 

Mi'tHlliii mixilmroiiir oiii liiiMulH, to give 

To iiiH'ial inuu I mo ri'linh «it' hiiiisi'lf. 

Full on odiMclvi'H ilcHi'iMuiiiij^ in a liiu\ 

ricamiii'N luifjlil lii'iiin ii4 li-t'lili' in il<'li)jl>t: 

l>«<li;;lit inli'UMO w taken i»y roliountl ; 

llov('rl>oralcil iiloa«»n'i'« (iit' tho bivawt. 
Ccli'slial liMiniint'ss ! vvhonoVr wlio Ht(H»p« 

To vimt oartit, ono »lu'in<' tlu' i;oi1i1i'h^ (iml, 

And ono ulono, to niako inr Nwrtt aintMulrt 

For aWnt lloavcn — tho lionoin of a iVioiul ; 

Wl>iM-»' lirarl iiutIm iirart, nriprix-ally noH, 

1mu"Ii otiu'r'rt [hIIdw to ropoHo diviMo 

Hownw tho i-ountorloit ; in imsHion'rt tlamo 

lloarls iiirll, lull moll liko ifo, soon harder iVo/.o. 

Truo love wlilkcnrool in roason, [laNsion'tt loo; 

Virtvio ftlono intondow u* lor lifo; 

1 wron^j hor iiuieh inlondors us tor over. 

Of frundsl\i|>'s liiirosl IVihIm, liio fniil most fair 

Ih virluo kindiinij iit u rival liro. 

Andon\>dovi»ly rapid in hor raco. 

() llu' soil I'Miuilv ! ondeariuf; Hlrilo! 

'I'Ui!* carrit-M l''ruMidsl\i|) lo hor noon-tido point, 

And jjivos tho nvol of oU>ruily. 

From I'riondship, which ovitliveH my fornu>r 
tliomi'M, 

Glorious survivor of ohl Tiino and ^("alh! 

Fn>in Kriondnhip, thud, that lloworof hoavotdy «hh1, 

Tho wim- ovlract oarthV most liyhloan Miss, 
yui«-nor wisdont, criiwn'd with smihn^ joy. 

Hut lor whom hiosnoms this l''.lysi,'\n tlowor I 
Ahi-oad lht>y fmd who rhorish it at homo. 
l.oriMi/.ol pardon what my lovo oxIorU, 
An honest love, and nol alVaid t>> I'rown. 
Though el\oiiH' of tollies faslou on tho jjrt'at, 
Wono elin!j>i mon' ohslinato than I'aney fond, 
That saen'il friendstu)' is their easy pivy, 
C'anjjhl hv tho walhire o( a ;;ulden huv, 
Or faseination oi' u hiijh horn smile. 
Their smiles tho j;ivat, and tho e>>nuet, thi\>w out 
For others' hearts, lenaeious of then- own ; 
Atul wo no low of our«, when sueh the hait. 
Yo Fortune's eotVerors! yo powers of AVealth ! 
i'un ijoM j;a\u friendship f impudeneo {■>( hojH' ! 
A» well mon< man an ansjel miijht heijet. 
l.ove, and love only, is the loan for love. 
l.or»Mi/.ii! prido ivpri'ss, nor ho|H' to fnul 
A iViind, hut what has fouuil a friend intheo: 
All like thi- purehas«", few the price will pay ; 
Anil IhtM inuki* frioiulii ouoh luiraeles lu'low. 
>Vhat if (^•iiiec during on bo nioo a thonio) 



] show iliee IViiMidship as doliontfl an dear, 

( )f lender vinlalioiis iipl to die t 

lu'serve will wound it, and distrust destroy. 

Pelilierato on ull Ihin^^s with thy friend : 

Hut since friends j»row not lliiek on every hoiijjh. 

IN or every friend unrotten at tlie core, 

I'irsl on thy frioml ilelilH<ri\to with thyself; 

I'ause, \)onder, silt; not eaj;er in theeluiiee, 

Nor jealous of th«> ehosen : lixinj;, li\ ; 

.liidf^e hefore frienilship, then eonfide till death. 

Well for thy friend, hut nobler far for thee. 

1 low gallant dauber for earth's highest pri/.o ! 

A iVii'ud is worth all ha/.ards we eaii run. 

' I'oor is the friendless inasler of a world: 

i\ world in purehaso fi>r r friend is ^iiin.' 

So snujj he (aiii'els hear that nintel sinij! 
Aii>;els friiiii friendship jjalher half their Joy) 
So suni;; Philandor, n« his frioiul wont round 
111 ihi' rich ielior in the ijeiier>>iis blood 
C>( Haeeluis, purple jjod o( joyous wit, 
A bn)w soluto, unil ovor-lt\ujjhi»jj oyo. 
1 le drank Ion;; health and virtue to his friend ; 
Ills friend! who warmed him more, who mori' iii- 

Bpiroil. 
I'riendship's tlio wine of life ; but IViemlship now 
l^INol sueh was Ids') is neithtu' strong nor pure. 
Ol for the l)ri;j[ht eomplexion, oonlial warmth, 
And elevatinj; spirit of a friend, 
For twenty summers riiH'ninn hy my sido; 
.Ml feeuleneo of falsi'hooil loii;; tlirt>wn down, 
,\ll social virtues risiujj in his soul. 
As crystal clear, «nd smiliii* iis thoy riso ! 
llen> nectar llows ; it sparkles in our si^jht : 
Uii'li to the taste, and j;eiiuine from the heart. 
1 \'\^\\ llavoimHl bliss for jjoils! on oarth how mwl 
()n I'artli how lost ! - riiilaiuK'r is lut mi>iv. 

Thiukesl thou tlie theme intoxicates my sonj{ 'I 
Am I tiH» wiirin t — T»h> warm I can not Ih>. 
I ioveil him much, hut iu>w I love him moiv. 
1 .ike birds, whose beauties laiij;iiish, half conccahHl, 
Till, mounted on tin- win;;, their j;lossy plumes 
Fxpanded, shine with a/.uiv, ;;iven, aiul jjolil ; 
I low blessiu):ts brij;hten as they take their tli^htl 
His lli;;ht riiilander tiH>k, his upward tlia,ht, 
If ever soul ascended, llail he diMp(M>il, 
(Thttt oajjlo ji^iMiius \) O hail lio lot fall 
0\w feather as he llew. I then had wrx)te 
What I'riends miijht llallcr. prudent Iih's forU>ar, 
Uivalsst'arw damn, and '/.oilus n>prievo. 
Yet what I can I imist : it wen' pix>fano 
To ipiench a j;lory liijhted at the skies, 
And east in shadows his illustrious cliwi'. 
Stranjie! tho theino mi>st alUvtin^, most sublime^ 
Momentous most to man, should sloop unsung! 
;\nd yet it sleeps, by >;ciiius unawaked, 
I'aiium or f'hrislian, to the blush oi' Wit. 
Man's hi>;hest triumpli, man's prv>foundest faH, 
ri)o iloatli-l>oJ of the just I is yet uiulrawu 



THE COMPLAINT. 



U 



liy mortal hand-, it inuritR a (livino; 
AnnilMnlitnilil |miiit, it, lumclrif'vcr lln'r<), 
'I'iirrf on 11 |M)Ht ol' lioiiour uikI of joy. 

Durii 1 prcMuiiio, then I liut IMiilandcr IuJh, 
y\ii(l n\i>Ty IrinptH, iiiid iiu'liiiiilioii ciiIIh. 
Yet Hill I Htriirk, iiH Htnii'k llir Hoiil IxMiculli 
A^'riiil (j;rov(^M iiii|)ciictriililti {{looin, 
Or in HDiiif iiii|{lity ruin'H miliwiiii mIiikIc, 
Or unritifj^, 1/y |iiilii liiin|)M, on liiKli-liorn duHt 
In viiiiIIm, thill rniirlH iii' |iii<ir iiiilliittrri'd liin^H, 
( >r III tlii^ iiiidiii<{lit idliir'n liullowxd lluliic. 
It IK rt'li^ioii to |iroi'.o(td ; 1 [miiHU — 
Ami ciilrr, iiwcd, the ti'iii|il<i of my theme. 
iHJt hih- ihMtli hi'd t INo; it is hin Hhriiiu: 
lichold iiiiii (iicri! juHl r'lmin to u jjod. 

Thr chniiiln'r where liie {rood nilin me(;tH hib futc 
Ih jirivih'i^ed heyoiid tUv eoiiiiiioii widk 
Of virtuouH lilii, (jiiiti! in the vi^rj^o of li<!uven. 
Fly, ye iiroliiiie! if not, draw near witii awd, 
lleeeive tlie lileHHinj^, anil udore the e.hanee 
That tlirew in this lielheHila yonr diHCiiHC : 
If unreHlored liy tliiH, den|iair your euro; 
For here refiHtleHH DcmonHtration dwclU. 
A dentil hed'H a deteetor of Otc. heart! 
Here tired I )iHMim(ilation dro|iH her miiHk 
Throut;ii Life's (jrinuuHt, that miHtruHH of the Hconol 
Here ri'ai and a|i|>iirent are th<! Kuine, 
You Ket! the man, yon Hei; Ihh iioid on lleuven, 
If Hound hiu virtue, um IMiiluriditr'tt wound. 
i leaven wnitri notlhe Ihk) moment; owiiKluTfri<!iidH 
On thlH HJile death, and poinlHthein out to men; 
A li-eture Hilerit, Itut of Mov«^rei({n |iow(ir! 
To Vice confuHion, and to Virtue |)(!iu;c. 

Whatever I'aree th<! hoiiHtful hero jilayu, 
"Virtue alone linn majcMty in death; 
And greater Hiill, the more the tyrant frowim. 
riiilanderl Iks Mcverely frowned on theo. 
' No wiirniiin yiven ! ntieereinoiiioiiH fate I 
A Muddeii ruHh I'rom lile'H meridian joyHl 
A wrcneh from all we, lov(! 1 from all w«! are 1 
A rcHlleHH lii'd of |iain ! a |iliiii|ri! o|ia(jiiu 
Hi-yond eoiijeclnnM feehl<! Nature'rt drea<l ! 
Htront; RenHon'H Hhudder, at tiie dark unknown ! 
A Kun extinnuinh'd ! a jiiHt^Dpiinini^ ({rave,! 
And, (ill! the hint, laxl; what! (ean worilHi^xprcwi, 
Tiiou|jrlit reach iff) the laxt— Hiiene.e of a friendl' 
Where are llione horrom, that ama/.ement, wiiere 
TIiIh iiideouH uroup of ilU, whieh Hiii;^ly Hlioek, 
Demand fniiii man. — I thought him man, till now. 

Tlirounh Nalurc'n wreck, through vaiiquiHh'd 
UKonieM, 
(Like the HtarK Htru(r|{ling throu^li IhiH midnight 

gloom) 
What gleaniHof joyl what more than hutnun [tcacel 
Whert! tim frail mortal, the poor .-dijee.t worm 1 
No, not in death the mortal to be found. 
lllH CAjiiduet iH a legacy for all, 
Richer than Mammon'H for hix Kinglc heir. 
llw cundurtcrii hv coinfortu; gri^at in ruio 



With unrelnclant grandeur given, not yields 
I IIh Moiil Hiihliiiie, and eliiHcH with hix fate. 

How our lii'iirlH hurnt within uk at tlie Hcono; 
Wheiiee thiH brave hound o'er limitH lix'd to maul 
lliHCiod HiiHtaiim him in Iuh fiiiid lidiirt 
I lin Ihiiil hour liriiigH glory lohiH(i<iill 
Mnii'n glory I leaven voiieliHafeH to eall her own. 
We gii/.e, we wi'(^p; mixed (.(MirH of grief and joy! 
Ama/,(!iiient Htrike.M: devotion hurHti* to llamo: 
( -liriHtiiiiiH adore! and iiifiilelH helieve. 

Ah Home tall lower, or lolly inountain'H hrow, 
l)<'tainH the Hun, illuHtrioun, from itH height. 
While riHiiig va|ioiirM, and dcHi-endiiig HJiadeH, 
With daiiipH and ilarkneHH, drown the spuciout 

vale; 
IJndaiiipt by doubt, uiidnrkeu'd liy di'Hpair, 
I'hilaiider tliUH aiigUHtly rearn bin bead, 
At tiiat blaek hour whi<di giwieral horror kIiO(I« 
On the low level of tliir inglorioun throng: 
Kweet pc^ae.e, and beaviMlly hope, and humblo joy, 
Divinely beam on bin exalted hoiiI; 
DcHtrnetion gild, and crown him for the HJciuH, 
With incointnunii'.alih! luHtre bright. 



NIOHT III. 



NAIICISHA. 



To Ilor Oruo) tint DiicliMriH of rorllnnd. 



IgnoKcnda i/iiidem, ndrcnl ni ignoHcf.re »rtan«/». — Vlrg. 

l''iiiiM dri^anm, where tbougiit in I.''atie.y'H mu/a 

ruim mad, 
'I'o re.nHon, that heaven lighted lamp in man, 
Once more I wake; and at tlie deiitiiied hour, 
I'unctuul an lovcrH to llic moiimnt Hworn, 
I keep my aHrtignatlon with my wo. 

O! hmt 1^) virtue, hmt to manly tiiouglit, 
I.oHlto the noble nallieH of the houI; 
Who think it Holitiiile to he alone. 
Ooiiimniiion Hweet! ('omiiinnion largo and highl 
Our reanoii, guardian angel, and our (Jod! 
Then neaniHt IheMc, wiien oIIkth iiioHt reinotOi 
And all, <!re long, Hball bir re,iiiot,e but tlwHo; 
I low dreadful, then, to meet them all alone, 
A Htranger! luiacknowledged, unapprov'd! 
Now woo them, wed them, liind them to thy hrooal; 
To win thy wirdi erealion liaH no more: 

Or if we winb a liiiirth, it in a friend. 

Hut friendrt how mortal! dangerouH tho detiiro. 

Take l'li(eiiUM to yoiirHelven, yr- liiiHking burdit 
IiK^liriiite ut fair fiirliine'H fountain lieaxi. 
And reeling through the wihhirneHH of joy. 
When; Henw4! runt) Havage, broke from Rfjason'* 

chain, 
Anil HingM falne (x-ar-e, till Hmoth(!r'd by the pal). , 
My fortune Ih unlike, unlike my Honjf, 
Unlike the deity my «on{{ invoke*. 



19 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



I to dnyV soil I'y'il niHtcr pny »i».V court, 
(Eiulymioii's rival) and her aid iniploro, 
Now (iisl inipliirM in siicfoiir to tlic Muso. 

'I'liou wild (lidsl luti'ly lunnnv ( 'yntliiii'H* form, 
And nuxirhlly fort');!) tliinoown: O thou 
Wlio (lidul tliysi'irnl miilniiilit liours inspirp! 
Say, why not ("ynlliiii, pulioiicKrt iil" Hoiig'l 
iVn llioii luT frt'sfiMil, kIic thy rharaclor 
AHHuniOH; Htill niori" a );oddi-ss by tlic cimnfjo. 
Aro them dcnmrriiifj witw who dam diMputo 
Thin rcvolnlioii in lhi> world inspired I 
Yo train I'icrian I to the lunar splioro, 
In sdont hour, address your nnliMit call 
l''or aid iininortid, less her lirolhcr's rifjht. 
iSho with tlu' .splicri's harmonious, nifjlitly loads 
The nui7.y dunce, and hears their matchless strain, 
A strain for f^ods, denied to mortal ear. 
Transmit il heard, thou sdver (jneen of Heaven! 
What title or what name endears thee most I 
Cynthia! ("^yllene! IMuehe — or dost hear 
With higher j^t^i, liiir Portland ol" the skiesi 
Is tliut the soil enelumtnient calls thee down, 
More powerfid than of old Cireean charm 1 
('ome, hot iVom heavi-idy lianquets witii tiieelirinij 
The soul ol'sonj;, and vv!iis]ier in my ear 
The Ihell divine; or in propitious dreams 
(For dreams are thine) Iranstuse it tlux)ugh the 

lircMst 
i}( thy (ir»t votary, but not thy hist, 
If like thy namesake, thou art over kind. 

Anil kind thou wilt be, kind on such u theme; 
A theme so hke lh(>e, a tpiile limar theme, 
Sot), modest, melancholy, female, fair! 
A them<< li\at rose all pal(<. and told my soul 
'Twas ni^iit ; on her t'ond hopi's perpetual uiijht ; 
A ni>;ht which struck a damp, a deaillier<lamp 
Thau that which smote me from Philanders tomb! 
Narcissa follows er(> his tomb is closed. 
WiH>s cluster; rare are solitary woes; 
They love a train; thi>y tread each other's heel; 
Her death invades his nuxn'nful risjht, and claims 
The ffrief that started tiom my lids for him; 
Seizes the faithless, alienated tt>ar. 
Or shares it ore it falls. So fretpicnt Death, 
Si>rrow he mi>re than causes, he contlnnuls; 
For human sii^hs his rival strokes contend. 
And make distress distraction. Oh, Philander! 
What was thy fate I a double fate to me ! 
I'orlent and jilain! a menac(< and a blow! 
Like thu black raven hoverinjr o'er nty peace, 
Not less a bird of omen than «>f |)rev. 
It called Narcissa lon^; before lu-r iiour; 
It called her tender soul by break of bliss, 
From the (irst bli>.>>.son», from the buds of joy; 
Those few our noxious fate miblasted leaves, 
In this inclement clime of human hie. 
Sweet liarnionisl! and beautiful as sweet! 

* Al iho Uuko of Norfolk'! nmsquorode. 



And young as beautiful ! and sort aa young! 
And fjay as soil! an<i innwent as gay I 
And happy (if auijiit happy here) as ^ood! 
I'or fortune, fond, had built her nest on high. 
Like birds quite exiiuisito of note and plume, 
Translixed by Fate (wlm lovf-s a lolly mark) 
1 low from the sunnnit of the grove she fell, 
And lell it nnharmonious! all its charm 
Fxtinguish'd in the wonders of h(T song! 
1 ler song still vibrates in my ravished ear. 
Still melting there, and with voluptuous pain 
(O to liirget her!) thrilling through my heart. 

Song, beauty, youth, love, virtue, joy; this group 
Of bright ideas, (lowers ol' Paradise, 
As yi't untorfeitl in one blaze wo bind. 
Kneel, and present it to tho skies, os all 
We guess of Heaven! and these wem all her own; 
And she was mine; and I was — was — most blest — 
tiay title of the ileopest misery! 
As bodies grow more ponderous robbed of life, 
(.«ood lost^ weigiis more in grief, than gained in 

J'W- 
r>ike blossomed trees o'erturn'd by vernal storm, 
Lovely in ileath the beauteous ruin lay; 
And if in death still lov<'ly, lovelii>r there; 
Far lovelier; pity swells the tide of lovo. 
And will not the severe excuse a signl 
Scorn tiie proud man that is ashamed to weep. 
tUir tears indulged indeed deserve our sluune. 
Ye that o'er lost an angel, pity mo I 

Soon as the lustre Ianguish(>d in her eve. 
Dawning a dimmer day on human sight. 
And on her cheek, the n>sidenee of Spring, 
Pale Omen sat, and scattered fears around 
On all that saw, (and who would cease to gaze 
That once had seen f) with haste, paivntal haste, 
I llew, I snatched her from the rigid North, 
ll(>r native be<l, on which bleak Boreas blew. 
And bore her nearer to the sun; the sun 
(.As if the sun eovdd envy) checked his beam, 
Denied his wouteil succour; nor with more 
Kegret beheld hi-r drooping than tiie bells 
Of lilies; fairest lilies not so fair. 

Uueen lilies ! and ye painted ))opulaco 
Who dwell in (lelds, and lead ambrosial lives! 
In morn and <'vening dew your beauties bathe. 
And <lrink the sun, which gives your checks to 

glow. 
And (uitblush (mine excepted) every fair; 
You gladlier grew, ambitious of her hand. 
Which (itlen crept your odours, incense meet 
To thought so pvire! Ye lovely fugitives! 
Ooiival race with man! I'or nu>n you smile; 
Why not smile at him too! Yon share, indeed, 
His sudden pass; but not his constant pain. 
So man is made, nought nunisters delight 
lUit what his globing passions can engage; 
Ai\d glowing passions, IhmU on ought below, 
Must, soon or late, with anguish turn the scale; 



THE COMPLAINT. 



13 



And anjfniiili adcr raiitiirc, how Hcvini! 
]lM|i(iir<^ 7 lidld iriiiii! who IciiiplH (hr wrath divino, 
l\y \i\uck'it>jt fruit ilciiird lo inorliil tuHto, 
While iicro iircHUiniiijj on thd ri>{lilH ofllcavori. 
For triiiiHport doHt thou cull on every hour, 
Lorenzo '! at thy Crieml'M ex|ienne he wiwe; 
I^eiiii not on earlii; 'twill jiierco thi^c to tlio heart; 
A hroken reed at licHt; hut oH a «|)eiir; 
On itH Hharji point Peace bleedu, und llopo cx- 
pireH. 
Turn, liopeleHH thouj^lit! turn from her. — 
Tliouj^ht repelled, 
ReKcnliii;^ ruIJicH, and wakeH <'very wo. 
Snatched ere tliy jiriniel and in Ihy hridal hour! 
And when kind Kortuno, with thy lover, Hniilcd I 
And when hi;.;h-navoure(i thy (ri'siiopenin}; joyH' 
And wh<-n lilind man pronounced thy liliHH com- 
plete! 
And on a foreii^n shore where Htrant;erH wept! 
Stranj^ern to thee, and, nion; Kurprinini,' Htill, 
Stranj;erH lo kindncHH, we|it. Their eycH^.'t fall 
Inhuman tears ; Htrange tear« I tliat tricklt^l down 
]''rom marlile hearts ! oliduratc; tenderness! 
A lenderness tliat called tliem more severe, 
In s|)ile of Nature's soil persuasion sleeled: 
Wliih^ Nature melted, Superstition raved; 
That niourned the dead, and tliis denied a ijrave. 
'J'lieir sii^iis incensed; siglis foreijfii to th(! will! 
Their will tlie tijrer-HUcked outraged the storm : 
l''or, oil I the ciirsed nnjjodliness of Zeal! 
While siidid (lesh relenled, s|)irit nursed 
In lilind Infallihility'a cmhraee. 
The sainted spirit jietrilied the hreast : 
Denied th(! charity of dust to spread 
O'er dust ! a charity tlu^ir do^js enjoy. 
What could I do? what succour'! what rcBourcc'? 
With pious sacrileircr a ^rave I stoh? ; 
With impious piety that grave I wronged; 
Short ill my iluty, coward in my grief! 
Mori- hk(^ her nnirderer Ihan friend, I crept 
Witli sod Kusjiended step, and, nnillled de(?p 
In midnight darkness, vvliispered my last sigh. 
I whispered what should echo through their nudrnH, 
Nor writ her name, whose tomb Mhould pierce the 

skies. 
Presnmptuoua fear! how durst I dread her foes, 
Wliile Naure's loudest dictates I olieyed? 
Panlon necessity, Mest shaile! of grief 
And indigruition rival hursts I poured; 
Half execration mingled with my pr.'iyi'r; 
Kimlled at man, whil<! 1 histiod adored: 
Sor(! grudged the Huvnge land her sacred dust; 
Stamped the curst soil ; and with hnmatiity 
(Denied Narcissa) wished them all agrave. 

Glows my n-sentment into guilt 1 what guilt 
Cnn c(|nal violationn of the dead1 
The dead how sacred ! sacred is the dust 
Of this lu^aveii lalioured form, erect, divine! 
Thu heaven usbumcd, majeblic, ruhe of earth 



I le deigned to wear, who hung the vast expanno 
With azure hriglit, atid clotiied the sun in gold. 
When every passion sleeps that can ollend; 
When strikes us iivery motives that can melt; 
When man can wreak his raiieour nncontrolle<l, 
That strongest curh on insult anil ill will ; 
Thi-n I spleen lo dust! the dust of innocence'? 
An niigel'n dust I — This Lucifer tranccends; 
When he contended liir the jiatriarch's hones, 
'Twas not the strife ol' malice, hut of pride; 
The strife of iiontiir pride, not pontidgall. 

Far less than this is shocking in a liice 
Most wretched, hut from streams ol inntuul love, 
And imereateil, hut for love divine; 
And hilt for love divine tiiis momc^nt lost, 
l?y I' ate resorhed, and surdi in endless night. 
IVIan hard of heart to man! td' horrid things 
Most horrid! mid stupendous highly strange! 
Yet oil his courtesies are smoother wrongs; 
I'ride brandishes the favoins he confers, 
And contumelious his humanity: 
What then his vengeance'! I iear it not, ye Starn| 
And thou, pale Moon! turn paler at tlu; sound, 
Man is to man the sorest, surest ill. 
A |)rcvious blast l()relells the rising storm; 
O'erwhelming turrets thn-aten, ere they full; 
Volcanos bellow, eri' lliey diHembogne; 
I'larth trembles, vw her yawnnig jaws (hivour; 
And Binoke bctmyn the wide-consuming firo: 
|{uin from man is most Cdncealed when near, 
A lid sends the drea<llul tidings in \.\h'. blow. 
Is this the flight of b'ancy 1 would it were! 
I leaven's Sovereign saves all beings, hut IlitnHclf, 
That hideous sight, a. naked human heart. 

b'ired is the Muse! and let the Muse be fired: 
Who not inllamed, when what lir- speaks he (iielrt, 
And in the iiervi^ most tender, in his friends; 
ShariK! to mankind! Philander had his foes; 
lie felt the truths I sing, an<l I in him: 
Hut ho nor 1 li-i'l more. Past ills, NarcisHal 
Are sunk in tlie<', thou recent woiiikI of heart, 
Which blei'ds with other cares, with oilier [langfi: 
Pangs nuinerouM as the numerous ills that swarmed 
O'er thy diHtingiiished fate, and cluslering Ihcre, 
'I'liick as llu^ locust on thi^ land of Nile, 
Made death more deadly, and more dark the grave. 
Pedect (if not forgot my toui-hing tale) 
How was each circumstance with asjiics armcdt 
An Oiipie (!ach, and all an hyilra-wo. 
What strong IIc^rcMilean virtue could sufFicc? — 
Or is it virtue lo he conquered here'! 
This hoary cheek a train of tears bedews, 
And each tear mourns its own distinit distrcBB, 
And each distress, distinctly moiirn'd, demanda 
Of grief still more, as heightened by the whole, 
A grief likir this |)roprietorrt»xc!ud(^H: 
Not friends alone such obsequies deplore; 
They make mankiinl the mourner; carry sigh* 
Far aB the fatal i'amc can wing her way,' 



14 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



And turn the gayest thought of gayest age 
Down their right channel, through the vale of 
death. 
The vale of death 1 that hush'd Cimmerian vale, 
Where Darkness, brooding o'er unfinished fates, 
With raven wing incumbent, waits the day 
(Dread day!) that interdicts all future change; 
That subterranean world, that land of ruin! 
Fit walk, Lorenzo! for proud human thought! 
There let my thoughts expatiate, and explore 
Balsamic truths and heahng sentiments, 
Of all most wanted, and most welcome, here. 
For gay Lorenzo's sake, and for thy own, 
My soul! ' The fruits of dying friends survey; 
Expose the vain of life; weigh Hfe and death; 
Give Death his eulogy ; thy fear subdued; 
And labour that first palm of noble minds, 
A manly scorn of terror from the tomb.' 

This harvest reap from thy Narcissa's grave. 
As poets feigned from Ajax' streaming blood 
Arose, with grief inscribed, a mournful flower, 
Let wisdom blossom from my mortal wound. 
And first, of dying friends ; what fruit from these? 
It brings us more than triple aid; an aid 
To chase our thoughtlessness, fear, pride, and 
guilt. 
Our dying friends come o'er us like a cloud, 
To damp our brainless ardours, and abate 
That glare of light, which often blinds the wise. 
Our dying friends are pioneers, to smooth 
Our rugged pass to death; to break those bars 
Of terror and abhorrence Nature throws 
Cross our obstructed way, and thus to make 
Welcome, as safe, our port from every storm. 
Each friend by Fate snatched from us is a plume 
Plucked from the wing of human vanity. 
Which makes us stoop from our aerial heights, 
And damped with omen of our own decease, 
On drooping pinions of ambition lowered. 
Just skim earth's surface ere we break it up, 
O'er putrid earth to scratch a little dust, 
And save the world a nuisance. Smitten friends 
Are angels sent on errands full of love; 
For us they languish, and for us they die: 
And shall they languish, shall they die, in vainl 
Ungrateful, shall we grieve their hovering shades. 
Which wait the revolution in our hearts'? 
Shall we disdain their silent, soft, address. 
Their postliumous advice, and pious prayer 1 
Senseless as herds that graze their hallowed graves. 
Tread under foot their agonies and groans. 
Frustrate their anguish, and destroy their deaths'? 

Lorenzo! no; the thought of death indulge; 
Give it its wliolesome empire! let it reign. 
That kind cliastiser of thy soul, in joy! 
Its reign will spread thy glorious conquests far, 
And still the tumults of thy ruffled breast. 
Auspicious tra! golden days, begin! 
The thouplit of death shall, like a god, inspire. 



And why not think on death 1 Is life the theme 
Of every thought"? and wish of every hour'? 
And song of every joy "? surprising truth! 
The beaten spaniel's fondness not so strange. 
To wave the numerous ills that seize on life 
As their own property, their lawful prey; 
Ere man has measured half his weary stage, 
His luxuries have left him no reserve. 
No maiden relishes, unbroached delights: ; 

On cold-served repetitions he subsists. 
And in the tasteless present chews the past ; 
Disgusted chews, and scarce can swallow down. 
Like lavish ancestors, his earUer years 
Have disinherited his future hours, 
Which starve on orts, and glean their formes 
field. 

Live ever here, Lorenzo ! — shocking thought! 
So shocking ! they who wish disown it too ; 
Disown from shame, what they from folly crave. 
Live ever in the womb, nor see the light ? 
For what, hve ever herel — with labouring step 
To tread our former footsteps 1 pace the round 
Eternal 1 to climb hfe's worn heavy wheel. 
Which draws up nothing new "? to beat, and beat, 
The beaten track? to bid each wretched day 
The former mock? to surfeit on the same. 
And yawn our joys ? or thank a misery 
For change though sad! to see what we have 

seen ? 
Hear, till unheard, the same old slabbered taleT 
To taste the tasted, and at each return 
Less tasteful ? o'er our palates to decant 
Another vintage ? strain a flatter year * 

Through loaded vessels, and a laxer tone 1 
Crazy machines to grind earth's wasted fruits ! 
Ill ground, and worse concocted ! load, not life! 
The rational foul kennels of excess ! 
Still-streaming thoroughfares of dull debauch ! 
Trembling each gulp, lest Death should snatch 
the bowl. 

Such of our fine ones is the wish refined ! 
So would they have it: elegant desire ! 
Why not invite the bellowing stalls and wilds? 
But such examples might their riot awe. 
Through want of virtue, that is, want of thought, 
(Though on bright thought they father all their 

flights) 
To what are they reduced ? to love and hate 
The same vain world ; to censure and espouse 
This painted shrew of life, who calls them fool 
Each moment of each day ; to flatter bad. 
Through dread of worse ; to cUng to tliis rude 

rock. 
Barren to them of good, and sharp with ills. 
And hourly blackened with impending storms, 
And infamous for wrecks of human hojie — 
Scared at the gloomy gulf that yawns beneath. 
Such are their triumphs ! such their pangs of joy! 

'Tis time, high time, to shift this dismal scene. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



15 



This hugged, this hideous state, what art can cure? 
One only, but that one what all may reach : 
Virtue — she, wonder-working goddess ! charms 
That rock to bloom, and tames the painted shrew; 
And, what will more surprise, Lorenzo ! gives 
To life's sick, nauseous iteration, change; 
And straitens Nature's circle to a line. 
Belie v'st thou this, Lorenzo? lend an ear, 
A patient ear; thou'lt blush to disbelieve. 

A languid, leaden iteration reigns, 
And ever must, o'er those whose joys are joys 
Of sight, smell, taste. The cuckow-seasons sing 
The same dull note to such as nothing prize 
But what those seasons, from the teeming earth, 
To doting sense indulge : but nobler minds, 
Which relish fruits unripened by tlie sun, 
Make their days various; various as the dyes 
On the dove's neck, which wanton in his rays. 
On minds of dove-like innocence possessed, 
On lightened minds, that bask in virtue's beams, 
Nothing hangs tedious, nothing old revolves 
In that for which they long, for which they live. 
Their glorious efforts, winged with heavenly hope, 
Each rising morning sees still higher rise; 
Each bounteous dawn its novelty presents 
To worth maturing, new strength, lustre, fame; 
While Nature's circle, like a chariot-wheel 
Rolling beneath their elevated aims. 
Makes their fair prospect fairer every hour, 
Advancing virtue in a line to bliss; 
Virtue, which Christian motives beet inspire; 
And bliss, which Christian schemes alone ensue ! 

And shall we then, for virtue's sake, commence 
Apostates, and turn infidels for joy 1 
A truth it is few doubt, but fewer trust, 
' He sins against this life who slights the next.' 
What is this life? how few their favourite know? 
Fond in the dark, and blind in our embrace, 
By passionately loving life, we make 
Loved life unlovely, hugging her to death. 
We give to time eternity's regard. 
And dreaming, take our passage for our port. 
Life has no value as an end, but means; 
An end deplorable ! a means divine ! 
When 'tis our all, 'tis nothing; worse than nought; 
A nest of pains; when held as nothing, much. 
Like some fair humorists, life is most enjoyed 
When courted least ; most worth when dis- 

esteemed ; 
Then 'tis the seat of comfort, rich in peace ; 
In prospect richer far ; important ! awful ! 
Not to be mentioned but with shouts of praise! 
Not to be thought on but with tides of joy! 
The mighty basis of eternal bliss! 

Where now the barren rock? the painted shrewl 
Where now, Lorenzo, life's eternal round 1 
Have I not made my triple promise good 1 
Vain is the world, but only to the vain. 
To -vhat compare we then tliis varying scene, 
15 



Whose worth, ambiguous, rises and declines I 
Waxes and wanes'? (in all propitious Night 
Assists me here) com[)are it to the moon; 
Dark in herself, and indigent, but rich 
In borrowed lustre from a higher sphere. 
When gross guilt interposes, labouring earth, 
O'ershadow'd, mourns a deep eclipse of joy; 
Her joys, at brightest, pallid to that font 
Of full effulgent glory whence they flow. 

Nor is that glory distant. Oh, Lorenzo! 
A good man and an angel! these between 
How thin the barrier! what divides their fate? 
Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year; 
Or if an age it is a moment still; 
A moment, or eternity's forgot. 
Then be what once they were who now are gods 
Be what Philander was, and claim the skies. 
Starts timid Nature at the gloomy pass? 
The sofl transition call it, and be cheered : 
Such it is often, and why not to thee ? 
To hope the best is pious, brave, and wise, 
And may itself procure what it presumes. 
Life is much flattered. Death is much traduced; 
Compare the rivals, and the kinder crown. 
' Strange competition!' — True, Lorenzo ! strange 
So little life can cast into the scale. 

Life makes the soul dependent on the dust. 
Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres. 
Through chinks, stiled organs, dim hfe peeps at 

light; 
Death burets the involving cloud, and all is day: 
All eye, all ear, the disembodied power. 
Death has feigned evils nature shall not feel ; 
Life, ills substantial wisdom can not shun. 
Is not the mighty mind, that sun of Heaven! 
By tyrant life dethroned, imprisoned, pained? 
By Death enlarged, ennobled, deified? 
Death but entombs the body, life the soul. 

' Is Death then guiltless? Plow he marks his way 
With dreadful waste of what deserves to shine! 
Art, genius, fortune, elevated power! 
With various lustres these light up the world, 
Which Death puts out, and darkens human race.* 
I grant, Lorenzo! this indictment just: 
The sage, peer, potentate, king, conqueror ! 
Death humbles these; more barbarous life, the 

man. 
Life is the triumph of our mouldering clay; 
Death of the spirit infinite ! divine ! 
Death has no dread but what frail life imparts, 
Nor life true joy but what kind death improves. 
No bliss has life to boast, till death can give 
Far greater. Life's a debtor to the grave; 
Dark lattice ! letting in ethereal day. 

Lorenzo ! blush at fondness for a life 
Which sends celestial souls on errands vile, 
To cater for the sense, and serve at boards 
Where every ranger of the wilds, perhaps 
Each reptile, justly claims our upper-hand. 



16 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Luxurious feast ! a soul, a soul immortal, 

In all the dainties of a brute bemired! 

Lorenzo ! blush at terror for a death 

Which gives thee to repose in festive bowers, 

Where nectars sparkle, angels minister, 

And more than angels share, and raise and crown, 

And eternize, the birth, bloom, bursts of bliss. 

What need I more 1 — O Death ! the palm is thine. 

Then welcome. Death ! thy dreaded harbingers, 
Age and disease ; Disease, though long my guest. 
That plucks my nerves, those tender strings of life. 
Which, plucked a little more, will tol/ the bell 
That calls my few friends to my funeral ; 
Where feeble Nature drops, perhaps, a tear, 
While Reason and Religion, better taught. 
Congratulate the dead, and crown his tomb 
With wreath triumphant. Death is victory! 
It binds in chains the raging ills of life: 
Lust and Ambition, Wrath and Avarice, 
Dragged at his chariot-wheel, applaud his power. 
That ills corrosive, cares importunate, 
Are not immortal too, O Death ! is thine. 
Our day of dissolution ! — name it right, 
'Tis our great pay-day; 'tis our harvest, rich 
And ripe. What though the sickle, sometimes 

keen. 
Just scars us as we reap the golden grain ! 
More than thy balm, O Gilcad! heals the wound. 
Birth's feeble cry, and Death's deep dismal groan. 
Are slender tributes low-taxed Nature pays 
For mighty gain : the gain of each a life ! 
But, O ! the last the former so transcends. 
Life dies, compared ; Life lives beyond the grave. 

And feel I, Death! no joy from thought of thee? 
Death! the great counsellor, who man inspires 
With every nobler thought and fairer deed! 
Death! the deliverer, who rescues man! 
Death! the rewarder, who the rescued crowns! 
Death ! that absolves my birth, a curse without it ! 
Rich Death ! that realizes all my cares. 
Toils, virtues, hopes; witliout it a chimera; 
Death! of all pain tiie period, not of joy; 
Joy's source and subject still subsist unhurt ; 
One in my soul, and one in her great sire. 
Though the four winds were warring for my dust : 
Yes, and from winds and waves, and central night. 
Though prisoned there, my dust, too, I reclaim, 
(To dust when drop proud Nature's proudest 

spheres) 
And live entire. Death is the crown of life ! 
Were death denied, poor man would live in vain : 
Were death denied, to live would not be life : 
Were death denied, even fools would wish to die. 
Death wounds to cure ; we fall, we rise, we reign ! 
Spring from our fetters, fasten in the skies, 
Where blooming Eden withers in our sight. 
Death gives gs more than was in Eden lost: 
This king of terrors is the prince of peace. 



When shall I die to vanity, pain, death 1 
When shall I die "? — when shall I live for ever 1 



NIGHT IV. 



THE CIIRISTUN TRIUMPH. 

CONTAINING OUR ONLY CURE FOR THE FEAR OP 
DEATH, AND PROPER SENTIMENTS OF HEART ON 
THAT INESTIMABLE BLESSING. 



To the Hon. Mr. Yorke, 



A MUCH-indebted Muse, O Yorke! intrudes 
Amid the smiles of fortune and of youth. 
Thine ear is patient of a serious song. 

How deep implanted in the breast of man 
The dread of death 1 I sing its sovereign cure. 

Why start at Death? where is he ? Death arrived,. 
Is past; not come, or gonec he's never here. 
Ere hope, sensation fails. Black-boding man 
Receives, not sutlers, Death's tremendous blow. 
The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave ; 
The deep damp vault, the darkness, and the worm; 
These are the bugbears of a winter's eve, 
The terrors of the living, not the dead; 
Imagination's fool, and Error's wretch. 
Man makes a death which Nature never made, 
Then on the point of his own fancy falls, 
And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one. 

But were Death frightful, what has age tofearl 
If prudent, age should meet the friendly foe, 
And shelter in his hospitable glooni. 
I scarce can meet a monument but holds 
My younger ; every date cries — ' Come away.' 
And what recalls me 1 look the world around, 
And tell me what. The wisest can not tell. 
Should any born of woman give his thought 
Full range, on just Dislike's unbounded field; 
Of things the vanity, of men the flaws ; 
Flaws in the best ; the many, flaw all o'er ; 
As leopards spotted, or as Ethiops dark ; 
Vivacious ill ; good dying immature ; 
(How immature Narcissa's marble tells) 
And at its death bequeathing endless pain ; 
His heart, though bold, would sicken at the sight, 
And spend itself in sighs for future scenes. 

But grant to hfe (and just it is to grant 
To lucky life) some perquisites of joy ; 
A time there is when, like a thrice-told tale. 
Long-rifled life of sweet can yield no more. 
But from our comment on the comedy ; 
Pleasing reflections on parts well-sustained. 
Or purposed emendations where we failed. 
Or hopes of plaudits from our candid Judge, 
When, on their exit, souls are bid unrobe. 
Toss Fortune back her tinsel and her plume, 
And drop this mask of flesh behind the scene. 

With me that time is come ; my world is dead; 



THE COMPLAINT. 



17 



A new world rises, and new manners reign. 
Foreign comedians, a spruce band ! arrive, 
To push me from the scene, or hiss me there. 
What a pert race starts up ! the strangers gaze, 
And I at them ; my neighbour is unknown ; 
Nor that the worst. Ah me ! the dire eflect 
Of loitering here, of death defrauded long. 
Of old so gracious (and let that suffice) 
My very master knows me not. 

Shall I dare say peculiar is my fate 1 
I've been so long remembered, I'm forgot. 
An object ever pressing dims the sight, 
And hides behind its ardour to be seen. 
When in his courtiers' ears I pour my plaint. 
They drink it as the nectar of the great. 
And squeeze my hand, and beg me come to-mor- 
row. 
Refusal ! canst thou wear a smoother form 1 

Indulge me, nor conceive I drop my theme. 
Who cheapens life abates the fear of death. 
Twice told the period spent on stubborn Troy, 
Court-favour, yet untaken, I besiege ; 
Ambition's ill-judged effort to be rich. 
A.las ! ambition makes my little less. 
Embittering the possessed. Why wish for more 1 
Wishing, of all employments, is the worst ; 
Philosophy's reverse, and health's decay ! 
Were I as plump as stalled Theology, 
Wishing would waste me to this shade again. 
Were I as wealthy as a South-sea dream, 
Wishing is an expedient to be poor. 
Wishing, that constant hectic of a fool. 
Caught at a court, purged off" by purer air 
And simpler diet, gifts of rural life ! 

Blest be that hand divine, which gently laid 
My heart at rest, beneath this humble shed. 
The world's a stately bark, on dangerous seas 
With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril ; 
Here on a single plank, thrown safe ashore, 
I hear the tumult of the distant throng. 
As that of seas remote, or dying storms. 
And meditate on scenes more silent still. 
Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death, 
Here, like a shepherd gazing from his hut, 
Touching his reed, or leaning on his staif, 
Eager Ambition's fiery chase I see ; 
I see the circling hunt of noisy men 
Burst law's inclosure, leap the mounds of right, 
Pursuing and pursued, each other's prey ; 
As wolves for rapine, as the fox for wiles. 
Till Death, that mighty hunter, earth's them all. 

Wliy all this toil for triumphs of an hour 7 
What though we wade in wealth, ot soar in fame 1 
Earth's highest station ends in, ' Here he lies;' 
And ' dust to dust' concludes her noblest song. 
If this song lives, posterity shall know 
One, though in Britain born, with courtiers bred. 
Who thought even gold might come a day too late; 
Nor on his subtle death-bed planned his scheme 



For future vacancies in church or state, 

Some avocation deeming it — to die ; 

Unbit by rage canine of dying rich. 

Guilt's blunder ! and the loudest laugh of Hell, 

O my coevals! remnants of yourselves ! 
Poor human ruins, tottering o'er the grave ! 
Shall we, shall aged men, like aged trees. 
Strike deeper their vile root, and closer cling, 
Still more enamoured of this wretched soil 1 
Shall our pale withered hands be still stretched 

out. 
Trembling, at once with eagerness and age 1 
With avarice and convulsions, grasping hard 
Grasping at air ! for what has earth beside 1 
Man wants but little, nor that little long : 
How soon must he resign his very dust, 
Which frugal Nature lent him for an hour ! 
Years unexperienced rush on numerous ills : 
And soon as man, expert from time, has found 
The key of life, it opes the gates of death. 

When in this vale of years I backward look, 
And miss such numbers, numbers too, of such 
Firmer in health, and greener in their age, 
And stricter on their guard, and fitter far 
To play life's subtle game, I scarce believe 
I still survive. And am I fond of hfe. 
Who scarce can think it possible 1 live 1 
AUve by miracle ! or, what is next. 
Alive by Mead ! if I am still alive, 
Who long have buried what gives life to live, 
Firmness of nerve, and energy of thought. 
Life's lee is not more shallow than impure 
And vapid : Sense and Reason show the door, 
Call for my bier, and point me to the dust. 

O thou great Arbiter of life and death ! 
Nature's immortal, immaterial Sun ! 
Whose all-prolific beam late called me forth 
From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay 
The worm's inferior ; and, in rank, beneath 
The dust I tread on ; high to bear my brow, 
To drink the spirit of the golden day. 
And triumph in existence; and could'st know 
No motive but my bliss, and hast ordained 
A rise in blessing ! with the patriarch's joy, 
Thy call I follow to the land unknown ; 
I trust in thee, and know in whom I trust : 
Or life or deatli is equal ; neither weighs ; 
All weight in this— O let me live to Thee! 

Though Nature's terrors, thus, may be represt, 
Still frowns grim Death ; guilt points the tyrant's 

spear. 
And whence all human guilt 1— From Death forgot. 
Ah me ! too long I set at nought the swarm 
Of friendly warnings which around me flew, 
And smiled unsmitten. Small my cause to smile ! 
Death's admonitions, like shafts upward shot, 
More dreadful by delay; the longer ere 
They strike our hearts, the deeper is their wound; 
think how deep Lorenzo ! here it stings; 



18 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Who can apptmso its angu'iHli 1 How it burns I 
Wliat Iiand tlio burlied, envononiod thought can 

draw "? 
What licaling hand can pour thclmhn of peace, 
And turn my night undaunted on the tomb 1 

With joy, — witli grid" tlmt healing hand I sec: 
y\h! too conspicuous ! it is fixed on high. 
On high? what means my frenxy ? 1 blaspliemo: 
Alas I how low 1 how far beneath the Bkies 1 
The skies it formed, and now it bleeds for me — 
But bleeds the lialin I want— yet still it bleeds ; 
Draw the diro steel — ah, no ! tlie dreadful blessing 
What heart or can sustain or dares forego"? 
There hangs all human hope; that nail supports 
The falling universe : that gone, we drop, 
Horror receives us, and i\w dismal wish 
Creation had been smothered in her birth — 
Darkness his curtain, and his bed the dust, 
When stars and sunsare dust beniMth his throne; 
In I deaven itself can such indulgence dwell "l 
O what a groan was there! a groan not his: 
He seized our dreadful right, the load sustained, 
And heaved the mmnitain from a guilty worUI. 
A thousand worlds so bought, were bought too 

dear ; 
Sensations new in angels' bosoms rise. 
Suspend their sotig, and make a paus(> in bliss. 

() for tlieir song to reach my lofty theme! 
Inspire me. Night! with all thy tuneful spheres. 
Whilst I with seraphs share scra])hic themes. 
And show to men the dignity of man, 
Lest I blaspheme my subject with my song. 
Shall ]>agan ])ages glow celestial flame. 
And (Mn-istian Iangnis!\'? Ononr hearts, not heads, 
Falls the foul infamy. My heart! awake: 
What can awake tl»ee, unawaked by this, 
' Kxi)ended IVity on human weal 'J' 
Feel ttie great truths which burst the tenfold night 
Of Heathen error with a golden IKwd 
Of endless day. To feel is to be fired; 
An<l til believe, I,oren7.o ! is to feel. 

Thou most indulgent, most tremendous Power! 
Still more tremendous for thy wondrous love ; 
That arms with awe more awful thy commands. 
And foul transgression dips in sevenfold guilt; 
How our hearts tremble at thy love immense I 
In love immense, inviolably just! 
ThiMi, rather than thy justice should be stained, 
Did stain the Cross; and, work of wonders far 
The greatest, that thy dean>st far might bleed. 

Hold thought! shall 1 dare speak it or repress'? 
Shotdd man more execrate or Ixwst the guilt 
Which rouseil such vengeance '? which such love 

inflamed '? 
O'er guilt (how mountainous!) with outstretched 

arms 
Stem Justice and sofl-smiling Love, embrace, 
SupjKirting, in full majesty, thy throne, 
Whou seemed its majesty to need supjiort; 



Or that, or man, inevitably lost: 
What but the fathondess of thought divine 
(/ould labour such exjiedient from des|)air, 
And rescue both? Both rescue! botli exakl 

how are both exalted by the deed! 

The wondrous deed ! or shall 1 call it more 1 
A wonder in Onniipotenc* itself! 
A mystery no less to goils than men ! 

Not thus our infidels the Eternal draw, 
A Cod all-o'er consunnnatc, absolute, 
Full orbed, in his whole round of rays complete: 
They set at odds Heaven's jarring attriliutes. 
And with one excellence another wound ; 
Maim Heaven's perfection, break its eijual beanw, 
Bid mercy triumph over — God himself, 
Undeified by their opprobrious praise. 
A Cod all mercy is a Cod unjust. 

Ye brainless wits! yo baptized infidels! 
Ye worse for mending ! washed to fouler stains I 
'I'he ransom was paid down; the fund of Heaven, 
Heaven's iuexhaustilile, exhausted fiMid, 
Amazing and amazed, poured fiirth the price, 
All jirice beyond : though curious to compute, 
Archangels failed to cast the mighty sum : 
Us value vast, nngrasped by minds create. 
For ewr hides and glows in the Supreme. 

And was the ransom ))aid 7 It was, and paid 
(What can exalt the bounty more 7) for you! 
The sun beheld it. — No, the shocking scene 
Drove back his chariot : midnight veiled his fac«: 
Not such as this, not such a.s nature makes; 
A midnight Nature shuddered to behold; 
A midnight new ! a dread eclipse (without 
(Apposing spheres) from her Creator's frown ! 
Sun! didst thou lly thy maker's pain"? or start 
At that enormous load of human guilt 
Which bowed his blessed head, o'erwhelmed his 

cross. 
Made groan the centre, burst earth's marble womb 
With paTigs, strange pangs ! delivered of her dead! 
Hell howled; and Heaven that hour let fall a tear; 
Heaven wept, that men might smile ! Heaven bled 

that man 
Might never die ! 

And is devotion virtue? 'tis compelled. 
What heart of stone but glows at thoughts Hke 

these '? 
Such contemplations mount us, and sliould mount 
The mind still higher, nor ever glance on man 
Unraptured, uninllamcd. — Where rolled my 

thoughts 
To rest from wonders 1 other wonders rise, 
And strike where'er they roll: my soul is caught: 
Heaven's sovereign blessing, clustering from the 

cross, 
Rush on her, in a throng, and close her round, 
The prisoner of amaae!— In his blest life 

1 see the path, and in his death the price, 
And in his great oscent the proof supreme 



THE COMPLAINT. 



19 



Of immortality. — And did he rise 7 — 
Hpur, O yc Nations ! hear it, O ye Dead I 
III! rosel he rose! he burst tiie bars of death. 
Lift up your heads, ye everlafiting Gates ! 
And give the King of glory to come in. 
Wlui is the King of glory? he who left 
His throne of glory for the pang of death. 
Lift up your heads, yc everlasting Gates ! 
And give the King of glory to come in. 
"Who is the King of glory ? he who slew 
The ravenous foe that gorged all human race ! 
The King of glory He, whose glory filled 
Heaven with amazement at his love to man, 
And with divine complacency beheld 
Powers most illumined, wildered in the theme. 

The theme, the joy, how then shall man sustain? 
Oh, the burst gates! crushed sting! demolished 

throne ! 
Last gasp of vanquished Death ! Shout, earth and 

Heaven, 
This sum of good to man ! whose nature then 
Took wing, and mounted with him from the tomb. 
Then, then, I rose ; then fir.st Humanity 
Triumphant past the crystal ports of light, 
(Stupendous guest!) and seized eternal youth. 
Seized in our name. E'er since 'tis blasphemous 
To call man mortal. Man's mortality 
Was then transferred to death ; and Heaven's 

duration 
.Unalionably sealed to this frail frame. 
This child of dust. — Man, all-immortal ! hail! 
Hail, Heaven! All lavish of strange gifts toman! 
Thine all the glory, man's the boundless bliss ! 
Where am I rapt by this triumphant theme, 
On Christian joys exulting wing, above 
The Aonian mount! — Alas ! small cause for joy I 
What, if to pain immortal? if extent 
Of being, to preclude a close of wo? 
Where, then, my boast of immortality 1 
I boast it still, though covered o'er with guilt: 
For guilt, not innocence, his life he poured ; 
'Tis guilt alone can justify his death ; 
Nor that, unless his death can justify 
Relenting guilt in Heaven's indulgent sight. 
If, sick of folly, I relent, he writes 
My name in Heaven with that inverted spear, 
(A spear deep-dipt in blood) which pierced his 

side. 
And opened there a font for all mankind 
Who strive, who combat crimes, to drink and live: 
This, only this, subdues the fear of death ! 

. And what is this? — Survey the wondrous cure. 
And at each step let higher wonder rise ! 
' Pardon for infinite oflence ! and pardon 
Through means that speak its value infinite ! 
A pardon bought with blood ! with blood divine ! 
With blood divine of him I made my foe ; 
Persisted to provoke; though wooed and awed; 
Blest, and cliaatised , a flagrant rebel still ; 

U 



A rebel midst the thunders of his throne ; 

Nor I alone ; a rebel iniivcrse ; 

My species up in arms; not one exempt! 

Yet for the foulest of the foul he dies, 

Most joyed for the redeemed from deepest guilt; 

As if our race were held of highest rank. 

And Godhead dearer, as more kind to man. 

Bound every heart, and every bosom burn; 
O what a scale of miracles is here ! 
Its lowest round high planted in the skies, 
Its towering summit lo.st beyond the thought 
Of man or angel ! O that I could climb 
The wonderful ascent, with equal praise! 
Praise ! flow for ever, (if astonishment 
Will give thee leave) my praise; for ever flow; 
Praise ardent, cordial, constant, to high Heaven 
More fragrant than Arabia sacrificed. 
And all her spicy mountains in a flame. 

So dear, so due to Heaven, shall Praise descend 
With her soft plume (from plausive angels' wing 
F'irst plucked by man) to tickle mortal cars. 
Thus diving in the pockets of the great? 
Is praise the perquisite of every paw, 
Though l)lack as hell, that grapples well for gold! 
Oh, love of gold! tliou meanest of amours! 
Shall praise her odours waste on virtues dead, 
Embalm the base, perfume the stench of guilt, 
Earn dirty bread by washing Ethiops fair, 
Removing filth, or sinking it from sight; 
A scavenger in scenes where vacant posts, 
Like gibbets yet untenanted, expect 
Their future ornaments? From courts and thrones 
Return, apostate Praise! thou vagabond! 
Thou prostitute! to thy first love return. 
Thy first, thy greatest, once unrivalled theme. 

There flow redundant, like Meander flow. 
Back to the fountain, to that parent power. 
Who gives the tongue to sound, the thought to 

soar. 
The soul to be. Men homage pay to men, 
Thoughtless beneath whose dreadful eye they how, 
In mutual awe profound, of clay to clay, 
Of guilt to guilt, and turn their backs on thee, 
Great Sire! whom thrones celestial ceaseless sing; 
To prostrate angels an amazing scene ! 
O the presumption of man's awe for man! 
Man's Author, End, Restorer, Law and Judge! 
Thine all; day thine, and thine this gloom of 

night. 

With all her wealth, with all her radiant worlds. 
What night eternal, but a frown <'rom thee? 
What Heaven's meridian glory, but thy smile ? 
And shall not praise be thine, not human praise, 
While Heaven's high host on hallelujah's live? 

O may I breathe no longer than I breathe 
My soul in praise to Him who gave my soul; 
And all her infinite of j)ros{)ect fair. 
Cut through the shades of hell, great Love ! by 
thee, 



20 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Oh most adorable! most unadorned! 

Where shall tliat praise begin, which ne'er should 

end 1 
Where'er I turn, what claim on all applause! 
How is Night's sable mantle laboured o'er, 
How rirlily wrought with attributes divine! 
What wisdom sliiiies ! what love ! This midnight 

pomp, 
This gorgeous arch, with golden worlds inlaid ; 
Built with divine ambition; nought to thee; 
For others his profusion. Thou apart. 
Above, beyond: Oh, tell me, mighty Mind, 
Where art thou ? Shall I dive into the deep 1 
Call to the sun ? or ask the roaring winds 
For their Creator? shall I question loud 
The thunder, if in tliat the Almighty dwells? 
Or holds he furious storms in straitened reins, 
And bids fierce whirlwinds wheel his rapid car? 
What mean these questions? Trembling, I re- 
tract ; 
My prostrate soul adores the present God ; 
Praise 1 a distant deity ? He tunes 
My voice (if tuned ;) the nerve that writes sustains: 
Wrapped in his being 1 resound his praise : 
But though past all dilVused, without a shore 
His essence, local in his throne (as meet) 
To gather the dispersed (as standards call 
The listed from afar); to lix a point, 
A central point, collective of his sons, 
Since linite every nature but his own. 

The nameless He, whose nod is Nature's birth. 
And Nature's shield the shadow of his hand ; 
Her dissolution his suspended smile ! 
The great First-Last ; pavilioned high he sits, 
In darkness, from excessive splendour borne. 
By goils unseen, unless through lustre lost. 
His glory, to created glory, bright. 
As that to central horrors : he looks down 
On all that soars, and spans inunensity. 

Though night unnumbered worlds unfolds to 
view, 
Boundless creation, what art thou ? a beam, 
A mere efHuvium of his majesty. 
And shall an atom of this atom-world 
Mutter, in dust and sin, the theme of Heaven? 
Down to the centre should I send my thought, 
Through beds of glittering ore and fflowimr crenis, 
Their beggar'd blaze wants lustre for my lay; 
Goes out in darkness: if, on towering winiT, 
I send it through the boundless vault of stars, 
(The stars, though rich, what dross their gold to 

thee, 
Great, good, wise, wonderful, eternal king!) 
If to those conscious stars thy throne around, 
Praise ever-pouring, and imbibing bliss, 
And ask their strain : they want it, more they 

want; 
Poor their abundance, humble their sublime, 
Languid their energy, their ardour cold; 



Indebted still, their highest rapture burns, 
Short of its mark, defective though divine! 

Still more — this theme is man's, and man's alone; 
Their vast appointments reach it not ; they see 
On earth a Iwunty not indulged on higli. 
And downward look for Heaven's superior praise; 
First-born of Ether! high in fields of Light ! 
View man, to see the glory of your God. 
Could angels envy, they had envied here : 
And some did envy ; and the rest, though gods, 
Yet still gods unredeem'd, (there triumphs man. 
Tempted to weigh the dust against the skies) 
They less would feel, though more adorn my theme. 
They sung Creation (for in that they shared) 
How rose in melody that child of Love, 
Creation's great superior, man, is thine ; 
Thine is Redemption ; they just gave the key; 
'Tis thine to raise and eternize the song. 
Though human, yet divine ; for should not this 
Raise man o'er man, and kindle seraphs here? 
Redemption ! 'twas creation more sublime ; 
Redemption ! 'twas the labour of the skies ; 
Far more than labour — it was death in Heaven ! 
A truth so strange, 'twere bold to think it true, 
If not far bolder still to disbelieve. 

Here pause and ponder. Was there Death in 
Heaven ? 
What then on earth — on earth which struck the 

blow? 
Who struck it? Who — O how is man enlarged, 
Seen through this medium? How the pigmy tow- 
ers! 
How counterpoised his origin from dust ! 
How counterpoised, to dust his sad return ! 
How voided his vast distance from the skies! 
How near he presses on the seraph's wing ! 
Which is the seraph ? which the born of clay? 
How this demonstrates, through the thickest cloud 
Of guilt and clay condensed, the Son of Heaven, 
The double Son ; the made, and the remade ; 
And shall Heaven's double property be lost? 
Man's double madness only can destroy. 
To man the bleeding cross has promised all ; 
The bleeding cross has sworn eternal grace. 
Who gave His life, what grace shall He deny^ 
O ye, who from this rock of ages leap 
Apostates, plunging headlong in the deep, 
What cordial joy, what consolation strong, 
Whatever winds arise, or billows roll, 
Our interest in the Master of the storm. 
Cling there, and in wreck'd Nature's ruins smile, 
While vile apostates tremble in a calm. 

Man, know thyself: all wisdom centres there. 
To none man seems ignoble but to man; 
Angels, that grandeur meno'erlook, admire: 
How long shall human nature l>e their book ? 
Degenerate mortal ! and unread by thee? 
The beam dim reason sheds shows wonders there 
What hiiih contents— illustrious faculties ! 



THE COMPLAINT. 



21 



But the grand comment, which displays at full 
Our human height, scarce severed from divine, 
By Heaven composed, was publislied on the cross. 

Who Iix)ks on that, and sees not in hiniself 
An awful stranger, a terrestrial god 7 
A glorious partner with the Deity 
In that high attribute, immortal jifel 
If a God bleeds, he bleeds not for a worm 
I gaze, and as I gaze, my mounting soul 
Catches strange fire. Eternity, at thee. 
And drops the world, or rather, more enjoys. 
How changed the face of Nature ! how improved ! 
What seem'd a chaos shines a glorious world; 
Or what a world, an Eden ; heighten'd all ! 
It is another scene — another self! 
And still another, as time rolls along. 
And that a self far more illustrious still. 
Beyond long ages, yet roU'd up in shades 
Un[)ierc'd by bold Conjecture's keenest ray. 
What evolutions of surprising Fate ! 
How Nature opens, and receives my soul. 
In boundless walks of raptur'd thought, where 

gods 
Encounter and embrace me. What new births 
Of strange adventure, foreign to the sun, 
Where what now charms, perhaps whatc'er exists. 
Old Time and fair Creation are forgot. 

Is this extravagant 1 of man we form 
Extravagant conception, to be just: 
Conception unconfined wants wings to reach him ; 
Beyond its reach the Godhead only more. 
He, the great Father! kindled at one flame 
The world of rationals; one spirit poured 
From spirit's awful Fountain — poured Himself 
Through all their souls, but not in equal stream, 
Profu.se or frugal, of the inspiring God, 
As his wise plan demanded ; and when past 
Their various trials, in their various spheres, 
If they continue rational, as made, 
Resorbs them all into Himself again, 
His throne their centre, and his smile their crown. 

Why doubt we, then, the glorious truth to sing, 
Though yet unsung, as deemed, perhaps, too boldl 
Angels are men of a superior kind ; 
Angels are men in lighter habit clad, 
High o'er celestial mountains wing'd in flight; 
And men are angels, loaded for an hour, 
Who wade this miry vale, and climb with pain. 
And slip|)€ry step, the bottom of the steep. 
Angels their failings, mortals have their praise: 
While here, of corps ethereal, such enrolled 
And summoned to the glorious standard soon, 
Which flames eternal crimson through the skies. 
Nor are our brothers thoughtless of their kin, 
Yet absent ; but not absent from their love. 
Michael has fought our battles ; Raphael sung 
Our triumphs; Gabriel on our errands flown, 
Sent by the Sovereign : and are these, O man I 



Thy friends, thy warm allies 1 and thou (shame 

burn 
The cheek to cinder !) rival to the brute? 

Religion's all. Descending from the skies 
To wretched man, the goddess in her left 
Holds out this world, and in her right the next. 
Religion ! the solo voucher man is man; 
Supporter sole of man above himself; 
E'en in this night of frailty, change, and death, 
She gives the soul a soul that acts a god. 
Religion, Providence, an after-state ! 
Here is firm footing ; here is solid rock ; 
This can support us ; all is sea beside ; 
Sinks under us; bestorms, and then devours. 
His hand the good man fastens on the skies, 
And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl. 

As when a wretch, from thick jwlluted air, 
Darkness and stench, and suffocating damps, 
And dungeon-horrors, by kind Fate discharged, 
Climbs some fair eminence, where ether pure, 
Surrounds him, and Elysian prospects rise; 
His heart exults, his spirits cast their load, 
As if new-born he triumphs in the change : 
So joys the soul, when from inglorious aims 
And sordid sweets, from feculence and froth 
Of ties terrestrial set at large, she mounts 
To Reason's region, her own element. 
Breathes hopes immortal, and affects the skies. 

Religion ! thou the soul of happiness. 
And, groaning Calvary! of thee: there shine 
The noblest truths ; there strongest motives sing ; 
There sacred violence assaults the soul ; 
There nothing but compulsion is forborne. 
Can love allure us! or can terror awel 
He weeps! — the falling drop puts out the sun; 
He sighs! — the sigh earth's deep foundation shakes. 
If in his love so terrible, what then 
His wrath inflamed 1 his tenderness on fire? 
Like soft, smooth oil, outblazing other fires'? 
Can prayer, can praise, avert it1 — Thou, my all! 
My theme ! my inspiration ! and my crown ! 
My strength in age ! my rise in low estate ! 
My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth ! — my world ! 
My light in darkness! and my life in death! 
My boast through time ! bliss through eternity ! 
Eternity, too short to speak thy praise. 
Or fathom thy profound of love to man! 
To man of men the meanest, even to me ; 
My sacrifice! my God! — what things are these! 

What then art Thoul by what name shall I 
call thee 1 
Knew I the name devout archangels use, 
Devout archangels should the name enjoy. 
By me unrivalled ; thousands more sublime, 
None half so dear as that which, though unspoke, 
Still glows at heart. O how Omnipotence 
Is lost in love! thou great Philanthropist! 
Father of angels ! but the friend of man ! , 



sua 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Liko Jiwob, foiKli'sl (if the yoiiii;X''f Inirn ! 

Tliou will) iliil'st save him, siuitcU the smoking 

bra ml 
From out th(> (lamt's, miil i|uoiu'h it in thy blood! 
How art thou pleased by liounty to ilistressl 
To nmke us jjrroan beneath our gratitude, 
T»)o bisj lor birth! to favour and confound; 
To ehallenjje, and to (hstance all return! 
Of lavish love stupendous heights to soar, 
And leave Praise ])antin<r in tlie distant vale! 
Thy right, loo great, delVauds thee of thy due; 
And saerilegious our sublimest song ! 
But sinee the naked will obtains thy smile, 
Beneath this monument of praise unpaid, 
And future lile sviiinjionious to niv strain, 
(That noblest hyaui to Heaven!) for ever lie 
Intombed my fear of death! and every fear, 
The dread of every evil, b<it thy frown. 

Whom sec I yonder so demurely smilcl 
Laughter a labour, and migiit break their rest. 
Ye Q,uietists! in homage t(> the skies! 
Serene! of soil adilress! who mildly make 
An unobtrusive tender of your hearts, 
Abhorring violenee! who halt indeed, 
But, for the blessing, wrestle not with Heaven! 
Think you my song too turbulent'! too warnil 
Are passions, tlien, the )v,\gans of the soul? 
Reason alone bapti/.'d 7 alone ordained 
']\) touch things sacred ! Oh, for warmer still! 
Guilt chills my zeal, and age benumbs my powers: 
Oh, for an lunnbler heart and i)rouder song ! 
Thou, my nnich injured Theme ! with that soft eye 
Which melted o'er doomed Saleni, deign to look 
Compassion to the coldness of my breiist 
And pardon to tlie winter in my .strain. 

Oh, ye eold-hearteii, iVozon Korinalisls I 
On such a thcnio 'tis impious to he calm : 
Pa.ssion is reason, transport temper here. 
Shall Heaven, which gave us ardour, and lias 

shown 
ITer own for innn so strongly, not di.sdaiii 
What smooth emollients in theology, 
Recumbent Virtue's downy diK'toi's, preach; 
That prose of piety, a lukewarm praise 1 
Rise odours sweet from incense uninllamed ? 
Devotion when lukewarm is imdevout ; 
But when it glows, its heat is struck to Heaven; 
To human hearts her golden harps are strung; 
High Heaven's orchestra chaimts Amen to man. 

Hear 1, or dream 1 hear, their distant strain, 
Swreet to the soul, and tasting strong of Heaven, 
Soft-walled on celestial Pity's plumo. 
Through the vast spaces of the universe, 
To cheer me in this melancholy gloom 1 
Oh, when will death (now stingless) like a friend 
Admit me of their choir? Oh, when will death 
This mouldering, old, partition-wall thi-ow down? 
Give beings, one in nature, one alwde J 
Oh, Death divine ! that giv'st us to the skies : 



Great ftiture ! glorious patron of the past 

And j)rc.sent ! when shall 1 thy shrine adore 7 

From nature's continent, inunensely wide. 

Immensely blest, this little isle of life, 

This dark incarcerating colony. 

Divides us. Happy day ! that breaks our chain; 

That manumits: that calls from exile home 

That leads to Nature's great metropolis, 

And re-admits us, through the guardian hand 

Of elder brothers, to our Father's throne; 

Who hears our Advocate, and, through his woundd 

B(-hol(ling man, allows that tender name. 

'Tis this makes Christian-trium])h a command; 

'Tis this makes joy a duty to the wise. 

'I'is imiiious in a good man to be sad. 

8eest thou, Lorenzo, where hangs all our hope? 
Touched by the Cross we live, or more than die; 
That touch which touched not angels; minv divine 
Than that which touched confusion into form, 
And darkness into glory: partial touch! 
Ineft'ably pre-eminent regard! 
Sacred to man, and sovereign through the whole 
Long golden chain of miracles, which hangs 
From Heaven through all duration, and supports. 
In one illustrious and amazing plan, 
Thy welt'are, Nature! and thy GihI's renown. 
That touch, with charms celestial, heals the soul 
Diseased, drives i)ain from guilt, lights life in death, 
Turns earth to heaven, to heavenly thrones trans- 
forms 
The ghastly ruins of the mouldering tomb. 

Dost ask me when 1 When He who died, re- 
turns ; 
Returns, how changed ! where then the man of wol 
In Glory's terrors all the Godhead burns, 
A nd all his courts, exhausted by the tide 
Of deities triumphant in his train, 
Leave a stupendous solitude in Heaven; 
Replenished soon, replenished with increase 
Of pomp and multitude; a radiant band 
(.)f angels new, of angels from the tomb! 

Is this'by fancy thrown remote'! and rise 
Dark doubts between the promise and event 1 
1 send thee not to volumes for thy cure; 
Read Nature; Nature is a friend to truth; 
Nature is christian; preaches to mankind. 
And bids dead matter aid us in our creed. 
Hast thou ne'er seen the comet's (laming flight? 
The illustrious stranger passing terror sheds 
t^n gazing nations from his liery train. 
Of length enormous ; takes his ample round 
Through depths of ether; coasts unnumbered 

worlds 
Of more than solar glory; doubles wide 
Heaven's mighty cape ; and then revisits earth. 
From the long travel of a thousand years. 
Thus at the destined period shall return 
He, once on earth, who bids the comet blaze, 
And with Him all our triumph o'er the tomU 



THE COMPLAINT. 



33 



NatunuH (liiinli on tliix iin|i<)rtiiiit ]i()iiit, 
Or IIo|)o prrcnrioiiH in li>wwliis|)(T brcathcH; 
l''nitli M|)('akH aloud, diHtinct. ; cv'n addiTH \wi\.r, 
Jiut liirii, and dar(. into llut dark a<rain. 
Fuitli Imilds a liridi^t; acrouM tlu^ jjuirol'dcntli, 
To liri'ak llicHliock hlind Nature can no) alnni, 
And lands 'l"lu)iiif|it HrnooUdy on tlir I'nrllicr Hliorc 
Dcalli'M ti'rror in llic mountain (aitli rcniovcH, 
'I'liat uiounlain harrier iM'twccii man and peace. 
'Tirt faith diHarniH DcHtructinn, and alwoIvcH 
From every elamoroUH cliarife tiie ^juiltlesH lomlt. 

Why (lisheheve ! Lorenzo! — ' IleaHoii'l)idH; 
All-Hacred ReaHon.' — Floltl hor sacred still; 
Nor Hlialt lliou want a rival in thy (lame: 
All Kacred Reason! source and sold of all 
Deniandin;^ praiHC on earth, or earth above! 
My heart is thine : dee|) in its iinnost folds 
Live thou willi life; livc^ dearer of the two. 
Wear I the hlessed Cross, liy I'^'ortune statnp'd 
On passive Nature before Thoujrht was born 1 
My birth's liliud liii,'ot! fired with local /.eal! — 
No: Reason rehapti/.ed m(^ when adult; 
Wei^rhed true and fidse in ht^r impartial scale ; 
My heart Ix^canHi the convert of my head, 
And made tliat choice' which once was but my fate. 
' On arirument alone; my faith is built,' 
Reason pursued is Faith; and unpursued, 
Wiiere proof invites,' tis reason then no more : 
An<! such our proof, that or our [''aith is ri^fht, 
Or Rcaaon lies, and Heaven di^si^rned it wrong. 
Absolve we this! what then is blaspliemy? — 

I''ond as we ore, ami jnnlly fond of l''ailh, 
Reason, wo grant, demands oui' first nijjard ; 
The mother honoured, as the danj;hter dear. 
Reason the root, fair i''aitli is but the (lower; 
The fiidintr (lower shall die, but Reason lives 
Imtuortal, as her l''atlier in tlie skies! 
WIk'ii faith is virtue, reason makes it so. 
Wroiii^ not tin; ( Jhristian; (hink not Reason yours; 
'Tis Reason our ijreat Master holds so dear; 
'Tis Reason's injured riirhts his wrath resents; 
'Tis Reason's voi<;e obeyed his (^lorioLis crown : 
To {jive lost Reason life he poured his own. 
Believe, and show the n^ason of a man ; 
Believe, and taste; the pleasure of a, {jod ; 
B<;lieve, and look with trium|<h on the totnb. 
Thrr)u^h Reason's wounds alone thy Faith can 

die, 
Which dying, tenfold tt^rrors gives to Death, 
And dips in venom his twiec-rnortal sting. 
Learn lu'ncc! what honours, what loud [jotans, 
du(! 
To those who push our anti<lote aside; 
Those boasted friends to reNison and to man, 
Whose fatal love slabs every joy, and heaves 
Death's terror heijjhtened, gnawinij em his heart. 
'I'hese pompous sons of Ritason idolized, 
And vilKliil at once; of Reason dead, 
Then deilied, as monarchs were of old ; 

i; 'Z 



What conduct plants proud laurelson their hrowl 
While love of truth through all their cam[) re- 
sounds, 
They draw Pride's cnrtnin o'er the noon-tido ray, 
Spike u|) their itieh of reason on the; point 
Of pliilosophic wit, called Argument, 
And then exultiiii; in their tajjcr, cry, 
' I'l'hiild thi; sini !' and, Indian like, adore. 

'I'alk they of morals'? O thou bleeding Love! 
Thou Maker of new morals to mankind! 
The {jraiid morality is love; e)f The-e;. 
Ah wise- as Se)e'rate's, ifsue-li they we-re, 
(Nor will they hate of that sublime renown,) 
Ah wise; as Socrates miifht justly stand 
The de'tiliition e>f a meieie'ril foe)l. 

A (Ihristian is the high(;Ht style; of man! 
And is the're; wliei the; ble'SSe'd cross wipe's (AY, 
As a Ibid blot,l'i'oiii his ilislionoiire'd brow't 
If ange;lH tremble;, 'tis at su(;h a sight: 
Till' wre-te'li llie'y epiit, de'spemilin^ of the'ir e'harge, 
Me)re; struck with grie'f or vvoiide'r who e-iin tell I 

Ye; He)ld to se'iise' ! ye; citize'iis of e-arth! 
([''or sue-h aleme; the' ( "hristian banne'r (ly) 
lvne)W ye; he)W wise your ehe)ie'e;, he)W fervid your 

iiain'f 
He;he)ld the; jiie'ture; of euirth's hajipii'st man: 
' 1 le; calls his wish, it re)me's ; he; se-nds it back, 
And says he' e'alled allot he'r: that arrive's, 
Me'e'ts the; same; we'lcomi' ; yi't lie still calls e)n ; 
Till e)iie calls him, who varie's ne)t his call, 
I'llt holds him fast, in e'iiaiiis e>f darkiie'ss bexinil 
Till Nature- dies, anil .1 iidi^nni'iit sets him free;; 
A freedom far less welcome' than his elmiii.' 

Iiiit i^rraiit man happy; gr;int him happy long; 
y\(ld to lili''K hi^iiesl pri/.i; hi'r lale'st hour : 
'i'liat hour, so late, is nimble; in appi'e>ae'Ji, 
"^riiat, like' a post, e'omi'H on in full e;are'e'r. 
I low Hwift I lie' shuttle (lies (hill We'ave's thy shroud t 
Wlie're is the; faiile' of thy li)rmi'r ye'ars'! 
Thrown ilown the; gulf of time'; as far from thro 
As the'y had ne't;r b(;e;n thine : the iliiy in hand, 
iiike; a bird slri|iri,diiifj to gi't loose', is fading; 
ycare;e neiw possi'ssi'il, ho sudde'iily 'tis >,'one!; 
And each swift meiment (li'd, is eleiath aelvunceJ 
My striiles as swifl. I'^ternity is all ; 
And wiiosi; e'le'riiity '! who triiiin|)hs there 1 
Bathing for ever in the feint of bliss ! 
l<\)r e've'r baskiii;^ in the- Di'ity! 
Leire'u/.o! who? — thy e'i)iiscieni;e' shall re'[ily. 

O give it leave to spe'uk ; 'twill spe-ak ere lon(f, 
'!' by le;ave; unaske'd. Lore'ir/.o ! Iie'ar it ne>w, 
While' use'ful its advice, its ae-i'i'iit mllil. 
By the great (!di(;t, the; divine; decree, 
Trutii is eleposite'il with man's last hour; 
An honi'st hour, and faithful to her trust; 
'J'rutli ! e'Ide'st elauirliter e.C the' Ueity; 
Truth I ol' his e-eiuiie-il wImmi ho niade- the worldg; 
Nor less, wlie'U he; shall jud^fe; the weirlils he nittdoj 
Though silent long, anil Hieeping ne'er ho sound, 



24 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Smothered with errors, and oppressed with toys, 
That heaven-commissioned hour no sooner calls, 
But from lier cavern in the soul's ahyss. 
Like him they fable under ^tna whelmed, 
The goddess bursts in thunder and in flame, 
Loudly convinces, and severely pains. 
Dark demons I discharge, and hydra-stings; 
The keen vibration of bright truth — is hell ; 
Just definition ! though by schools untaught. 
Ye deaf to truth ! peruse this parsoned page, 
And trust, for once, a prophet and a priest ; — 
' Men may live fools, but fools they can not die.' 



NIGHT V. 



THE RELAPSE. 



To the Right Hon. the Earl of Litchfield. 



Lorenzo! to recriminate is just. 

' Fondness for fame is avarice of air.' 

I grant the man is vain who writes for praise : 

Praise no man e'er deserved, who sought no more. 

As just thy second charge. I grant the Muse 
Has ollen blushed at her degenerate sons, 
Retained by Sense to plead her filthy cause, 
To raise the low, to magnify the mean, 
And subtilize the gross into refined ; 
As if to magic numbers' powerful charm 
'Twas given to make a civet of their song 
Obscene, and sweeten ordure to perfume. 
Wit, a true pagan, deifies the brute, 
And lifts our swine-enjoyments from the mire. 

The fact notorious, nor obscure the cause. 
We wear the chains of pleasure and of pride : 
These share the man, and these distract him too; 
Draw different ways, and clash in their commands. 
Pride, like an eagle, builds among the stars ; 
But Pleasure, lark-like, nests upon the ground, 
Joys, shared by brute creation. Pride resents ; 
pleasure embraces : man would both enjoy. 
And both at once : a point how hard to gain ! 
But what can't Wit, when stung by strong desire 1 

Wit dares attempt this arduous enterprise. 
Since joys of Sense can't rise to Reason's taste, 
In subtle Sophistry's laborious forge 
Wit hammers out a reason new, that stoops 
To sordid scenes, and meets them with applause. 
Wit calls the Graces the chaste zone to loose, 
Nor less than a plump god to fill the bowl : 
A thousand phantoms and a thousand spells, 
A thousand opiates scatters to delude. 
To fascinate, inebriate, lay asleep, 
And the fooled mind delightfully confound. 
Thus that which shocked the judgment shocks no 

more ; 
That which gave pride offence, no more offends. 
Pleasure and Pride, by nature mortal foes, 



At war eternal, which in man shall reign, 
By Wit's address patch up a fatal peace, 
And hand in hand lead on the rank debauch. 
From rank refined to delicate and gay. 
Art, cursed Art ! wipes off the' indebted blush 
From Nature's cheek, and bronzes every shame, 
Man smiles in ruin, glories in his guilt. 
And Infamy stands candidate for praise. 

All writ by man in favour of the soul, 
These sensual ethics far, in bulk, transcend. 
The flowers of eloquence, profusely poured 
O'er spotted Vice, fill half the lettered world. 
Can powers of genius exorcise their page. 
And consecrate enormities with song 1 

But let not these inexpiable strains 
Condemn the Muse that knows her dignity, 
Nor meanly stops at time, but holds the world 
As 'tis, in Nature's ample field, a point ; 
A point in her esteem, from whence to start. 
And run the round of universal space. 
To visit being universal there, 
And being's Source, that utmost flight of mind ! 
Yet spite of this so vast circumference, 
Well knows but what is moral nought is great. 
Sing syrens only 1 do not angels sing 1 
There is in Poesy a decent pride. 
Which well becomes her when she speaks to Prose, 
Her younger sister, haply not more wise. 

Thinkest thou, Lorenzo, to find pastimes herd 
No guilty passion blown into a flame, 
No foible flattered, dignity disgraced. 
No fairy field of fiction, all on flower, 
No rainbow-colours here, or silken tale ; 
But solemn counsels, images of awe. 
Truths which Eternity lets fall on man, 
With double weight, through these revolving 

spheres. 
This death-deep silence, and incumbent shade : 
Thoughts such as shall revisit your last hour. 
Visit uncalled, and live when life expires; 
And thy dark pencil. Midnight ! darker still 
In melancholy dipped, imbrowns tlie whole. 

Yet this, even this, my laughter-loving friends! 
Lorenzo ! and thy brothers of the smile ! 
If what imports you most can most engage, 
Shall steal your ear, and chain you to my song. 
Or if you fail me, know the wise shall taste , 

The truths I sing ; the truths 1 sing shall feel; 
And, feeling, give assent ; and their assent 
Is ample recompense ; is more than praise. 
But chiefly thine, O Litchfield! — nor mistake; 
Think not unintroduced I force my way : 
Narcissa, not unknown, nor unallied 
By virtue, or by blood, illustrious youth ! 
To thee, from blooming amaranthine bowers, 
Where all the language harmony, descends 
Uncalled, and asks admittance for the Muse; 
A Muse that will net pain thee with thy praise ; 
Thy praise she drops, by nobler still inspired. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



S5 



O thou, blcss'd Spirit ! whether the Supreme, 
Great antcmundane Father ! in whose breast 
Embryo-Creation, unborn being, dwelt, 
And all its various revolutions rolled 
Present, though future, prior to themselves ; 
Whose breath can blow it into nought again, 
Or from his throne some delegated power, 
Who, studious of our peace, dost turn the thought 
From vain and vile to solid and sublime ! 
Unseen thou lead'st me to delicious draughts 
Of inspiration, from a purer stream, 
And fuller of the God, than that which burst 
From famed Castalia ; nor is yet allayed 
My sacred thirst, though long my soul has ranged 
Through pleasing paths of moral and divine, 
By thee sustained, and lighted by the stars. 

By them best lighted are the paths of thought ; 
Nights are their days, their most illumined hours. 
By day the soul, o'erborne by life's career, 
Stunned by the din, and giddy with the glare. 
Reels far from reason, jostled by the throng. 
By day the soul is passive, all her thoughts 
Imposed, precarious, broken, ere mature. 
By night, from objects free, from passion cool. 
Thoughts uncontrolled and unimpressed, the births 
Of pure election, arbitrary range, 
Not to the limits of one world confined ; 
But from ethereal travels light on earth, 
As voyagers drop anchor, for repose. 

Let Indians, and the gay, like Indians, fond 
Of feathered fopperies, the sun adore: 
Darkness has more divinity for me ; 
It strikes thought inward ; it drives back the soul 
To settle on herself, our point supreme! 
There lies our theatre ; there sits our judge. 
Darkness the curtain drops o'er life's dull scene ; 
'Tis the kind hand of Providence stretched out 
'Twixt man and vanity ; 'tis Reason's reign, 
And Virtue's too ; these tutelary shades 
Are man's asylum from the tainted throng. 
Night is the good man's friend, and guardian too; 
It no less rescues virtue than inspires. 

Virtue, for ever frail as fair below, 
Her tender nature suflers in the crowd. 
Nor touches on the world without a stain. 
The world's infectious; few bring back at eve, 
Immaculate, the manners of the morn. 
Something we thought, is blotted ; we resolved, 
Is shaken ; we renounced, returns again. 
Each salutation may slide in a sin 
Unthought liefore, or fix a firmer flaw. 
Nor is it strange ; light, motion, concourse, noise. 
All scatter us abroad. Thought, outward-bound, 
Neglectful of our home-affairs, flies off 
In fume and dissipation, quits her charge, 
And leaves the breast unguarded to the foe. 

Present example gets within our guard. 
And acts with double force, by few repelled. 
Ambition fires ambition ; love of gain 



Strikes, like a pestilence, from breast to breast ; 

Riot, pride, perfidy, blue vapours breathe ; 

And inhumanity is caught from man. 

From smiling man ! A slight, a single glance, 

And shot at random, often has brought home 

A sudden fever to the throbbing heart 

Of envy, rancour, or impure desire. 

We see, we hear, with peril: Safety dwells 

Remote from multitude. The world's a school 

Of wrong, and what proficients swarm around 

We must or imitate or disapprove ; 

Must list as tlieir accomplices or foes: 

That stains our innocence, this wounds our peace. 

From Nature's birth, hence. Wisdom has been 

smit 
With sweet recces, and languished for the shade. 

This sacred shade and solitude, what is itl 
'Tis the felt presence of the Deity! 
Few are the faults we flatter when alone; 
Vice sinks in her allurements, is ungilt, 
And looks, like other objects, black by night. 
By night an atheist half believes a God ! 

Night is fair Virtue's immemorial friend. 
The conscious Moon, through every distant age, 
Has held a lamp to Wisdom, and let fall, 
On Contemplation's eye, her purging ray. 
The famed Athenian, he who wooed from Heaven 
Philosophy the fair, to dwell with men. 
And form their manners, not inflame their pride; 
While o'er his head, as fearful to molest 
His labouring mind, the stars in silence slide 
And seem all gazing on their future guest, 
See him soliciting his ardent suit 
In private audience : all the Hve-long night, 
Rigid in thought, and motionless, he stands, 
Nor quits his theme or posture till the sun 
(Rude drunkard I rising rosy from the main) 
Disturbs his nobler intellectual beam. 
And gives him to the tumult of the world. 
Hail, precious moments, stolen from the black 

waste 
Of murdered time; auspicious Midnight, hail! 
The world excluded, every passion hushed. 
And opened a calm intercourse with Heaven, 
Here the soul sits in council, ponders past, 
Predestines future action ; sees, not feels. 
Tumultuous life, and reasons with the storm, 
All her lies answers, and thinks down her charms. 

What awful joy ! what mental liberty I 
I am not pent in darkness ; rather say 
(If not too bold) in darkness I'm imbowered. 
Delightful gloom! the clustering thoughts around 
Spontaneous rise, and blossom in the shade; 
But droop by day, and sicken in the sun. 
Thouofht borrows light elsewhere; from that first 

fire. 
Fountain of animation ! whence descends 
Urania, my celestial guest ! who deigns 
Nightly to visit me, so mean; and now, 



OS 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Conscious how needful discipline to man, 
From pleasing dalliance with the charms of night, 
My wandering thought recalls, to what excites 
Far otb.er beat of heart, Narcissa's tomb 1 

Or is it feeble nature calls me back, 
And breaks my spirit into grief again ] 
Is it a Stygian vapour in my blood 1 
A cold slow puddle, creeping through my veins 1 
Or is it thus with all men? — Thus, with all. 
What are we? how unequal; now we soar, 
And now we sink. To be the same, transcends 
Our present prowess. Dearly pays the soul 
For lodging ill ; too dearly rents her clay. 
Reason, a baffled counsellor ! but adds 
The blush of weakness to the bane of wo. 
The noblest spirit, fighting her hard fate 
]n this damp, dusky region, charged with storms, 
But feebly flutters, yet untaught to fly; 
Or, flying, short her flight, and sure her fall: 
Our utmost strength, when down, to rise again ; 
And not to yield, though beaten, all our praise. 

'Tis vain to seek in men for more than man. 
Though proud in promise, big in previous thought, 
Experience damps our triumph. I, who late 
Emerging from the shadows of the grave. 
Where grief detained me prisoner, mounting high, 
Threw wide the gates of everlasting day. 
And called mankind to glory, shook oft' pain, 
Mortality shook off, in ether pure, 
And struck the stars; now feel my spirits fail; 
They drop me from the zenith ; down I rush. 
Like him whom fable fledged with waxen wings, 
In sorrow drowned — but not in sorrow lost. 
How wretched is tlie man who never mourned ! 
I dive for precious pearl in Sorrow's stream : 
Not so the thoughtless man that only grieves, 
Takes all the torment, and rejects the gain, 
(Inestimable gain!) and gives Heaven leave 
To make him but more wretched, not more wise. 

If wisdom is our lesson (and what else 
Ennobles man 1 what else have angels learned 1) 
Grief ! more proficients in thy school are made, 
Than Genius or proud Learning e'er could boast. 
Voracious learning, often o'er-fed, 
Digests not into sense her motley meal. 
This book-case, with dark booty almost burst, 
This forager on other's wisdom, leaves 
Her native farm, her reason, quite untilled ; 
Witli mixed manure she surfeits the rank soil, 
Dunged, but not drest, and rich to beggary : 
A pomp untameable of weeds prevails ; 
Her servant's wealth, incumbered, Wisdom 
mourns. 

And what says Genius'? ' Let the dull be wise;' 
Genius, too hard for right, can prove it wrong, 
And lovts lo boast, where blush men less inspired. 
It ple;iils exemption from the laws of Sense, 
Considers Reason as a leveller. 
And scorns to share a blessing with the crowd. 



That wise it could be, thinks an ample claim; 
To glory and to pleasure gives the rest. 
Crassus but sleeps, Ardelio is undone. 
Wisdom less shudders at a fool than wit.- 

But Wisdom smiles, when humbled mortals 
weep. 
When Sorrow wounds the breast, as ploughs the 

glebe. 
And hearts obdurate feel her softening shower, 
Her seed celestial, then, glad Wisdom sows ; 
Her golden harvest triumphs in the soil. 
If so, Narcissa, welcome my relapse; 
I'll raise a tax on my calamity. 
And reap rich compensation from my pain. 
I'll range the plenteous intellectual field, 
And gather every thought of sovereign power 
To chase the moral maladies of man ; 
Thoughts which may bear transplanting to the 

skies, 
Though natives of this coarse penurious soil ; 
Nor wholly wither there, where seraphs sing, 
Refined, exalted, not annulled, in Heaven: 
Reason, the sun that gives them birth, the same 
In either clime, though more illustrious there. 
These choicely culled, and elegantly ranged, 
Shall form a garland for Narcissa's tomb. 
And, peradventure, of no fading flowers. 

Say, on what themes shall puzzled choice de- 
scend? 
' The importance of contemplating the tomb ; 
Why men decline it ; suicide's foul birth ; 
The various kinds of grief; the faults of age; 
And death's dread character — invite my song.' 

And, first, the importance of our end surveyed. 
Friends counsel quick dismission of our grief. 
Mistaken kindness ! our hearts heal too soon. 
Are they more kind than He who struck the blowl 
Who bid it do its errand in our hearts, 
And banish peace till nobler guests arrive. 
And bring it back a true and endless peace .- 
Calamities are friends, as glaring day 
Of these unnumbered lustres rob our sight. 
Prosperity puts out unnumbered thoughts 
Of import high, and light divine to man. 

The man how blessed, who, sick of gaudy scenes, 
(Scenes apt to thrust between us and ourselves!) 
Is led by choice to take his favourite walk 
Beneath Death's gloomy, silent, cypress shades, 
Unpierced by Vanity's fantastic ray; 
To read his monuments, to weigh his dust, 
Visit his vaults, and dwell among the tombs ! 
Lorenzo ! read with me Narcissa's stone ; 
(Narcissa was thy favourite) let us read 
Her moral stone ; few doctors preacii so well j 
Few orators so tenderly can touch 
The feeling heart. What pathos in the date \ 
Apt words can strike ; and yet in them we see 
Faint images of what we here enjoy. 
What cause have we to build on length of life 1 



THE COMPLAINT. 



S7 



Temptations seize when fear is laid asleep, 
And ill foreboded is our strongest guard. 

See from her tomb, as from an humble shrine, 
Truth, radiant goddess ! sallies on my soul, 
And puts Delusion's dusky train to flight ; 
Dispels the mist our sultry passions raise, 
From objects low, terrestrial, and obscene,. 
And shows the real estimate of things, 
Which no man, unafflicted ever saw; 
Pulls ofl' the veil from Virtue's rising charms ; 
Detects temptation in a thousand lies. 
Truth bids me look on men as autumn-leaves. 
And all they bleed for as the summer's dust 
Driven by tiie wlurlwind : lighted by her beams, 
I widen my horizon, gain new powers. 
See things invisible, feel things remote. 
Am present with futurities; think nought 
To man so foreign, as the joys possessed, 
Nought so much his as those beyond the grave. 

No folly keeps its colour in her gight; 
Pale worldly Wisdom loses all her charms. 
In pompous promise from her scliemes profound. 
If future fate she plans, 'tis all in leaves, 
Like sybil, unsubstantial, fleeting bliss ! 
At the first blast it vanishes in air. 
Not so celestial. Wouldst thou know, Lorenzo ! 
How differ wordly wisdom and divine 1 
Just as the waning and the waxing moon, 
More empty worldly wisdom every day, 
And every day more fair her rival shines. 
When later, there's less time to play the fool. 
Soon our whole turn for Wisdom is expired, 
(Thou knowest she calls no council in the grave) 
And everlasting fool is writ in fire. 
Or real wisdom wafts us to the skies. 

As worldly schemes resemble sybils' leaves. 
The good man's days to sybils' books compare, 
(In ancient story read, thou know'st the tale) 
In price still rising as in number less, 
Inestimable quite his final hour. 
For that who thrones can oner, offer thrones ; 
Insolvent worlds the purchase can not pay. 
' Oh let me die his death !' all Nature cries. 
' Then live his life.'— All Nature falters there; 
Our great physician daily to consult, 
To commune with the grave our only cure. 

What grave prescribes the bestl — A friend's; 
and yet 
From a friend's grave how soon we disengage ! 
Ev'n to the dearest, as his marble, cold. 
Why are friends ravished from us 1 'tis to bind, 
By soft Affection's ties, on human hearts 
The thought of Death, which reason, too supine, 
Or misemployed, so rarely fastens there. 
Nor Reason nor Affection, no, nor both 
Combined, can break the witchcrafts of the world. 
Behold the inexorable hour at hand ; 
Behold the inexorable hour forgot ! 
And to forget it the chief aim of life, 



Though well to ponder it is Ufe's chief end. 
Is Death, that ever-threatening, ne'er remote, 
That all-important, and that only sure, 
(Come when he will) an unexpected guest 1 
Nay, though invited by the loudest calls 
Of blind Imprudence, unexpected still ; 
Though numerous messengers are sent before, 
To warn his great arrival ! What the cause, 
The wondrous cause, of this mysterious ill 1 
All Heaven looks down, astonished at the sight I 

Is it that Life has sown her joys so thick, 
We can't thrust in a single care between 1 
Is it that Life has such a swarm of cares, 
The thought of Death can't enter for the throng 1 
Is it that Time steals on with downy feet, 
Nor wakes Indulgence from her golden dream 1 
To-day is so Uke yesterday, it cheats; 
We take the lying sister for the same. 
Life glides away, Lorenzo! like a brook, 
For ever changing, unperceived the change, 
In the same brook none ever bathed him twice ; 
To the same life none ever twice awoke. 
We call the brook the same; the same we think 
Our life, though still more rapid in its flow. 
Nor mark the much irrevocably lapsed, 
And mingled with the sea. Or shall we say 
(Retaining still the brook to bear us on) 
That life is like a vessel on the stream? 
In life embarked, we smoothly down the tide 
Of time descend, but not on time intent ; 
Amused, unconscious of the gliding wave, 
Till on a sudden we perceive a shock ; 
We start, awake, look out: what see we there?— 
Our brittle bark is burst on Charon's shore. 

Is this the cause Death flies all human thoughtl 
Or is it Judgment by the Will struck blind, 
That domineering mistress of the soul ! 
Like him so strong, by Dalilah the fair ? 
Or is it Fear turns startled Reason back 
From looking down a precipice so steep 7 — 
'Tis dreadful; and the dread is wisely placed 
By Nature, conscious of the make of man. 
A dreadful friend it is, a terror kind, 
A flaming sword to guard the tree of Life. 
By that unawed, in life's most smiling hour 
The good man would repine : would suffer joys, 
And burn impatient for his promised skies. 
The bad, on each punctilious pique of pride, 
Or gloom of humour, would give Rage the rein. 
Bound o'er the barrier, rush into the dark, 
And mar the scenes of Providence below. 

What groan was that, Lorenzo 1 — Furies 1 rise. 
And drown in your less execrable yell, 
Britannia's shame. There took her gloomy flight, 
On wing impetuous, a black sullen soul. 
Blasted from hell, with horrid lust of death. 
Thy friend, the brave, the gallant Altamont, 
So called, so thought — and then he fled the field; 
Less base the fear of death than feax of life. 



&8 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



O Britain ! infamous for suicide ! 
An island, in tliy manners: far disjoined 
From the whole world of rationals besides ! 
In ambient waves plunge thy polluted head, 
Wash the dire stain, nor shock the continent. 

But thou be shocked, while I detect the cause 
Of self-assault, expose the monster's birth, 
And bid abhorrence hiss it round the world. 
Blame not thy dime, nor chide the distant sun; 
The sun is innocent, thy clime absolved. 
Immoral climes kind Nature never made. 
The cause I sing, in Eden might prevail, 
And proves it is thy folly, not thy fate. 

The soul of Mian, (let man in homage bow, 
Who names his soul) a native of tht- skies! 
-High-horn and free, her freedom slioulil maintain, 
"Unsold, unmortgaged for earth's little bribes. 
The illustrious stranger, in this foreign land, 
Like strangers, j(>alous of her dignity. 
Studious of home, and ardent to return. 
Of earth suspicious, earth's enchanted cup 
With cool reserve light touching, should indulge 
On inmiortality, her go<^llike taste; 
There take large draughts ; make her chief ban- 
quet there. 

But some reject this sustenance divine. 
To beggarly vile appetites descend, 
Ask ahns of earth, for guests that came from 

Heaven ! 
Sink into slaves, and sell, for present hire, 
Their rich reversion, and (what shares its fate) 
Their native freedom, to the prince who sways 
This nether world: and when his payments fail. 
When his foul basket gorges them no more. 
Or their pulled palates loath the basket full, 
Are instantly, with wild demoniac rage, 
For breaking all tlie chains of Providence, 
And bursting their confinement, though fost barred 
By laws divine and human, guarded strong 
With horrors doubled to defend the pass, 
The blackest Nature or dire guilt can raise, 
And moated round with fathomless destruction. 
Sure to receive and whelm them in their fall. 

Such, Britons ! is the cause, to you unknown, 
Or, worse, o'erlooked ; o'erlookcd by magistrates, 
Thus crhninals themselves! I grant the deed 
Is madness; but the madness of the heart. 
And what is that 1 our utmost bound of guilt. 
A sensual unreflecting life is big 
With monstrous births, and Suicide, to crown 
The black infernal brood. The bold to break 
Heaven's law supreme, and desperately rush 
Through sacred Nature's murder, on their own. 
Because they never think of death, they die. 
'Tis equally man's duty, glory, gain, 
At oiice to shun, and mcJitate his end. 
When by the bed of languishment we sit, 
{The seat of Wisdom ! if our choice, not fate) 
Or o'er flur dying friends in anguish bang 



Wipe the cold dew, or stay the sinking head; 

Number their moments, and in every clock 

Start at the voice of an eternity ; 

See the dim lamp of life just feebly lift 

An agonizing beam, at us to gaze, 

Then sink again, and quiver into death, 

That most pathetic herald of our own; 

How read we such sad scenes? As sent to man 

In perfect vengeance ■? no; in pity sent. 

To melt him down, like wax, and then impress, 

Indelible, Death's image on his heart. 

Bleeding for others, trembling for himself. 

We bleed, we tremble, we forget, we smile. 

The mind turns fool before the cheek is dry. 

Our quick-returning folly cancels all, 

As the tide rushing razes what is writ 

In yielding sands, and smoothes the lettered shore. 

Lorenzo ! hast thou ever weighed a sigh ■? 
Or studied the philosophy of tears 1 
(A science yet unlectured in our schools!) 
Hast thou descended deep into the breast, 
And seen their source 1 if not, descend with me, 
And trace these briny rivulets to their springs. 

Our funeral tears from different causes rise : 
As if from separate cisterns in the soul. 
Of various kinds they flow. From tender hearts, 
By soft contagion called, some burst at once, 
And stream obsequious to the leading eye : 
Some ask more time, by curious art distilled. 
Some hearts, in secret hard, unapt to melt. 
Struck by the magic of the public eye. 
Like Moses' smitten rock, gush out amain: 
Some weep to share the fame of the deceased, 
So high in merit, and to them so dear: 
They dwell on praises which they think they share, 
And thus, without a blush, commend themselves. 
Some mourn, in proof that something they could 

love; 
They weep not to relieve their grief, but show. 
Some weep in perfect justice to the dead. 
As conscious all their love is in arrear. 
Some mischievously weep, not unapprised 
Tears sometimes aid the conquest of an eye. 
With what address the soft Ephesians draw 
Their sable network o'er entangled hearts'? 
As seen through crystal, how their roses glow, 
While liquid pearl runs trickling down their 

cheek 1 
Of her's not prouder Egypt's wanton queen, 
Carousing gems, herself dissolved in love. 
Some weep at death, abstracted from the dead, 
And celebrate, like Charles, their own decease. 
By kind construction some are deemed to weep. 
Because a decent veil conceals their joy. 
Some weep in earnest, and yet weep in vain. 
As deep in indiscretion as in wo. 
Passion, blind passion! impotently pours 
Tears that deserve more tears; while Reason 
sleeps, 



THE COMPLAINT. 



29 



Or gazes, like an idiot, unconcerned, 
Nor comprehends the meaning of the storm; 
Knows not it speaks to her, and her alone. 
Irrationals all sorrows are beneath. 
That noble gift ! that privilege of man ! 
From sorrow's pang, the birth of endless joy: 
But these are barren of that birth divine; 
They weep impetuous as the summer-storm, 
And full as short ! the cruel grief soon tam'd, 
They make a pastime of the stingless tale; 
Far as the deep-resounding knell they spread 
The dreadful news, and hardly feel it more : 
No grain of wisdom pays them for their wo. 

Half-round the globe the tears pumped up by 
death 
Are spent in watering vanities of hfe ; 
In making folly flourish still more fair. 
"When the sick soul, her wonted stay withdrawn, 
Reclines on earth and sorrows in the dust ; 
Instead of learning there her true support, 
(Though there thrown down her true support to 

learn,) 
Without Heaven's aid, impatient to be blest. 
She crawls to the next shrub or bramble vile. 
Though from the stately cedar's arms she fell; 
With stale foresworn embraces clings anew, 
The stranger weds, and blossoms as before, 
In all the fruitless fopperies of life. 
Presents her weed, well-fancied at the ball. 
And raffles for the death's-head on the ring. 

So wept Aurelia, till the destined youth 
Slept in with his receipt for making smiles, 
And blanching sables into bridal bloom. 
So wept Lorenzo fair Clarissa's fate. 
Who gave that angel-boy on whom he dotes, 
And died to give him, orphaned in his birth ! 
Not such, Narcissa ! my distress for thee. 
I'll make an altar of thy sacred tomb. 
To sacrifice to Wisdom. — What wast thou 1 
' Young, gay, and fortunate!' Each yields a theme: 
I'll dwell on each, to shun thought more severe ; 
(Heaven knows I labour with severer still !) 
I'll dwell on each, and quite exhaust thy death. 
A soul without reflection, like a pile 
Without inhabitant, to ruin runs. 

And, first, thy youth: what says it to gray 
hairs 1 
Narcissa ! I'm become thy pupil now. 
Early, bright, transient, chaste, as morning dew. 
She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to Heaven ! 
Time on this head has snowed, yet still 'tis borne 
Aloft, nor thinks but on another's grave. 
Covered with shame I speak it, age severe 
Old worn-out vice sets down for virtue fair ; 
With graceless gravity chastising youth, 
That youth chastised surpassing in a fault, 
Father of all, forgetfulness of death ! 
As if, like objects pressing on the sight, 
Death had advanced too near us to be seen ; 



Or that life's loan Time ripened into right, 
And men might plead prescription from the grave ; 
Deathless, from repetition of reprieve. 
Deathless 1 far from it ! such are dead already ; 
Their hearts are buried, and the world their grave. 

Tell me, some god ! my guardian angel ! tell 
What thus infatuates "? what enchantment plants 
The phantom of an age 'twixt us and Death, 
Already at the door "? He knocks ; we hear him, 
And yet we will not hear. What mail defends 
Our untouched hearts 1 what miracle turns off 
The pointed thought, which from a thousand 

quivers 
Is daily darted, and is daily shunned 1 
We stand, as in a battle, throngs on throngs 
Around us falling, wounded oft ourselves. 
Though bleeding with our wounds, immortal stills 
We see Time's furrows on another's brow, 
And Death intrenched, preparing his assault ; 
How few themselves in that just mirror see I 
Or, seeing, draw their inference as strong ! 
There death is certain ; doubtful here : he must, 
And soon: we may, within an age, expire. 
Though gray our heads, our thoughts and aims are 

green : 
Like damaged clocks, whose hand and bell dissent, 
Folly sings six, while Nature points at twelve. 

Absurd longevity ! more, more, it cries : 
More life, more wealth, more trash of every kind> 
And wherefore mad for more, when relish fails'? 
Object and appetite must club for joy : 
Shall Folly labour hard to mend the bow, 
Bawbles, I mean, that strike us from without, 
While Nature is relaxing every string ! 
Ask Thought for joy; grow rich, and hoard within, 
Think you the soul, when this life's rattles cease, 
Has nothing of more manly to succeed "? 
Contract the taste immortal ; learn even now 
To rehsh what alone subsists hereafter. 
Divine, or none, henceforth, your joys for ever; 
Of age, the glory is to wish to die : 
That wish is praise and promise ; it applauds 
Past life, and promises our future bliss. 
What weakness see not children in their sires I 
Grand climacterical absurdities ! 
Gray-hair'd authority, to faults of youth 
How shocking ! it makes folly thrice a fool ; 
And our first childhood might our last despise. 
Peace and esteem is all that age can hope : 
Nothing but wisdom gives the first ; the last 
Nothing but the repute of being wise. 
Folly bars both : our age is quite undone. 

What folly can be ranker 1 Hke our shadows, 
Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines. 
No wish should loiter, then, this side the grave. 
Our hearts should leave the world before the knell 
Calls for our carcasses to mend the soil. 
Enough to live in tempest — die in port : 
Age should fly concourse, cover in retreat 



^ 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Defects of judgment, and the will subdue : 
Walk thoughtful on the silent solemn shore 
Of that vast ocean it must sail so soon, 
And put good works on board, and wait the wind 
That shortly blows us into worlds unknown : 
If unconsidered, too, a dreadful scene ! 

All should be prophets to themselves — foresee 
Their future fate — their future fate foretaste : 
This art would waste the bitterness of death. 
The thought of death alone the fear destroys : 
A disaffection to that precious thought 
Is more than midnight darkness on the soul, 
Which sleeps beneath it on a precipice, 
Puffed off by the first blast, and lost for ever. 

Dost ask, Lorenzo, why so warmly prest, 
By repetition hammered on thine ear, 
The thought of Death 1 that thought is the ma. 

chine. 
The grand machine, that heaves us from the dust. 
And rears us into men. The thought, ply'd home, 
Will soon reduce the ghastly precipice 
O'erhanging hell, will soften the descent. 
And gently slope our passage to the grave. 
How warmly to be wish'd ; what heart of flesh 
Would trifle with tremendous 1 dare extremes ] 
Yawn over the fate of infinite"? what hand, 
Beyond the blackest brand of censure bold, 
(To speak a language too well known to thee) 
Would at a moment give its all to Chance, 
And stamp the dye for an Eternity. 

Aid me, Narcissa ; aid me to keep pace 
With Destiny, and, ere her scissars cut 
My thread of Ufe, to break this tougher thread 
Of moral death that ties me to the world. 
Sting thou my slumbering Reason, to send forth 
A thought of observation on the foe ; 
To sally and survey the rapid march 
Of his ten thousand messengers to man. 
Who, Jehu-like, behind him turns them all. 
All accident apart, by Nature sign'd. 
My warrant is gone out, though dormant yet ; 
Perhaps behind one moment lurks my fate. 
Must I then forward only look for Death 1 — 
Backward I turn mine eye, and find him there. 
Man is a self survivor every year. 
Man, like a stream, is in perpetual flow. 
Death's a destroyer of quotidian prey: 
My youth, my noon-tide his — my yesterday: 
The bold invader shares the present hour : 
Each moment on the former shuts the grave. 
While man is growing, life is in decrease. 
And cradles rock us nearer to the tomb. 
Our birth is nothing but our death begun, 
As tapers waste that instant they take fire. 

Shall we then fear lest that should come to pass, 
Which comes to pass each moment of our lives'? 
If fear we must, let that Death turn us pale 
Which murders strength and ardour; what re- 
mains 



Should rather call on Death than dread his call. 
Ye partners of my fault, and my decline, 
Thoughtless of death but when your neighbour's 

knell, 
(Rude visitant) knocks hard at your dull sense, 
And with its thunder scarce obtains your ear. 
Be death your theme, in every place and hour ; 
Nor longer want, ye monumental sires, 
A brother-tomb to tell you — you shall die. 
That death you dread, (so great is Nature's skill ;) 
Know you shall court, before you shall enjoy. 

But you are learned : in volumes deep you sit, 
In wisdom shallow. Pompous ignorance ! 
Would you be still more learned than the learned? 
Learn well to know how much need not be known, 
And what that knowledge which impairs your 

sense. 
Our needful knowledge, hke onr needful food, 
Unhedg'd, Ues open in Life's common field, 
And bids all welcome to the vital feast. 
You scorn what lies before you in the page 
Of Nature and Experience, moral truth ; 
Of indispensable eternal fruit ; 
Fruit on which mortals feeding, turn to gods, 
And dive in science for distinguish'd names. 
Dishonest fomentation of your pride, 
Sinking in virtue as you rise in fame. 
Your learning, like the lunar beam, affords 
Light, but not heat ; it leaves you undevout, 
Frozen at heart while speculation shines. 
Awake, ye curious Indagators ! fond 
Of knowing all but what avails you, known. 
If you would learn Death's character, attend. 
All casts of conduct, all degrees of health. 
All dyes of fortune, and all dates of age, 
Together shook in his impartial um. 
Come forth at random: or, if choice is made. 
The choice is quite sarcastic, and insults 
All bold conjecture and fond hopes of man. 
What countless multitudes not only leave, 
But deeply disappoint us, by their deaths ! 
Though great our sorrow, greater our surprise. 

Like other tyrants. Death delights to smite 
What, smitten, most proclaims the pride of power 
And arbitrary nod. His joy supreme. 
To bid the wretch survive the fortunate ; 
The feeble wrap the athletic in his shroud ; 
And weeping fathers build their children's tomb: 
Me thine, Narcissa! — What, though short thy 

datel 
Virtue, not rolling suns, the mind matures. 
That life is long which answers Ufe's great end. 
The time that bears no fruit deserves no name. 
The man of wisdom is the man of years. 
In hoary youth Methusalems may die ; 
O how misdated on their flattering tombs ; 

Narcissa's youth has lectured me thus far : 
And can her gaiety give counsel too? 
That like the Jews' famed oracle of gems, 



THE COMPLAINT. 



31 



Sparkles instruction ; such as throws new light, 
And opens more the character of Death, 
111 known to thee, Lorenzo ! this thy vaunt ! — 
' Give death his due, the wretched and the old ; 
Ev'n let him sweep his rubbish to the grave ; 
Let him not violate kind nature's laws. 
But own man born to live as well as die,' — 
Wretched and old thou giv'st him ; young and gay 
He takes ; and plunder is a tyrant's joy. 
What if I prove, ' the farthest from tlie fear 
Are often nearest to the stroke of fate V 

All, more than common, menaces an end. 
A blaze betokens brevity of life : 
As if bright embers should emit a flame, 
Glad spirits sparkled from Narcissa's eye. 
And made Youth younger, and taught life to live. 
As natures opposites wage endless war, 
For this offence, as treason to the deep 
Inviolable stupor of his reign, 
Where lust and turbulent ambition sleep. 
Death took swift vengeance. As he life detests. 
More life is still more odious ; and, reduced 
By conquest, aggrandizes more his power. 
But wherefore aggrandized ? — By Heaven's decree 
To plant the soul on her eternal guard, 
In awful expectation of our end. 
Thus runs Death's dread commission; 'Strike, 

but so 
As most alarms the living by the dead.' 
Hence stratagem delights him, and surprise, 
And cruel sport with man's securities. 
Not simple conquest, triumph is his aim ; 
And where least feared, there conquest triumphs 

most. 
This proves my bold assertion not too bold. 

What are his arts to lay our fears asleep? 
Tiberian arts his purposes wrap up 
In deep Dissimulation's darkest night. 
Like princes unconfess'd in foreign courts. 
Who travel under cover. Death assumes 
The name and look of Life, and dwells among us: 
He takes all shapes that serve his black designs: 
Though master of a wider empire far 
Than that o'er which the Roman eagle flew. 
Like Nero, he's a fiddler, charioteer : 
Or drives his phaeton in female guise ; 
O.uite unsuspected, till, the wheel beneath. 
His disarray'd oblation he devours. 

He most affects the forms least like himself, 
His slender self: hence burly corpulence 
Is his familiar wear, and sleek disguise. 
Behind the rosy bloom he loves to lurk. 
Or ambush in a smile ; or, wanton, dive 
In dimples deep; Love's eddies, which draw in 
Unwary hearts, and sink them in despair. 
Such on Narcissa's couch he loitered long 
Unknown, and when detected, still was seen 
To smile : such peace has Innocence in death ! 

Most happy they, whom least his arts deceive ! 
16 V 



One eye on death, and one full fixed on heaven, 
Becomes a mortal and immortal man. 
Long on his wiles a piqued and jealous spy, 
I've seen, or dreamed I saw, the tyrant dress, 
Lay by his horrors, and put on his smiles. 
Say, Muse ! for thou remember'st, call it back, 
And show Lorenzo the surprising scene ; 
If 'twas a dream, his genius can explain. 

'Twas in a circle of the gay I stood : 
Death would have entered; Nature pushed liim 

back: 
Supported by a doctor of renown. 
His point he gained ; then artfully dismissed 
The sage ; for Death designed to be concealed : 
He gave an old vivacious usurer 
His meagre aspect, and his naked bones. 
In gratitude for plumping up his prey, 
A pampered spendthrift, whose fantastic air, 
Well-fashioned figure, and cockaded brow. 
He took in change, and underneath the pride 
Of costly Unen tucked his filthy shroud. 
His crooked bow he straightened to a cane, 
And hid his deadly shafts in Myra's eye. 

The dreadful masquerader, thus equipped. 
Out-sallies on adventures. Ask you where 1 
Where is he not? For his peculiar haunts 
Let this suflice ; sure as night follows day. 
Death treads in Pleasure's footsteps round the 

world 
When Pleasure treads the paths which Reasoa 

shuns. 
When against Reason, Riot shuts the door, 
And gaiety supplies the place of sense. 
Then foremost at the banquet and the ball, 
Death leads the dance, or stamps the deadly dye, 
Nor ever fails the midnight bowl to crown. 
Gaily carousing to his gay compeers 
Inly he laughs to see them laugh at him. 
As absent far; and when the revel burns, 
When Fear is banished, and triumphant Thought 
Calling for all the joys beneath the moon. 
Against him turns the key, and bids him sup 
With their progenitors — he drops his mask. 
Frowns out at fall : they start, despair, expire. 

Scarce with more sudden terror and surprise, 
From his black mask of nitre, touched by fire. 
He bursts, expands, roars, blazes, and devours. 
And is not this triumphant treachery, 
And more than simple conquest in the fiend? , 

And now, Lorenzo, dost thou wrap thy soul 
In soft security, because unknown 
Which moment is commissioned to destroy? 
In death's uncertainty thy danger hes. 
Is death uncertain ? therefore thou be fixed. 
Fixed as a sentinel, all eye, all ear, 
All expectation of the coming foe. 
Rouse, stand in arms, nor lean against thy spear, 
Lest slumber steal one moment o'er thy soul, 



32 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



And Fate surprise thee nodding. Watch, be 

strong, 
Thus give each day the merit and renown 
Of dying well, tliough doomed but once to die; 
Nor let hl'c's period, liiddcn, (as from most) 
Hide, too, from thee tlie precious use of life. 
Early, not sudden, was Narcissa's fate ; 
Soon, not surprising. Death his visit paid : 
Her thought went forth to meet him on his way, 
Nor Gaiety forgot it was to die. 
Though Fortune, too, (our third and final theme,) 
As an accomplice, played her gaudy plumes. 
And every glittering gewgaw, on her sight. 
To dazzle and debauch it from its mitrk. 
Death's dreadful advent is the mark of man^ 
And every thought that misses it is blind. 
Fortune with Youth and Gaiety conspired 
To weave a triple wreath of happiness, 
(If hapjiiness on earth) to crown her brow: 
And could Death charge through such a shining 
shield 1 

That shining shield invites the tyrant's spear. 
As if to damp our elevated aims, 
And strongly preach humility to man. 
O how portentous is prosperity ! 
How, comet-like, it threatens while it shines ! 
Few years but yield us proof of Death's ambition, 
To cull his victims from the fairest fold. 
And sheathe his shatls in idl the pride of life. 
When flooded with abundance, purpled o'er 
With recent honours, bloomed with every bliss, 
Set up in ostentation, made the gaze. 
The gaudy centre of the public eye; 
When Fortune, thus, has tossed her child in air 
Snatched from the covert of an humble state, 
How often have I seen him dropt at once, 
Our morning's envy ! and our evening's sigh ! 
As if her bounties were the signal given, 
The flowery wreath, to mark the sacrifice. 
And call Death's arrows on the destined prey. 

High Fortune seems in cruel league with Fate. 
Ask you for what 1 to give his war on man 
The deeper dread, and more illustrious spoil; 
Thus to keep daring mortals more in awe. 
And burns Lorenzo still for the sublime 
Of life 1 to hang his airy nest on high, 
On the slight timber of the topmost bough, 
Rocked at each breeze, and menacing a fall 1 
Granting grim Death at equal distance there. 
Yet peace begins just where ambition ends. 
What makes man wretched 1 happiness denied 1 
Lorenzo ! no ; 'tis happiness disdained ! 
She comes too meanly dressed to win our smile, 
And calls herself Content, a homely name ! 
Our flame is transport, and Content our scorn ! 
Ambition turns, and shuts the door against her, 
And weds a toil, a tempest, in her stead ; 
A tempest to warm transport near of kin. 
Unknowing what our mortal state admits, 



Life's modest joys we ruin wliile we raise. 
And all our ecstasies are wounds to peace; 
Peace, the full portion of mankind below. 

And since thy peace is dear, ambitious youth ! ^ 
Of fortune fond ! as thoughtless of thy fate I 
As late 1 drew Death's picture, to stir up 
Thy wliolesome fears ; now, drawn in contrast, see 
Gay Fortune's, thy vain hopes to reprimand. 
See, high in air the sportive goddess hangs. 
Unlocks her casket, spreads her glittering ware, 
And calls the giddy winds to puff abroad 
Her random bounties o'er the gaping throng. 
All rush rapacious ; friends o'er trodden friends. 
Sons o'er their fathers, subjects o'er their kings. 
Priests o'er their gods, and lovers o'er the fair 
(Still more adored) to snatch the golden shower. 

Gold glitters most where virtue shines no more; 
As stars from absent suns have leave to shine. 
O what a precious pack of votaries, 
Unkennelled from the prisons and the stews, 
Pour in, all opening in their idol's praise ! 
All, ardent, eye each wafture of her hand, 
And, wide-expanding their voracious jaws. 
Morsel on morsel swallow down imchewed, 
Untasted, through mad appetite for more 
Gorged to the throat, yet lean and ravenous still : 
Sagacious all to trace the smallest game. 
And bold to seize the greatest. If (blest chance !) 
Court- zephyrs sweetly breathe ; they launch, they 

O'er just, o'er sacred, all-forbidden ground, 
Drunk with the burning scent of place or power, 
Staunch to the foot of Lucre — till they die. 

Or, if for men you take them, as I mark 
Their manners, thou their various fates survey. 
With aim mismeasured and impetuous speed, 
Some, darting, strike their ardent wish far off, 
Through fury to possess it : some succeed. 
But stumble, and let fall the taken prize. 
From some, by sudden blasts, 'tis whirled away, 
And lodged in bosoms that ne'er dreamed of gain. 
To some it sticks so close, that, when torn off. 
Torn is the man, and mortal is the wound. 
Some, o'er-enamoured of their bags, run mad ; 
Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread. 
Together some (unhappy rivals !) seize. 
And rend abundance into poverty ; 
Loud croalis the raven of the law, and smiles : 
Smiles, too, the goddess ; but smiles most at those 
(Just victims of exorbitant desire!) 
Who perish at their own request, and, whelmed 
Beneath her load of lavish grants, expire. 
Fortune is famous for her numbers slain ; 
The number small which happiness can beiir. 
Though various for awhile their fiites, at last 
One curse involves them all : at Death's approach 
All read their riches backward into loss. 
And mourn in just proportion to their store. 

And Death's approach (if orthodox my song) 



THE COMPLAINT. 



33 



Is hastened by the lure of Fortuin^'s Hiniles. 
And art thou still a {glutton of l)riirht jjold 1 
And art thou still rapacious of thy ruin 1 
Death loves a shininjf mark, a sii^nal hlow; 
A hlow which, while it executes, alarms, 
And startles thousands with a sii^nal fall. 
As when some stately j^rowth of onk, or pine. 
Which nods aloil and proudly spreads her shade, 
The sun's defiance, and the flock's defence. 
By the stroiiiT strokes of labourini^ hinds subdued, 
Loud {groans her lust; and, rusliing from her height. 
In cumbrous ruin thunders to the ground; 
The conscious forest trembles at the sliock, 
And hill, and stream, and distant dale, resound. 

These hi[;h-aimcd darts of Deatii, and these alone, 
Should I collect, my quiver would be full; 
A (juiver which, sus[)(^nded in mid air. 
Or near Heaven's archer, in llu! zodiac, hung, 
(So could it be) should draw the public eye, 
The ga7x) and contemplation of mankind ! 
A constellation awful, yet b(!nign, 
To guide the way through life's tempestuous wave, 
Nor suffer them to strike the common rock ; 
' From greater dang(!r to grow more secure, 
And, wrapt in happiness, forget their fate.' 

Lysander, happy past the common lot. 
Was warnal of dangc^r, but too gay to fear. 
He wooed the fair Aspasia ; she was kind. 
In youth, form, fortune, fame, they both were bless- 
ed : 
Ail who knew, envied ; yet in envy loved : 
Can Fancy form more finished ha|)piness? 
Fixed was the nuptial hour. Her stately dome 
Rose on the sounding beach. The glittering spires 
Float in the wave, and break against the shore ; 
So break those glittering shadows, human joys. 
The faithless morning smiled : he takes his leave 
To re-embraco, in ecstacics, at eve : 
The rising storm forbids; the news arrives; 
Untold she saw it in her servant's eye. 
She felt it seen, (her heart was .apt to feel) 
And drowned, without the furious ocean's aid, 
In suffocating sorrows shares his tomb. 
Now round the sumptuous bridal monument 
The guilty billows innocently roar, 
And the rough sailor passing, drops a tear. 
A tear 1 — can tears suffice 1 — but not for me. 
How vain our efforts ! and our arts how vain ! 
The distant train of thought I took, to shun. 
Has thrown me on my fate. — These died together; 
Happy in ruin I undivorced by death ! 
Or ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace. — 
Narcissa ! Pity bleeds at thought of thee ; 
Yet thou wast only near me, not myself. 
Survive myself 7 — that cures all other wo. 
Narcissa lives ; Philander is forgot. 
O the soft commerce ! — O the tender ties, 
Close twisted with the fibres of the heart ! 
Which, broken, break them, and drain off the soul 



Of human Joy, and make it pain to live. — 
And is it then to live? When such friends part, 
'Tis the survivor dies. — My heart ! no more. 



NIGHT Vr. 



THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 

In Two Parts. 

CONTAINING TUB NATURK, PROOF, AND IMPOST' 

ANCE, OF IMMORTALITY. 



PART L 

WIIKHK, AMONG OTHER THINGS, 
GLORY AND RICIIIW ARK PARTICULARLY CON 1 
HIDEREI). 



To tlic Riglit Hon. Henry I'elham, First Lonl CommiMsioner 
of the TreuHury, and (;hancellor of the Exclio<jiier. 

PREFACE. 

Few ages have been deeper in dispute about re- 
ligion than this. The dispute about religion, and 
the practice of it, seldom go together. The short- 
er, therefore, the dispute, the better. I think it 
may be reduced to this single question, ' Is man 
immortal, or is ho not? If he is not; all our dis- 
putes are mere amusements, or trials of skill. In 
this case, truth, reason, religion, which give our 
discourses such pom[) and solemnity, are (as will 
be shown,) mere em|)ty sounds, without any mean- 
ing in them: but if man is immortal, it will behove 
him to be very serious about eternal consequences; 
or, in other words, to be truly religious. And thi« 
great fundamental truth, unestablished, or una- 
wakened in the minds of men, is, I conceive, tho 
real source and support of all our infidelity, how 
remote soever the particular objections advanced 
may seem to be from it. 

Sensible appearances affect most men much 
more than abstract reasonings ; and we daily see 
bodies drop around us, but the soul is invisible. 
The power which inclination has over the judg- 
ment, is greater than can be well conceived by 
those that have not had the experience of it ; and 
of what numbers is it the sad interest that souls 
should not survive ? The Heathen world confess- 
ed that they rather hoped, than /irmly believed, 
immortality! and how many Heathens have wo 
still amongst us? The Sacred page assures us, that 
'life and immortality is brought to light by tho 
Gospel:' but by how many is the Gospel rejected 
or overlooked 1 From these considi^ations, and 
from my being, accidentally, privy to the senti- 
ments of some particular persons, I have been long 
persuaded that most, if not all our infidels (what- 
ever name th(!y take, and whatever scheme for ar- 
gument's sake, and to keep themselves in counte- 
nance, they patroiiizi!,) are supported in their do- 
plorablc error by some doubt of their imrnortalitf 



84 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



at the bottom: and 1 am satislled, that men once 
thoroughly convinced of their iinmortahty, arc not 
far from being Clirislians: for it is iiard to con- 
ceive that a man, fully conscious eternal pain or 
fiai>i)iness will certainly be his lot, should not ear- 
nestly and impartially inquire after the surest 
means of escaping one, and securing the other : 
and of such an earnest and impartial inquiry I 
well know the conse<iuenoe. 

Here, therefore, in i)roof of this most funda- 
mental truth, some plain arguments are oflered ; 
arguments derived from principles which infidels 
admit in common with believers; arguments which 
appear to me altogetiicr irresistible ; and such as, 
I am satisfied, will have great weight with all who 
give themselves the small troiible of looking se- 
riously into their own bosoms, and of observing, 
with any tolerable degree of attention, what daily 
passes round about them in the world. If some 
arguments shall here occur which others have de- 
clined, they are submitted, with all deference, to 
better judgments, in this, of all points, the most 
important! for, as to the being of a God, that is 
no longer disputed ; but it is undisputed for this 
reason only, viz. because where the least pretence 
to reason is admitted, it must for ever bo indisput- 
able; and, of consequence, no man can be betray- 
ed into a dispute of tliat nature by vanity, which 
has a principal share, in animating our modern 
combatants against other articles of our belief. 



She* (for I know not yet her name in Heaven) 
Not early, like Narcissa, lelt the scene. 
Nor sudden, hke Philander. What avaiH 
This seeming mitigation but inflames ; 
This fancied medicine heightens the disease. 
The longer known, the closer still siie grew, 
And gradual parting is a gradual death. 
'Tis the grim tyrant's engine which extorts, 
By tardy jjressure's still increasing weight, 
From hardest hearts confession of distress. 

O the long dark approach, tln'ough years of 
pain, 
J^eath's gallery ! (might I dare to call it so) 
With dismal doubt and sable terror hung, 
Sick Hope's pale lamp its only glimmering ray: 
There Fate my melancholy walk ordained. 
Forbid self-love itself to flatter there. 
How ofl I gazed, prophetically sad : 
How oil I saw her dead, while yet in smiles: 
In smiles she sunk her grief to lessen mine: 
She spoke me comfort, and increased my pain. 
Like powerful armies trenching at a town, 
By slow ami silent, but resistless sap. 
In his pale progress gently gaining ground. 
Death urged his deadly siege; in spite of art. 
Of all the balmy blessings Nature lends 

• Referring to Night tUo Fifth. 



To succour frail humanity. Ye stars ! 

(Not now first made familiar to my sight) 

And thou, O moon! bear witness; matiy anight 

He tore the pillow from beneath my head. 

Tied down my sore attention to the shock. 

By ceaseless depredations on a life 

Dearer than that he left me. Dreadful post 

Of observation! darker every hour; 

Less dread the day that drove me to the brink, 

And pointed at eternity below ; 

When my soul shuddered at futurity ; 

When, on a moment's point, the important dio 

Of life and death spun doubtful, ere it fell. 

And turn'd up life; my title to more wo. 

But why more wo 1 more comfort let it be. 

Nothing is dead, but that which wished to die 

Nothing is dead, but wretchedness and pain; 

Nothing is dead, but what incumbered, galled, 

Blocked up the pass, and barred from real life. 

Where dwells that wish most ardent of the wise** 

Too dark the sun to see it ; highest stars 

Too low to reach it; Death, great Death alone, 

O'er stars and sun triumphant, lands us there. 

Nor dreadful our transition, though the mind. 
An artist at creating, self-alarms. 
Rich in expedients for inquietude. 
Is prone to iiaint it dreadful. Who can take 
Death's jiortrait true'] the tyrant never sat. 
Our sketch all random strokes, conjecture all; 
Close shuts the grave, nor tells one single tale. 
Death and his image rising in the brain 
Bear faint resemblance ; never are alike : 
Fear shakes the pencil : Fancy loves excess; 
Dark Ignorance is lavish of her shades; 
And these the formidable picture draw. 

But grant the worst, 'tis the past; new pro9- 
jjccts rise. 
And drop a veil eternal o'er her tomb. 
Far other views our contemplation claim. 
Views that o'erpay the rigours of our life; 
Views that suspend our agonies in death. 
Wrapt in the thought of immortality. 
Wrapt in the single, the triumphant thought : 
l>ong life might lapse, age unperceived, come on, 
And find the soul unsated with her theme. 
Its nature, proof, importance, fire my song. 
O that my song could emulate my soul ! 
Like her immortal. No: — the soul disdains 
A mark so mean ; far nobler hope inflames ; 
If endless ages can outweigh an hour. 
Lot not the laurel, but the palm inspire. 

Thy nature Immortality! who knows f 
And yet who knows it not? it is but life 
In stronger thread of brighter colour spun, 
And spun forever; dipt by cruel Fate 
In Stygian dye, how black, how brittle, here; 
How short our correspondence with the sun! 
And while it lasts, inglorious : our best deeds 
How wanting in their weight: our highest joys, 



THE COMPLAINT. 



35 



Small cordials to support us in our pain, 

And give us strength to suflbr. But how great 

To nungle interests, converse, amities, 

With all the sons of Reason, scattered wide 

Through habitable space, wherever born, 

Howe'er endowed : to live free citizens 

Of universal Nature: to lay hold. 

By more that feeble faith, on the Supreme : 

To call Heaven's rich unfathomable mines 

(M ines which support archangels in their state) 

Our own! to rise in science as in bliss, 

Initiate in the secrets of the skies : 

To read creation ; read its mighty plan 

In the bare bosom of the Deity: 

The plan and execution to collate: 

To see before each glance of piercing thought, 

All cloud, all shadow, blown remote; and leave 

No mystery — but that of love Divine, 

Which lifts us on the seraph's flaming wing. 

From earth's accldama, this field of blood, 

Of inward anguish, and of outward ill, 

From darkness and from dust, to such a scene: 

Love's element: true joy's illustrious home : 

From earth's sad contrast (now deplored) more 

fair! 
What exquisite vicissitude of fate! 
Blessed absolution of our blackest hour ! 

Lorenzo ! these are thoughts that make man man. 
The wise illumine, aggrandize the great. 
How great, (while yet we tread the kindred clod, 
And every moment fear to sink beneath 
The clod we tread, soon trodden by our sons) 
How great, in the wild whirl of time's pursuits, 
To stop, and pause ; involved in high presage. 
Through the long vista of a thousand years, 
To stand contemplating our distant selves, 
As in a magnifying mirror seen, 
Enlarged, ennobled, elevate, divine: 
To prophesy our own futurities : 
To gaze in thought on what all thought trans- 
cends : 
To talk, with fellow-candidates, of joys 
As far l)oyond conception as desert. 
Ourselves the astonished talkers and the tale! 
Lorenzo, swells thy bosom at the thought '! 
The swell becomes thee: 'tis an honest pride: 
Revere thyself; — and yet thyself despise. 
His nature no man can o'er-rate, and none 
Can under-rate his merit. Take good heed, 
Nor there be modest where thou shouid'st be 

j)roud; 
That almost universal error shun. 
How just our pride, when we behold those 

heights : 
Not those ambition paints in air, but those 
Reason points out, and ardent Virtue gains. 
And angels emulate. Our pride how just: 
When mount we] when these shackles cast? 
when quit 

v2 



This cell of the creation! this small nest. 
Stuck in a corner of the universe. 
Wrapt up in fleecy cloud and fine-spun airl 
Fine-spun to scmse, but gross and feculent 
To souls celestial; souls ordained to breathe 
Ambrosial gales, and drink a |)urer sky; 
Greatly triumphant on Time's fartJier shore. 
Where Virtue reigns, enriciied with full arrears, 
While Pomp iini)erial, begs an alms of Peace. 

In empire high, or in proud science deep. 
Ye tjorn of earth, on what can you confer. 
With half the dignity, with half the gain. 
The gust, the glow, of rational deligiit, 
As on this theme, which angels prai.se and share? 
Man's fates and favours are a theme in Heaven. 

What wretched repetition cloys us here: 
What periodic potions for the sick : 
Distempered bodies and distempered minds: 
In an eternity what scenes shall strike! 
Adventures thicken; novelties surprise: 
What webs of wonder shall unravel there? 
What full day [)our on all the paths of Heaven, 
And light the Almighty's footsteps in the deep: 
How shall the blessed day of our discharge 
Unwind, at once, the labyrinths of fate, 
And straighten its inextricable maze. 

If inextinguishable thirst in man 
To know; how rich, how full, our banquet there ! 
There, not the moral world alone unfolds ; 
The world material, lately seen in shades. 
And in those shades by fragments only seen, 
And seen those fragments by the labouring eye, 
Unbroken, then, illustrious and entire. 
Its ample sphere, its universal frame. 
In full dimensions, swells to the survey, 
And enters, at one glance, the ravished sight. 
From some superior point, (where, wlio can telH 
Suffice it 'tis a point where gods reside) 
How shall the stranger man's illumined eye, 
In the vast ocean of unbounded s{)ace, 
Behold an infinite of floating worlds 
Divide the crystal waves of ether pure. 
In endless voyage without port? The least 
Of these disseminated orbs how great 
Great as they are, what numbers these surpass, 
Huge as leviathan to that small race. 
Those twinkling multitudes of little life. 
He swallows unperceived. Stupendous these. 
Yet what are these stupendous to the whole? 
As particles, as atoms, ill perceived; 
As circulating globules in our veins; 
So vast the plan. Fecundity divine! 
Exuberant Source! perhajis I wrong thee stilL 

If admiration is a source of joy. 
What trans[)ort hence! yet this the least in 

Heaven. 
What this to that illustrious robe He wears, 
Who tossed this mass of wonders from lua hand, 
A specimen, an earnest of his power? 



36 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



'Tis to that glory, whence all glory flows, 
As the mead's meanest floweret to the sun, 
Which gave it birth. But what this sun of 

Heaven 1 
This bliss supreme of the supremely blesf? 
Death, only death, the question can resolve. 
By death cheap bought the ideas of our joy; 
The bare ideas! sohd happiness 
So distant from its shadow chased below. 

And chase we still the phantom through the 
fire, 
O'er bog, and brake, and precipice, till death 1 
And toil we still for sublunary pay? 
Defy the dangers of the field and flood. 
Or, spider-like, spin out our precious all, 
Our more than vitals spin, (if no regard 
To great futurity) in curious webs 
Of subtle thought and exquisite design, 
(Fine net- work of the brain !) to catcii a fly! 
The momentary buzz of vain renown ! 
A name ! a mortal immortality ! 

Or (meaner still) instead of grasping air, 
For sordid lucre plunge we in the mire? 
Drudge, sweat, through every shame, for every 

gain: 
For vile contaminating trash ! throw up 
Our hope in Heaven, our dignity with man, 
And deify the dirt matured to gold] 
Ambition, Avarice, the two demons these 
Which goad through every slough our human 

herd. 
Hard-travelled from the cradle to the grave. 
How low the wretches stoop! how steep they 

climb ! 
These demons burn mankind, but most possess 
Lorenzo's bosom, and turn out the skies. 

Is it in time to hide eternity 1 
And why not in an atom on the shore 
To cover ocean 1 or a mote, the sun 1 
Glory and wealth! have they this blinding power"? 
What if to them I prove Lorenzo blind 7 
Would it surprise theel be thou then surprised; 
Thou neither know'st: their nature learn from me. 

Mark well, as foreign as these subjects seem. 
What close connexion ties them to my theme. 
First, what is true ambition'? The pursuit 
Of glory nothing less than man can share. 
Were they as vain as gaudy-minded man, 
As flatulent with fumes of self-applause. 
Their arts and conquests animals might boast, 
And claim their laurel-crowns as well as we, 
But not celestial. Here we stand alone, 
As in our form distinct, pre-eminent : 
If prone in thought, our stature is our shame : 
And man should blush his forehead meets the 

ekies. 
The visible and present are for brutes : 
A slender portion, and a narrow bound! 
These Reasons, with an energy divine. 



O'crleaps, and claims the future and unseen, 
The vast unseen! the future fathomless! 
When the great soul buoys up to this high point, 
Leaving gross Nature's sediments below. 
Then, and then only, Adam's oflTspring quits 
The sage and hero of the fields and woods 
Asserts his rank, and rises into man. 
This is ambition; this is human fire! 

Can parts or place (two bold pretenders) make 
Lorenzo great, and pluck him from the throng 1 

Genius and art, ambition's boasted wings. 
Our boast but ill deserve : a feeble aid ! 
Dedalian enginery! If these alone 
Assist our flight. Fame's flight is Glory's fall. 
Heart-merit wanting, mount we ne'er so high, 
Our height is but the gibbet of our name. 
A celebrated wretch when I behold. 
When I behold a genius bright and base. 
Of towering talents and terrestrial aims, 
Methinks I see, as thrown from her high sphere, 
The glorious fragments of a soul immortal. 
With rubbish mixed, and glittering in the dust: 
Struck at the splendid melancholy sight, 

At once compassion soft and envy rise 

But wherefore envy? talents angel-bright, 
If wanting worth, are shining instruments 
In false Ambition's hand, to finish faults 
Illustrious, and give Infamy renown. 

Great ill is an achievement of great powers. 
Plain sense but rarely leads us far astray. 
Reason the means, Aflcctions choose our end. 
Means have no merit, if our end amiss. 
Ifwrong our hearts, our heads are right in vain. 
What is a Pelham's head to Pelham's heart? 
Hearts are proprietors of all applause. 
Right ends and means make wisdom. Worldly- 
wise 
Is but half-witted at its highest praise. 

Let genius, then, despair to make thee great; 
Nor flatter station. What is station high? 
'Tis a proud mendicant : it boasts and begs; 
It begs an alms of homage from the throng, 
And oft the throng denies its charity. 
Monarchs and ministers are awful names ! 
Whoever wear them challenge our devoir. 
Religion, public Order, both exact 
External homage and a supple knee, 
To beings pompously set up, to serve 
The meanest slave: all more is Merit's due, 
Her sacred and inviolable right ; 
Nor ever paid the monarch, but the man. 
Our hearts never bow but to superior worth ; 
Nor ever fail of their allegiance there. 
F(k)ls, indeed, drop the man in their account, 
And vote the mantle into majesty. 
Let the small savage boast his silver fur, 
His royal robe, unborrowed and unbought. 
His own, descending fairly from his sires; 
Shall man be proud to wear his livery. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



37 



And souls in ermine scorn a soul without 1 

Can place or lessen us or aggrandize'? 

Pigmies are pigmies still, though perched on Alps, 

And j)yramids are pyramids in vales. 

Each man makes his own stature, builds himself. 

Virtue alone outbuilds the pyramids; 

Her monuments shall last, when Egypt's fall. 

Of these sure truths dost thou demand the causal 
Tiic cause is lodged in immortality. 
Hear, and assent. Thy bosom burns for power; 
"What station charms thee? I'll install thee there; 
'Tis thine. And art thou greater than before? 
Then thou before wast something less than man. 
Has thy new post betrayed thee into pride? 
That treacherous pride betrays thy dignity; 
That pride defames humanity, and calls 
The being mean which staffs or strings can raise; 
That pride, like hooded hawks, in darkness soars. 
From blindness bold, and towering to the skies. 
''Tis born of Ignorance, which knows not man : 
An angel's second, nor his second long. 
A Nero, quitting his imperial throne. 
And courting glory from the tinkling string 
But faintly shadows an immortal soul. 
With empire's self to pride or rapture fired. 
If nobler motives minister no cure. 
Even vanity forbids thee to be vain. 

High worth is elevated place ; 'tis more, 
It makes the pos^t stand candidate for thee; 
Makes more tlian monarchs, makes an honest man. 
Though no exchequer it commands, 'tis wealth; 
And, though it wears no ribbon, 'tis renown : 
Renown that would not quit thee, though dis- 
graced, 
Nor leave thee pendent on a master's smile. 
Other ambition Nature interdicts ; 
Nature proclaims it most absurd in man, 
By pointing at his origin and end ; 
Milk ami a swathe, at first, his whole demand ; 
His whole domain, at last, a turf or stone; 
To whom, between, a world may seem too small. 

Souls, truly great, dart forward on the wing 
' Of just Ambition, to the grand result, 
The curtain's fall; there see the buskined chief 
Unshod beliind his momentary scene, 
Reduced to his own stature, low or high, 
As vice or virtue sinks him, or sublimes; 
And laugh at this fantastic mummery, 
This antic prelude of grotesque events, 
Where dwarfs are oflen stilted, and betray 
A littleness of soul by worlds o'er-run, 
And nntions laid in blood. Dread sacrifice 
To Christian pride ! which had with horror shocked 
The darkest Pagans, ofTered to their gods. 

O thou most Christian enemy to peace! 
Again in arms ? again provoking Fate 1 
That prince, and that alone, is truly great, 
Who draws the sword reluctant, gladly sheathes; 



On empire builds what empire far outweighs, 

And makes his throne a scaflbld to the skies! 
Why this so rarcl — because, forgot of all 

The day of death, that venerable day 

Which sits as judge ; that day which shall pro- 
nounce 

On all our days, absolve them, or condemn. 

Lorenzo ! never shut thy thought against it : 

Be levees ne'er so full, afford it room ; 

And give it audience in the cabinet. 

That friend consulted, flatteries apart, 

Will tell thee fair if tliou art great or mean. 
To dote on aught may leave us, or be lefl, 

Is that ambition 1 then let flames descend. 

Point to the centre their inverted spires. 

And learn humiliation from a soul 

Which boasts her lineage from celestial fire. 

Yet these are they the world pronounces wise: 

The world, which cancels Nature's right and 
wrong. 

And casts new wisdom: ev'n the grave man lend* 

His solemn face to countenance the coin. 
Wisdom for parts is madness to the whole. 

This stamps the paradox, and gives us leave 
To call the wisest weak, the richest poor, 
The most ambitious unambitious, mean, 
In triumpli mean, and abject on a throne. 
Nothing can make it less than mad in man 
To put forth all his ardour, all his art. 
And give his soul her full unbounded flight. 
But reaching Him who gave her wings to fly. 
When blind ambition quite mistakes her road. 
And downward pores for that which shines above. 
Substantial happiness and true renown ; 
Then, like an idiot gazing on the brook. 
We leap at stars, and fasten in the mud ; 
At glory grasp, and sink in infamy. 

Ambition! powerful source of good and ill! 
Thy strength in man, like length of wing in birds, 
When disengaged from earth with greater ease, 
And swifter flight, transports us to the skies : 
By toys entangled, in guilt bemired, 
It turns a curse; it is our chain and scourge, 
In this dark dungeon, where, confined we lie, 
Close-grated by the sordid bars of sense. 
All prospect of eternity shut out. 
And, but for execution, ne'er set free. 

With error in ambition justly charged. 
Find we Lorenzo wiser in his wealtli 1 
What if thy rental I reform, and draw 
An inventory new to set thee right? 
Where thy true treasure? Gold says, 'Not in me; 
And, ' Not in me,' the Diamond. Gold is poor; 
India's insolvent: seek it in thyself; 
Seek in thy naked self, and find it there; 
In being so descended, formed, endowed ; 
Sky-born, sky-guided, sky-returning race! 
Erect, immortal, rational, divine ! 
In senses, which inherit earth and Heavens; 



38 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Enjoy the various riches Nature yields : 
Far nobler! give the riches they enjoy; 
Give taste to fruits, and harmony to groves ; 
Their radiant beams to gold, and gold's bright sire ; 
Take in, at once, the landscape of the world, 
At a small inlet which a grain might close, 
And half create the wondrous world they see; 
Our senses, as our reason, are divine. 
But for the magic organ's powerful charm, 
Earth were a rude uncoloured chaos still. 
Objects are but the' occasion, ours the' exploit; 
Ours is the cloth, the pencil, and the paint, 
Which Nature's admirable picture draws, 
And beautifies Creation's ample dome. 
Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the lake, 
Man makes the matchless image man admires. 
Say then, shall man, his thoughts all sent abroad, 
Superior wonders in himself forgot, 
His admiration waste on objects round. 
When Heaven makes him the soul of all he sees 1 
Absurd! not rare! so great, so mean, is man. 

What wealth in scnsessuch as these ! what wealth 
In fancy, fired to form a fairer scene 
Than sense surveys! in Memory's firm record, 
Which, should it perish, could this world recall 
From the dark shadows of o'crwhelming years ! 
In colours fresh, originally bright, 
Preserve its portrait, and report its fate ! 
What wealth in intellect ! that sovereign power I 
Which sense and fancy summons to the bar; 
Interrogates, approves, or reprehends ; 
And from the mass those underlings import. 
From their materials sifted and refined. 
And in Truth's balance accurately weighed, 
Forms art and science, government and law, 
The solid basis, and the beauteous frame. 
The vitals, and the grace of civil life! 
And manners (sad exception !) set aside, 
Strikes out, with master-hand, a copy fair 
Of his idea, whose indulgent thought 
Long, long ere Chaos teemed, planned human bliss. 

What wealth in souls that soar, dive, range 
around, 
Disdaining limit or from place or time. 
And hear, at once, in thought extensive, hear 
The' Almighty Fiat, and the trumpet's sound ! 
Bold, on Creation's outside walk, and view 
What was, and is, and more than e'er shall be ; 
Commanding, with omnipotence of thought. 
Creations new, in Fancy's field to rise ! 
Souls that can grasp whate'er the' Almighty made, 
And wander wild through things impossible ! 
What wealth in faculties of endless growth, 
In quenchless passions violent to crave, 
In liberty to choose, in power to reach. 
And in duration (how thy riches rise !) 
Duration to perpetuate — boundless bliss ! 

Ask you what power resides in feeble man. 
That biiss to gain 1 Is Virtue's, then, unknown 1 



Virtue ! our present peace, our future prize. 
Man's unprecarious, natural estate, 
Improveable at will, in virtue lies ; 
Its tenure sure, its income is divine. 

High-built abundance, heap on heap ! for what? 
To breed new wants, and beggar us the more. 
Then make a richer scramble for the throng "? 
Soon as this feeble pulse, which leaps so long. 
Almost by miracle, is tired with play. 
Like rubbish, from disploding engines thrown, 
Our magazines of hoarded trifles fly ; 
Fly diverse ; fly to foreigners, to foes ; 
New masters court, and call the former fool, 
(How justly I) for dependence on their stay. 
Wide scatter, first, our playthings ; then our dust. 

Dost court abundance for the sake of peace 1 
Learn, and lament thy self-defeated scheme. 
Riches enable to be richer still. 
And richer still what mortal can resist 1 
Thus Wealth (a cruel task-master !) enjoins 
New toils, succeeding toils, an endless train ! 
And murders Peace, which taught it first to shine. 
The poor are half as wretched as the rich, 
Whose proud and painful privilege it is 
At once to bear a double load of wo. 
To feel the stings of envy and of want. 
Outrageous want 1 both Indies can not cure. 

A competence is vital to Content ; 
Much wealth is corpulence, if not disease : 
Sick, or incumbered, is our happiness. 
A competence is all we can enjoy. 
be content, where Heaven can give no more ! 
More, like a flash of water from a lock, 
duickens our spirit's movement for an hour, 
But soon its force is spent ; nor rise our joys 
Above our native temper's common stream. 
Hence Disappointment lurks in every prize. 
As bees in flowers, and stings us with success. 

The rich man, who denies it, proudly feigns, 
Nor knows the wise are privy to the lie. 
Much learning shows how little mortals know ; 
Much wealth, how little worldlings can enjoy: 
At best it babies us with endless toys. 
And keeps us children till we drop to dust. 
As monkeys at a mirror stand amazed. 
They fail to find what they so plainly see: 
Thus men, in shining riches, see the face 
Of happiness, nor know it is a shade ; 
But gaze, and touch, and peep, and peep again, 
And wish, and wonder it is absent still. 

How few can rescue opulence from want ! 
Who lives to nature rarely can be poor ; 
Who lives to fancy never can be rich. 
Poor is the man in debt ; the man of gold. 
In debt to Fortune, trembles at her power : 
The man of reason smiles at her and death. 
O what a patrimony this ! a being 
Of such inherent strength and majesty. 
Not worlds possest can raise it; worlds destroyel. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



39 



Can't injure ; which holtls on its glorious course 
When tliine, O Nature ! ends : too blest to mourn 
Creation's obsequies. What treasure this ! 
The monarch is a beggar to the man. 

Immortal ! ages past, yet nothing gone ! 
Morn witliout eve ! a race without a goal ! 
Unshortened by progression infinite ! 
Futurity for ever future I life 
Beginning still where computation ends ! 
'Tis the description of a deity ! 
'Tis the description of the meanest slave ! 
The meanest slave dares then Lorenzo scorn ? 
The meanest slave thy sovereign glory shares. 
Proud youtli ! fastidious of the lower world ! 
Man's lawiiil pride includes humility ; 
Stoops to tlie lowest ; is too great to find 
Inferiors I all immortal ! brothers all ! 
Proprietors eternal of thy love ! 

Innnortal! what can strike the sense so strong, 
As this the soul 7 it thunders to the thought, 
Reason amazes, gratitude o'erwhelms : 
No more we slumber on the brink of Fate , 
Roused at the sound, the' exulting soul ascends, 
And breathes her native air, an air that feeds 
Ambitions high, and fans ethereal fires j 
duick-kindles all that is divine within us, 
Nor leaves one loitering thought beneath the stars. 

Has not Lorenzo's bosom caught the flame? 
Immortal ! were but one immortal, how 
Would others envy ! how would thrones adore ! 
Because 'tis common, is the blessing lostl 
How this ties up the bounteous hand of Heaven ! 
O vain, vain, vain, all else! eternity! 
A glorious and a needful refuge that, 
From vile imjirisonment in abject views. 
'Tis immortality, 'tis that alone, 
Amid Ufe's pains, abasements, emptiness, 
The soul can comfort, elevate, and fill : 
That only, and that amply, this performs; 
Lifts us above hfe's pains, her joys above ; 
Their terror those, and these their lustre lose ; 
Eternity depending covers all ; 
Eternity depending all achieves ; 
Sets earth at distance ; casts her into shades ; 
Blends her distinctions; abrogates her powers; 
The low, the lofty, joyous, and severe, 
Fortune's dread frowns, and fascinating smiles. 
Make one promiscuous and neglected heap. 
The man beneaih ; if I may call him man. 
Whom Imn>>rtality's full force inspires. 
Nothing terrestrial touches his high thought ; 
Suns shine unseen, and thunders roll unheard. 
By miods quite conscious of their descent. 
Their present provmce, and their future prize; 
Divinely darting upward every wish, 
Warm on the wing, in glorious absence lost ! 

Doubt you this truth 7 why labours your belief? 
If earth's whole orb, by some due distant eye 
Were seen at once, her towering Alps would sink. 



And levelled Atlas leave an even sphere. 
Thus earth, and all that earthly minds admire, 
Is swallowed in Eternity's vast round. 
To that stupendous view, when souls awake, 
So large of late, so mountainous to man. 
Time's toys subside, and equal all below. 

Enthusiastic this? — then all are weak 
But rank enthusiasts. To this godlike height 
Some souls have soar'd, or martyrs ne'er had bled ; 
And all may do what has by man been done. 
Who, beaten by these sublunary storms, 
Boundless, interminable joys can weigh 
Unraptured, unexalted, uninflamedl 
What slave unblessed, who from to-morrow's dawn 
Expects an em[)ire1 he forgets his chain. 
And, throned in thought, his absent sceptre waves. 

And what a sceptre waits us ! what a throne ! 
Her own immense appointments to compute. 
Or comprehend her high prerogatives, 
In this her dark minority, how toils, 
How vainly pants, the human soul divine ! 
Too great the bounty seems for earthly joy; 
What heart but trembles at so strange a bliss 1 

In spite of all the truths the Muse has sung, 
Ne'er to be prized enough ! enough revolved ! 
Are there who wrapt the world so close about 

them, 
They see no farther than the clouds, and dance 
On heedless Vanity's fantastic toe. 
Till, stumbling at a straw, in their career, 
Headlong they plunge, where end both dance and 

song? 
Are there, Lorenzo 1 is it possible 1 
Are there on earth (let me not call them men); 
Who lodge a soul immortal in their breasts. 
Unconscious as the mountain of its ore. 
Or rock of its inestimable gem? 
When rocks shall melt, and mountains vanish, 

these 
Shall know their treasure ; treasure then no more. 

Are there (still more amazing !) who resist 
The rising thought 1 who smotiier, in its birth, 
The glorious truth 1 who struggle to l>e brutes 1 
Who through this bosom-barrier burst their way, 
And, with reversed ambition, strive to sink ! 
Who labour downwards through the opposing 

powers 
Of instinct, reason, and the world againSi them, 
To dismal hopes, and shelter in the shock 
Of endless night? night darker than the grave's^ 
Who fight the proofs of Immortality? 
With horrid zeal, and execrable arts, 
Work all their engines, level their black fires, 
To blot from man this attribute divine, 
(Than vital blood far dearer to the wise) 
Blasphemers, and rank atheists to themselves 1 

To contradict them, see all Nature rise ! 
What object, what event, the moon beneath, 
But argues, or endears, an after-scene ? 



40 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



To reason proves, or weds it to desire 1 
All things proclaim it needful; some advance 
One precious step beyond, and prove it sure. 
A thousand arguments swarm round my pen. 
From Heaven, and earth, and man. Indulge a 

few, 
By Nature, as her common habit, worn ; 
So pressing Providence a truth to teach. 
Which truth untaught all other truths were vain. 

Thou! whose all-providential eye surveys. 
Whose hand ilirects, whose spirit fills and warms 
Creation, and holds empire far beyond! 
Eternity's Inhabitant august ! '^ 
Of two eternities amazing Lord ! 
One past, ere man's or angel's had begun, 
Aid ! while I rescue from the foe's assault 
Thy glorious immortality in man ; 
A theme for ever, and for all, of weight. 
Of moment infinite ! but relished most 
By those who love thee most, who most adore. 

Nature, thy daughter, ever-changing birth 
Of thee the Great Immutable, to man 
Speaks wisdom ; is his oracle supreme ; 
And he who most consults her is most wise. 
Lorenzo ! to this heavenly Delphos haste. 
And come back all-immortal, all-divine. 
Look Nature through, 'tis revolution all; 
All change, no death: day follows night, and night 
The dying day : stars rise, and set, and rise : 
Earth takes the example. See, the Summer gay. 
With her green chaplet and ambrosial flowers, 
Droops into pallid Autumn : Winter gray, 
Horrid with frost, and turbulent with storm. 
Blows Autunm and his golden fruits away. 
Then melts into the Spring: soft Spring, with 

breath 
Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, 
Recalls the first. All, to reflourish, fades : 
As in a wheel, all sinks to reascend : 
Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. 
With this minute distinction, emblems just, 
Nature revolves, but man advances ; both 
Eternal : that a circle, this a line : 
That gravitates, this soars. The aspiring soul, 
Ardent and tremulous, like flame, ascends. 
Zeal and humility her wings, to Heaven. 
The world of matter, with its various forms, 
All dies into new life. Life born from Death 
Rolls the vast mass, and shall for ever roll. 
No single atom, once in being, lost. 
With change of counsel charges the Most High. 

What hence infers Lorenzo'? can it be '? 
Matter immortal 1 and shall spirit die 1 
Above the nobler shall less noble rise) 
Shall man alone, for whom all else revives, 
No resurrection know] shall man alone. 
Imperial man ! be sown in barren ground. 
Less privileged than grain on which he feeds'? 
Is man, in whom alone is power to prize 



The bliss of being, or, '.vith previous pain, 
Deplore its period by the spleen of Fate, 
Severely doom'd Death's single unredeemed 1 

If Nature's revolution speaks aloud 
In her gradation, hear her louder still. 
Look Nature through, 'tis neat gradation all. 
By what minute degrees her scale asconds 1 
Each middle nature joined at each extreme ; 
To that above it joined, to that beneath. 
Parts into parts reciprocally shot. 
Abhor divorce. What love of union reigns ! 
Here dormant matter waits a call to Ufe ; 
Half-life, half-death, join there; here life and sense, 
There sense from reason steals a glimmering ray; 
Reason shines out in man. But how preserv'd 
The chain unbroken upward, to the realms 
Of incorporeal life'? those realms of bliss 
Where Death hath no dominion'? Grant a make 
Half mortal, half immortal ; earthy part, 
And part ethereal : grant the soul of man 

Eternal, or in man the series ends. 

Wide yawns the gap; connection is no more; 

Check'd reason halts ; her next step wants sup- 
port ; 

Striving to climb, she tumbles from her scheme, 
A scheme Analogy pronounced so true; 

Analogy — man's surest guide below. 
Thus far all Nature calls on thy belief; 

And will Lorenzo, careless of the call. 

False attestation on all Nature charge. 

Rather than violate his league with Death'? 

Renounce his reason rather than renounce 

The dust belov'd, and run the risk of Heaven'? 

O what indignity to deathless souls ! 

What treason to the majesty of man ! 

Of man immortal ! hear the lofty style : 

' If so decreed, the Almighty Will be done. 

Let earth dissolve, yon ponderous orbs descend, 

And grind us into dust. The soul is safe ; 

The man emerges; mounts above the wreck, 

As towering flame from Nature's funeral pyre ; 

O'er devastation, as a gainer, smiles; 

His charter, his inviolable rights, 

Well pleased to learn, li-om Thunder's impotence, 

Death's pointless darts, and Hell's defeated storms.' 
But these chimeras touch not thee, Lorenzo ; 

The glories of the world thy sevenfold shield. 

Other ambition than of crowns in air, 

And superlunary felicities, 

Thy bosom warms. I'll cool it if I can ; 

And turn those glories that inchant against thee. 

What ties thee to this life proclaims the next. 

If wise, the cause that wounds thee is thy cure. 
Come, my Ambitious! let us mount together, 

(To mount Lorenzo never can refuse,) 

And from the clouds, where Pride delights to dwell, 

Look down on earth. — What secst thoul wondroua 
things ! 

Terrestrial wonders, that eclipse the skies. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



41 



What lengths of labour'd lands ; what loaded seas ! 
Loaded by man for pleasure, wealth, or war ! 
Seas, winds, and planets into service brought, 
His art acknowledge, and promote his ends. 
Nor can the eternal rocks his will withstand : 
What levell'd mountains ! and what lifted vales ! 
O'er vales and mountains sumptuous cities swell, 
And gild our landscape with their glittering spires. 
Some 'mid the wondering waves majestic rise, 
And Neptune holds a mirror to their charms. 
Far greater still; (what can not mortal might ?) 
See wide dominions ravished from the deep : 
The narrow'd deep with indignation foams. 
Or southward turn, to delicate and grand, 
The finer arts there ripen in the sun. 
How the tall temples, as to meet their gods, 
Ascend the skies! the proud triumphal arch 
Shows half heaven beneath its ample bend. 
High through mid air, here streams are taught to 

flow ; 
Whole rivers there, laid by in basins, sleep. 
Here plains turn oceans ; there vast oceans join 
Through kingdoms channeled deep from shore to 

shore, 
And changed Creation takes its face from man. 
Beats thy brave breast for formidable scenes. 
Where fame and empire wait upon the sword 1 
See fields in flood ; hear naval thunders rise ; 
Britannia's voice ! that awes the world to peace. 
How yon enormous mole projecting breaks 
The mid-sea, furious waves ! their roar amidst 
Out-speaks the Deity, and says, ' O Main! 
Thus far, nor farther; new restraints obey.' 
Earth's disemboweled ! measured are the skies ! 
Stars are detected in their deep recess ! 
Creation widens ! vanquished Nature yields ! 
Her secrets are extorted ! Art prevails ! 
What monument of genius, spirit, power ! 

And now, Lorenzo, raptured at this scene. 
Whose glories render Heaven superfluous! say. 
Whose footsteps these 1 — Immortals have been 

here; 
Could less than souls immortal this have done"? 
Earth's covered o'er with proof of souls immortal, 
And proofs of Immortality forgot. 

To flatter thy grand foible, I confess 
These are Ambition's works ; and these are great ; 
But this, the least immortal souls can do, 
Transcends them all. — But what can these tran- 
scend 1 
Dost ask me what 1 — one sigh for the distressed. 
What then for Infidels'? a deeper sigh. 
'Tis moral grandeur makes the mighty man : 
How little they, who think aught great below? 
All our ambitions Death defeats but one. 
And that it crowns. — Here cease we ; but, ere long. 
More powerful proof shall take the field against 

thee. 
Stronger than death, and smiling at the tomb. 



NIGHT VII. 

THE INFIDEL RECLAIMED. 



PART II. 

CONTAINING THE NATURE, PROOF, AND IMPORT- 
ANCE OF IMMORTALITY. 



PREFACE. 

As we are at war with the power, it were well 
if we were at war with the manners, of France. A 
land of levity is a land of guilt. A serious mind 
is the native soil of every virtue, and the single 
character that does true honour to mankind. The 
soul's immortality has been the favourite theme 
with the serious of all ages. Nor is it strange: it 
is a subject by far the most interesting and import- 
ant that can enter the mind of man. Of highest 
moment this subject always was, and always will 
be : yet this its highest moment seems to admit of 
increase at this day ; a sort of occasional import- 
ance is superadded to the natural weight of it, if 
that opinion which is advanced in the Preface to 
the preceding Night be just. It is therefore sup- 
posed that all our Infidels, (whatever scheme, for 
argument's sake, and to keep themselves in counte- 
nance, they patronize) are betrayed into their de- 
plorable error by some doubt of their immortality 
at the bottom: and the more I consider this 
point, the more I am persuaded of the truth of that 
opinion. Though the distrust of a futurity, is a 
strange error, yet it is an error into which bad men 
may naturally be distressed ; for it is impossible to 
bid defiance to final ruin, without some refuge in 
imagination, some presumption of escape. And 
what presumption is there '? there are but two in 
Nature ; but two within the compass of human 
thought ; and these are, — That either God will not 
or can not punish. Considering the divine attri- 
butes, the first is too gross to be digested by our 
strongest wishes; and since omnipotence is as 
much a divine attribute as holiness, that God can 
not punish, is as absurd a supposition as the former. 
God certainly can punish, as long as wicked men 
exist. In non-existence, therefore, is their only 
refuge; and, consequently, non-existence is their 
strongest wish : and strong wishes have a strange 
influence on our opinions; they bias the judgment 
in a manner almost incredible. And since, on this 
member of their alternative there are some very 
small appearances in their favour, and none at all 
on the other, they catch at this reed, they lay hold 
on this chimera, to save themselves from the shock 
and horror of an immediate and absolute despair. 

On reviewing my subject by the light which 
this argument, and others of Uke tendency, threw 
upon it, I was more inclined than ever to pursue 
it, as it appeared to me to strike directly at the 



43 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



main root of all our infidelity. In the following 
pages it is, accordingly, pursued at large, and some 
arguments for immortality, new at least to me, arc 
ventured on in them. There, also, the writer has 
made an attempt to set the gross absurdities and 
horrors of annihilation in a fuller and more aifect- 
ing view, than is (I think) to be met with else- 
where. 

The gentleman for whose sake this attempt was 
chiefly made, profess great admiration for the wis- 
dom of Heathen antiquity : what pity it is they 
are not sincere ! If they were sincere, how would 
it mortify them, to consider with what contempt 
and abhorrence their notions would have been re- 
ceived by those whom they so much admire. 
What degree of contempt and abhorrence would 
fall to their share may bo conjectured by the fol- 
lowing matter of fact, (in my opinion) extremely 
memorable. Of all their Heathen worthies, So- 
crates (it is well known) was the most guarded, 
dispassionate, and composed ; yet this great mas- 
ter of temper was angry, and angry at his last 
hour ; and angry witli his friend ; and angry for 
what deserved acknowledgment ; angry for a right 
and tender instance of true friendship towards him. 
Is not this surprisingl what could be the cause? — 
The cause was for his honour : It was a truly no- 
ble, though, perhaps, a too punctilious regard for 
Immortality : for his friend asking him, with such 
an aflectionate concern as became a friend, ' Where 
he should deposit his remains V it was resented by 
Socrates, as implying a dishonourable supposition 
that he could be so mean as to have regard for any 
thing, even in himself, that was not immortal. 

This fact, well considered, would make our in- 
fidels withdraw their admiration from Socrates, or 
make them endeavour, by their imitation of his il- 
lustrious example, to share his glory ; and conse- 
quently, it would incline them to peruse the fol- 
lowing pages with candour and impartiality, which 
is all I desire, and that for their sakes ; for I am 
persuaded that an unprejudiced infidel must, ne- 
cessarily, receive some advantageous impressions 
from them. 

July 7, 1744. 

CONTENTS. 

In the Sixth Night, arguments wore drawn from Nature in 
prool'of Immortality : here, others .irc drawn from Man; from 
his discontent ; from his passions and powers ; from the gra- 
dual growth of reason ; from his fear of deatli ; from the na- 
ture of hope, and of virtue; from knowledge and love, as be- 
ing the most essential properties of tlio soul ; from the order 
of creation; from tlie nature of ambition; avarice; pleasure. 
— A digression on the grandeur of the passions.— Immortality 
olono renders our present state intelligible.— An objection from 
tlie Stoic's disbelief of Immortality answered. — Endless ques- 
tions unresolvable, but on supposition of our Immortality. — 
The natural, most melancholy, and pathetic complaint of a 
worthy man, under the persuasion of no futurity. — The gross 
absurdities and horrors of annihilation urged home on Loren- 



zo. — The soul's vast importance ; from whence it arises, &c 
—The difficulty of being an Infidel; the infamy; the cause; 
and the character of an infidel state. — What true free-tliinking 
is; the necessary pvmishment of the fiilse. — Man's ruin is 
from himself — An infidel accuses himself of guilt and liypo- 
crisy, and that of the worst son ; his obligation to Christians ; 
what danger he incurs by virtue ; vice recommended to him* 
his high pretences to virtue and benevolence e.vplnded, — Tlie 
conclusion, on the nature of faith ; reason ; and hope ; with 
nn apology for this attempt. 



Heaven gives the needful, but neglected call. 
What day, wliat hour, but knocks at human hearts, 
To wake the soul to sense of future scenes? 
Death stands, like Mercury, in every way, 
And kindly points us to our journey's end. 
Pope, who couldst make immortals ! art thou deadl 
I give thee joy ; nor will I take my leave. 
So soon to follow. Man but dives in death, 
Dives from the sun, in fairer day to rise ; 
The grave, his subterranean road to bliss. 
Yes, infinite indulgence planned it so; 
Through various parts our glorious story runs 
Time gives the preface, endless age unrols 
The volume (ne'er unrolled) of human fate. 

This, earth and skies* already have proclaimed. 
The world's a prophecy of worlds to come. 
And who, what God foretells, (who speaks in things 
Still louder than in words) shall dare deny? 
If Nature's arguments appear too weak. 
Turn a new leaf, and stronger read in man. 
If man sleeps on, untaught by what he sees. 
Can he prove infidel to what he feels ! 
He, whose blind thought futurity denies, 
Unconscious bears, Bellerophon ! like thee, 
His own indictment ; he condemns himself ; 
Who reads his bosom, reads immortal life; 
Or Nature there, imposing on her sons. 
Has written fables : man was made a lie. 

Why discontent for ever harboured there? 
Incurable consumption of our peace ! 
Resolve me why the cottager and king, 
He whom sea-severed realms obey, and ho 
Who steals his whole dominion from the waste, 
Repelling winter-blasts with mud and straw. 
Disquieted alike, draw sigh for sigh. 
In fate so distant, in complaint so near ? 

Is it that things terrestrial can't content? 
Deep in rich pasture, will thy flocks complain 1 
Not so; but to their master is denied 
To share their sweet serene. Man, ill at ease 
In this, not his own place, this foreign field. 
Where nature fodders him with other food 
Than was ordained his cravings to suffice. 
Poor in abundance, famished at a feast. 
Sighs on for something more, when most enjoyec 
Is Heaven then kinder to thy flocks than thee ? 
Not so; thy pasture richer, but remote; 
In part remote; for that remoter part 



* See Night the Sixth. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



43 



Man bleats from instinct, though, perhaps, de- 
bauched 
By scnae, his reason sleeps, nor dreams tlic cause. 
The cause how obvious, when his reason wakes: 
His grief is but his grandeur in disguise. 
And discontent is immortality. 

Shall sons of Ether, shall the blood of Heaven, 
Set up their hopes on earth, and stable here, 
With brutal acquiescence, in the mire 1 
Lorenzo, no! they sliall be nobly pained; 
The glorious foreigners, distressed, shall sigh 
On thrones, and thou congratulate the sigh. 
Man's misery declares him born for bliss; 
His anxious heart asserts the truth I sing. 
And gives the sceptic in his head — the lie. 
Our heads, our hearts, our passions, and our 

powers, 
Speak the same language; call us to the skies: 
Unripencd these, in this inclement clime. 
Scarce rise al)ovc conjecture and mistake ; 
And for this land of trifles those, too strong, 
Tumultuous rise, and tempest human life. 
What prize on earth can pay us for the storm 1 
Meet objects for our passions Heaven ordained, 
Objects that challenge all their fire, and leave 
No fault but in defect. Blessed Heaven! avert 
A bounded ardour for unbounded bliss. 
O for a bliss unbounded! far beneath 
A soul immortal is a mortal joy. 
Nor are our powers to perish immature; 
But after feeble effort here, beneath 
A brighter sun, and in a nobler soil, 
Transplanted from this sublunary bed. 
Shall flourish fair, and put forth all their bloom. 

Reason progressive, instinct is complete; 
Swift instinct leaps; slow Reason feebly climbs. 
Brutes soon their zenith reach; their little all 
Flows in at once; in ages they no more 
Could know, or do, or covet, or enjoy. 
Were man to live coeval with the sun, 
The patriarch-pupil would be learning still, 
Yet, dying, leave his lesson half unlearned. 
Men perish in advance, as if the sun 
Should set ere noon, in eastern oceans drowned; 
If fit with dim illustrious to compare, 
The sun's meridian with the soul of man. 
To man, why, stepdainc Nature, so severe 'f 
Why thrown aside thy masterpiece half-wrought, 
While meaner efforts thy last hands enjoy 1 
Or if, abortively, poor man must die. 
Nor reach what reach he might, why die in dread 1 
Why cursed with foresight 1 wise to misery? 
Why of his proud prerogative the prey 1 
Why less pre-eminent in rank than painl 
His immortality alone can tell ; 
Full ample fund to balance all amiss. 
And turn the scale in favour of the just ! 

His immortality alone can solve 
That darkest of enigmas, human hope; 

W 



Of all the darkest, if at death we die. 

Hope, eager Hope, the assassin of our joy, 

All present blessings treading under foot, 

Is scarce a milder tyrant than Despair. 

With no past toils content, still planning new, 

Hope, turns us o'er to Death alone for ease. 

Possession, why more tasteless than pursuit? 

Why is a wish far dearer than a crown 1 

That wish accomplished, why the grave of bliss ?— 

Because in the great future buried deep, 

Beyond our plans of empire and renown. 

Lies all that man with ardour should pursue ; 

And he who made him bent him to the right. 

Man's heart the Almighty to the future sets, 
By secret and inviolable springs, 
And makes his hope his sublunary joy. 
Man's heart eats all things, and is hungry still ; 
' More, more !' the glutton cries : for something 

new 
So rages appetite. If man can't mount, 
He will descend. He starves on the possessed; 
Hence, the world's master, from Ambition's spire, 
In Caprea plunged, and dived beneath the brute. 
In that rank sty why wallowed Empire's son 
Supreme? — Because he could no higher fly: 
His riot was Ambition in despair. 

Old Rome consulted birds ; Lorenzo, thou 
With more success the flight of Hope survey. 
Of restless Hope, for ever on the wing. 
High-perched o'er every thought that falcon sits, 
To fly at all that rises in her siglit: 
And never stooping, but to mount again 
Next moment, she betrays her aim's mistake. 
And owns her quarry lodged beyond the grave. 

There should it fail us, (it mu.st fail us there, 
If being fails) more mournful riddles rise, 
And virtue vies with hope in mystery. 
Why virtue? where its praise, its being, fled? 
Virtue is true self-interest pursued ; 
What true self-interest of quite mortal man? 
To close with all that makes him happy here. 
If vice (as sometimes) is our friend on earth. 
Then vice is virtue; 'tis our sovereign good. 
In self-applause is virtue's golden prize? 
No self-applause attends it on thy scheme. 
Whence self-applause? from conscience of the 

right; 
And what is right, but means of happiness? 
No means of happiness when virtue yields; 
That basis failing, falls the building too. 
And lays in ruin every virtuous joy. 

The rigid guardian of a blameless heart, 
So long revered, so long reputed wise. 
Is weak, with rank knight-errantries o'er-run. 
Why beats thy bosom with illustrious dreams 
Of self-exposure, laudable, and great ? 
Of gallant enterprise, and glorious death? 
Die for thy county? — thou romantic fool! 
Seize, seize the plank thyself, and let her sink. 



4« 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Thy country ! what to thee 1 — the Godhead, whaf! 
(I »])eak with awe!) though he should bid thee 

bh'ed, 
If, witli thy blood, tliy final hope is spilt? 
Nor can Omni|)oterico reward the blow : 
Bo deiifj prescrv(>thy beiiiir; disobey. 

Nor is it (linoln'chi'iiee. Know, Lorenzo, 
Whnto'er the vMmiifhty's subsequent command, 
Ilirt first connniuid is this: — ' Man, love thyself.' 
Ill this alone free a<;eiits are not free. 
Existence is the basis, bliss the prize; 
If virtue co.'^ts existence, 'tis a crime; 
Bolil violation of our law supreme; 
Black suicide; thouffli nations, which c6nsult 
Tlieir jrain at thy expense, resound apjilause. 

Since virtue's recompeiiso is doubtful here, 
If man <lies wholly; well may we demand 
Why is man sulVered to bo good, in vain 1 
Why to be jrood in vain, is man enjoined'? 
Why to be <food in vain, is man betrayed 1 
Betrayed by traitors Iodised in his own breast, 
By sweet complacencies from virtue felt? 
Why whispers Nalure lies on Virtue's part? 
Or if blind Instinct (which assumes the name 
Of sacred Conscience) plays the fool in man, 
Why reason made aceomiilice in the cheat? 
Why are the wisest loudest in her praise? 
Can man by reason's beam be IchI astray ! 
Or, at his peril, imitate his God ? 
Since virtue sometimes ruins us on earth, 
Or both arc true, or man survives the grave. 

Or man survives the grave ; our own, Lorenzo 
Thy boast supreme a wild absurdity. 
Dauntless (liy spirit, cowards are tiiy scorn; 
Grant man immortal, and thy scorn is just. 
The man immortal, rationally brave, 
Dares rush on death — because he can not die! 
But if man loses all when life is lost, 
Ho lives a coward, or a fool expires. 
A daring infidel (and such there are, 
From i)ri(le, example, lucre, rage, revenge, 
Or pure heroical defect of thought) 
Of all earth's madmen most deserves a chain. 

When to the grave wi> follow (he renowned 
For valour, virtue, science, all we love, 
And all we praise; for worth whoso noon-tide 

beam, 
Enabling us to think in higher style, 
Mends our ideas of ethereal powers; 
Dream we, that lustre of the moral world 
Goes out in stench, and rottenness the close? 
Why was he wise to know, and warm to praise. 
And strenuous to transcribe, in human life, 
The mind Almighty? Could it be that Fate, 
Just when the lineaments began to shine, 
A ml dawn the Deity, should snatch the draught, 
With night eternal blot it out, and give 
Tiie skies alarm, lest angels too might die? ' 

If human souls, why not angelic, too. 



Extinguished; and a solitary God, 

0'(>r ghastly ruin frowning from his throne? 

Shall we this moment gaze on God in man. 

The next lose man forever in the dust? 

From dust we disengage, or man mistakes, 

And Ihere, where least his judgment fears a flaw. 

Wisdom and worth how boldly he commends! 

Wisdom and worth arc sacred names; revered 

Where not embraced; applauded, deified; 

Why not compassioned too? if spirits die. 

Both are calamities, inflicted both 

To make us lint more wretched. Wisdom's eyo 

Acute, ibrwhat? to spy more miseries; 

And worth, so recompensed, new-points their 

stings. 
Or man surmounts the grave, or gain is loss, 
And worth exalted humbles us the more. 
Thou wilt not patronize a scheme that makes 
Weakness and vice the refuge of mankind. 

' lias virtue, then, no joys?' — Yes, joys dear 
bought. 
Talk ne'er so long, in this imperfect state 
Virtue and vice are at eternal war. 
Virtue's a combat; and who fights for nought, 
Or for precarious, or for small reward ] 
Who virtue's self-rowavd so loud resound. 
Would take degrees angelic here below. 
And virtue, while they compliment, betray. 
By feeble motives and unfaithful guards. 
The crown, the unfading crown, her soul inspires ! 
'Tis that, and that alone, can countervail 
The body's treacheries and the world's assaults. 
On earth's poor jiay our famished virtue dies; 
Truth inconfestil)le ! in spite of all 
A Bayle has preached, or a Voltaire believed. 

In man the more we dive, the more we see ' 
Heaven's signet stamping an immorfa! make. 
Dive to the bottom of his soul, the base 
Sustaining all, what find we? knowledge, love! 
As light and heat, essential to the sun, 
These to the soul; and why, if souls expire? 
TIow little lovely here? how little known? 
Small knowledge we dig up with endless toil. 
And love unfeigned may purchase jierfect hate. 
Why starved, on earth, our angel-appetites. 
While brutal arc indulged their fulsome fill? 
Were then capacities divine conferred. 
As a mock diadem, in savage sport, 
Rank insult of our pompous poverty, 
Which reaps but pain from seeming claims so fair? 
In future age lies no redress ? and shuts 
b^.teniity the door on our complaint ? 
1 f so, fi)r what strange ends were mortals made I 
The worst to wallow, and the best to weep : 
The man who merits most, must most complain: 
Can wo conceive a disregard in Heaven 
What the worst jierjjetrate, or best endure? 

This can not be. To love and know, in man 
Is boundless apix>tite and boundless power. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



4» 



And these tlpinoimtrato boiiiKilcsa olijocts too. 
Objects, ]H)wrrH, appi'tites, Heaven Hiiitw in all, 
Nor, nature throujrii, e'er violalcH this sweet 
Eternal concord on her tuneful striii;^. 
Ih man the 8<)leexee])ti()n I'roiu her laws! 
Eternity struck oil' from huriian Iioik", 
(I npcak with truth, but veneration too) 
Man is a monster, tiic rei)roach of I leaven, 
A stain, a dark, impenetrable cloud 
On Nature's beauteous aspect, and deforms 
(Ama/.ini; I)Iol!) deforms her with Iier lord. 
If such is man's allotment, what is Heaven'? 
Or own the soul immortal, or blaspheme. 

Or own the soul immortal, or invert 
All order. Go, mock-majesty ! go, man ! 
And bow to thy 8U[)eri()r8 of the stall, 
Through every scene of sense KU|)erior far 
They graze thi^ turf untilled, they drink the stream 
Uid)rewe(l, and ever full, and uneml)iltere<l 
With doubts, fears, fruitless hopes, regrets, de- 
spairs. 
Mankind's peculiar! Reason's precious dower! 
No foreign clime they ransack for their robes, 
Nor brothers cite to the litigious bar ; 
Their good is good entire, umnixed, unmarrcd; 
Tiicy find a paradise in every field. 
On boughs forbidden where no curs(i8 hang: 
Tlieir ill no more tlian strikes the sense, un- 

stretched 
By previous dread, or murmur in the rear: 
When the worst comes, it comes unfeared; one 

stroke 
Begins and ends their wo : they die but once; 
Blessed, incommunicable privilege;! for which 
Proud man, who rules the globe and reads the 

stars. 
Philosopher or hero, sighs in vain. 

Account for this prerogative in brutes. 
No day, no glimpse of day, to solve tlie knot, 
But what beams on it from Eternity. 
O sole and sweet solution ! that unties 
The difficult, and softens the severe; 
The cloud on Nature's beauteous face dispels; 
Restores bright order ; casts the lirute beneath, 
And reinthrones us in su[)remacy 
Of joy, even here. Admit immortal life, 
And virtue is knight-errantry no more; 
Each virtue brings in hand a golden dower. 
Far richer in reversion: hojie exults. 
And though much bitter in our cup is thrown, 
Predominates, and gives the taste of Heaven. 
O wlierefore is the Deity so kind 1 
Astonishing beyond astonishment ! 
Heaven our reward — for heaven enjoyed bolow. 

Still unsubdued thy stubborn heart? — for there 
The traitor lurks, who doubts the truth I sing: 
Reason is guiltless ; Will alone rebels. — 
What, in that stubborn heart, if I should find 
New unexpected witnesses against thee '] 



Ambition, Pleasure, and the Love of gain! 
( Jan'st thou suspect tiial tiieHe, wiiicii make the soul 
The slave ui'curlh, should own her heir of Heav- 
en? 
Can'st thou suspect what makes us disl)elicve 
Our immorlalily should [irove it sure? 

First, then. Ambition summon to the bar. 
Amliilion's shame, exlravaganc<', disgust, 
And iiiextinguirthalile nature, speak: 
Ivich much deposes; hear them in their turn. 

Thy soul how pnssionalely fond of fame! 
[low anxious that fond |)assi(Hi to conceal! 
We blush, detected in designs on praise. 
Though for best deeds, and from the; be.st of men; 
And why '! because! immortal. Art divine 
1 las maiii; the body tutor to tlu! soul ; 
Heaven kindly gives our blood a moral flow, 
Bids it ascend the glowing cheek, and there 
Upl)raid that little heart's inglorious aim 
Which stoops to court a character from man; 
While o'er us, in tremendous judgment, sit 
Far more than man, with endless praise and blams. 

Ambition's boundless ap[)etite outspeaks 
The verdict of its «haine. When souls take fire 
At high presumjitions of their own desert, 
Onc! age is poor ap|)la\is(!: the mighty shout, 
The thunder by the living few begun. 
Late time must echo, worlds unborn resound. 
We wisii our names eternally to live?; 
Wild dream ! wliich never had haunted human 

thought. 
Had not our natures been eternal too. 
lnr<tin(^t [Kiiiits out an interest in hereafter. 
But our blind n-ason sees not wh(!re he lies. 
Or, seeing, gives the substance for the shade. 

Shatiie is the shade of Immortality, 
And in itself a shadow; so(m as caught 
Contemned, it shrinks to nothing in the grasp. 
Consult the amt)itious, 'tis aml)ilion's cure. 
' And is this all 1 cried fya^sar, at his heigbt. 
Disgusted. This third jjroof Ambition brings 
Of immbrtality. The first in fame, 
Observe him near, your envy will abate: 
Shamed at the disproportion vast betwee^n 
The passion and the j)urchase, he will sigh 
At such success, and blush at his renown. 
And why? because far richer \m/.c invites 
His heart; far more illustrio\is glory calls; 
It calls in whisj)ers, yet the deafest hear. 

And can Aml)ition a f()urth jiroof sui)ply'? 
It can, ami stronger than tla; former three, 
Yet quite o'erlooked by some reputed wise. 
"^Phough disappointments in ambition pain. 
And though success disgusts, yet still, Lorenzo! 
In vain we strive to pluck it from our hearts. 
By Nature planted for the noblest ends. 
Absurd the famed advice to Pyrrhus given. 
More [)raised than ixjndcredj sjKJcious, but un- 
sound : 



46 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Sooner that hero's sword tlui vvorUl had quelled, 

Than reason his ainhilioii. Man must soar ; 

An obKtinute activity within, 

An insiiiiprcsrtive H|iriii}f, will toss him up 

In K|>ite of Fortune's load. Not kinj^s alone, 

Each villager luis iiis ambition too : 

No sultan prouder than his lettered slave. 

Slaves build their Utile IJabyloiis of straw, 

Echo the proud Assyrian m their hearts. 

And cry, — ' Behold the wonders of my might !' 

And why '! beeause iirimortal as their lord; 

And souls inuiiortal nuist lor ever heavo 

At something great; the glitter or the gold; 

Tlie praise of mortals, or llie praise ot'-llcaven ! 

Nor absolutely vain is human praise. 
When human is supported by divino. 
I'll introduce Lorenzo to himself; 
Pleasure and Ihide (bail masters !) share our hearts. 
As love of pleasure is ordained to guard 
And feed our bodies, and extend our race; 
The love of praise is planted to protect 
And propagate— the glories of the mind! 
What is it, but the love of praise, inspires. 
Matures, refines, embellishes, exalts. 
Earth's happiness'] from that the delicate. 
The grand, the niarvellous, of civil lili'. 
Want and convenience, under^workers, lay 
The basis on which love of glory builds. 
Nor is thy life, () Virtue ! h'ss in debt 
To praise thy secret-stimulating friend. 
Were men not ])roU(l, what merit should we miss ! 
Pride madi- the virtues of the Pagan world. 
Praise is the salt that seasons right to man, 
And whets his appetite for moral good. 
Thirst of applause is Virtue's second guard, 
llea.son her (irst; but reason wants an aid ; 
Our private reason is a ilatterer; 
Thirst of a|)plausc calls public judgment in 
To jioise our own, to kei"p an even scale. 
And give endangered Virtue fairer |>Iay. 

Hero a fillh proof arises, stronger still. 
Why this so nice construction of our hearts ] 
These di>licate jnoralities of sense. 
This constitutional reserve of aid 
To succour Virtue when our reason fiiila, 
If virtue, kept alive by care and toil, 
And oil tiu' mark of injuries on earth. 
When laboured to maturity (its i)ill 
Of disciplines and pains unpaid) must die 7 
Why freighted ridi to dash against a rock! 
Were man to perish when most lit to live, 
O how misspent were all these stratagems, 
T5y skill divine inwoven in our iViuue I 
Where are I leaven's holiness and mercy lied? 
Laughs Heaven, at once, at virtue and at man 1 
If not, why that discouraged, this destroyed? — 

Thus far Ambition : vviiat says Avarice! 
This her chief maxim, which has long been thino: 
' The wise and wealthy are the same.' — 1 jjrant it. 



To store u]> treasure, with incessant toil. 
This is man's province, this his higiiest praise: 
To this great end keen Instinct stings him on: 
To guide that instinct. Reason! is thy charge; 
'Tis tiiine to tell us where true treasure lies; 
Hut Reason, failing to discharge her trust, 
Or to the deaf discharging it in vain, 
A iiiunder follows, and blind Indu.stry, 
(.Jailed by the spur, but stranger to the course, 
(The course where stakesof more than gold arc won) 
(Verioading witii the cares of distant ago 
The jaded spirits of the present hour, 
I'rovides for an eternity below. 

' Thou shalt not covet,' is a wise command. 
Rut hounded to the wealth the sun surveys. 
Look farther, the command stands quite reversed, 
And avarice is a virtue most divino. 
Is faith a refuge for our hap|)iiu',ss') 
Most sun^ ; and is it not for reason tool 
Notiiing this world unriddles but the next. 
Whence inextinguishable thirst of gain? 
l<"rom inextinguisiiable life in man; 
Man, if not meant, by worth, to reach the skies, 
1 1 ad wanted wing to fly so far in guilt. 
Sour grapes, I grant, ambition, avarice; 
Yet still their root is immortality: 
These its wild growths, so bitter and so base, 
(Pain and reproach !) religion can reclaim, 
Retiiie, exalt, tin'ovv down tiieir poisonous lee, 
And make them sparkle in the bowl of bliss. 

See, the third witness laughs at bliss remote, 
And falsely promises an Eden here : 
Truth she shall speak for once, though prone to lie, 
A common cheat, and Pleasure is her name. 
To Pleasure never was Lorenzo deaf; 
Then hear her now, now first thy real friend. 

►Since Nature made us not more fond than proud 
Of happiness, (whence hypocrites in joy 1 
Makers of mirth ! arlillcers of smiles!) 
Why should the joy most poignant sense aflords 
Rum us with blushes, and rebuke our pride? — 
Those heaven-horn bluslies fell us man descends, 
Even in the zenith of his eartldy bliss: 
Should Reason take her infidel repose. 
This honest instinct speaks our lineage high ; 
This instinct calls on darkness to conceal 
Our rapturous relation to the stalls. 
(.)ur glory covers us with noble shame. 
And he that's unconljiunded is unmanned. 
The man that bluslies is not ([uite a brute. 
Thus far with thee, Lorenzo! will 1 close, — 
IMeasure is good, and man for pleasure made; 
Rut pleasure, full of glory as of joy ; 
Pleasure, which neither blushes nor expires. 

The witnesses are hoard, the cause is o'er; 
Let Conscience file the sentence in her court; 
Dearer than dceils that half a realm convey, 
Thus, sealed by Trntli, tiie' authentic reconl runs. 

' Know all ; know Infidels, — unapt to know I 



THE COMPLAINT. 



47 



'Tia immortality your naliiro hoIvoh; 

'TIh imriiorliility (locii)hcrn iiuui, 

And ()|i('MH all l\w iiiystfricH of Iuh rnako : 

Witlioiit it, half liiH innlirictK arc a riddio; 

WitliDut it, all liis virtues are a dn^ain : 

His very crinieH utteHt his dijriiity ; 

Ilia BatelesH thirst of |)li'n«uro, gold, and fame, 

l')eclares hint horn for hlesMinfrs infniilo. 

What less than inlinitc makes unabsurd 

Passions, which all on earth but moro inflames? 

Fierce passions, so misineasured to tiiis scene, 

Str<'t('lie(l out, \\]w cajoles' wings, Ix^yond our nest, 

Far, far beyond the worth of all below, 

For earth too large!, presage a nobler (light, 

And evidf'nce our titl(! to the skies.' 

Ye gentle theologues of cabncir kind ! 
Whose eoiistitutioii dictates to your |)en, 
Who, cold yourselves,liiiiik ardour comes from hell ! 
Think not our passions from corruption sprung, 
Though to <'orru|ition now they lend their wings: 
That is their mistress ; not their mother. All 
(Atid justly) Reason deem divine: I see, 
1 feel a grandeur in the; jiassioiiH too, 
Which sjM'aks their high descent and glorious end ; 
Which sjieaks them rays of an eternal fire: 
In i-'nradise itstilf they burnt as strong 
Ere Adam fell, though wiser in thciir aim. 
Like the proud I'lnslern, struck by Providence, 
What tlio\igh our passions are run mad, and Htooj>, 
With low terrestrial appetite, to graze 
On trash, on toys, dethroned from on high? 
Yi't still, through tlntir disgrace, no feebl<! ray 
Of greatness yhines, and tells uh whence they f(!ll : 
Butthese(likethat fallen monarch when reclain\cd) 
When Reason moderates the reign aright, 
Shall re-ascend, remount their former B[ihere, 
Where onc<( they soared illustrious, ere seduced, 
I'y wanton F'.ve's debauch, to stn'll on earth, 
And set the sublutiary world on fire. 

But grant their fren/y lasts ; their frenzy fails 
To disappoint one |)rovidential end 
For which I leaven blew up ardour in our hearts. 
Were Reason silent, boundless Passion speuku 
A future scene of boundless objects too. 
And brings glad tidings of eternal day. 
Eternal day ! 'tis that erdight(!nH all. 
And all, by that enlightened, proves it sure. 
("Jotisider man aj) an immortal being, 
lnteiligil)le all, and all is great; 
A cryslullinc transparency prevails. 
And strikes full lustre through the human sphere : 
(consider man as mortal, all is <lark 
And wretched ; Reason weeps at the survey. 

Th<! learned Lorenzo cries, ' And let her weep; 
Weak modern Rcrason : ancient times were wise. 
Authority, that venerable guide!, 
Stands on my [lart; the famed Athenian Porch 
(And who for wisdom so renown(!d as they?) 
Denied this inunortality to man.' 
17 w 2 



I grant it ; hut afTirm, they proved it too. 

' A riddle this !' — 1 lave j)alience; I'll exitlain. 

What noble vanities, what mornl (lights, 
Clillcring through their roilfanli<! wisdom's |)a(jc, 
Make us, at onct!, despise them and admire? 
Fable is (lat to these! high-seasoned Sires; 
They leave! thei' extravagance! eif sexig bele)W, 
' l''le'sli shall not fee-l, or, fe'eling, shall enjoy 
The! elaggeT or the rae'k ; tei tlie'in alike 
A be'el e>f reise's, or the' burning bull.' 
In me-n expleieling all l)eyeind the- grave. 
Strange! de)e-lrine! tills! as doe'triiii! it was strange, 
Hut ne)t as prophe-e-y; le)r sue-h it ])rove'el. 
And, to Ihe'ir e)wn anuize'ine-nt, was fuKillcd : 
The!y (i'lgne'd a lirmne'ss ( 'hristiatis ne'e'd neit feign. 
The Ohristian truly triumpheel in the (lame; 
The Ste)ie! saw, in double v/onder lost, 
We)nele'r at thewn, anel we)niier at hiiiiself. 
To (inel the bolel aelventures e)f his the)ught 
Ne)t bold, anel that be! stre>ve> (e) lie' in vain. 

Wlie'tie-e-, the-n, the)se' the)Ugllts — tbe)se! te)wering 
theHights, that ne!W 
Sue'.h memstrous he'ights! — from instinct and front. 
pride'. , 

The gle)rie>uH instinct of a de'nthless soul, 
(%)nfuse'e1Iy ce)nse'ie>\is e)f lu'r elignity, 
Sug're'ste!el truths the'y coidd neit unele-rstanel. 
In Lust's ele>minie)n, atiel in Passinn's ste>rm, 
Truth's system lire)ke!n, scatte-r'el fnigine!nts lay, 
As light in chaos, glimmering thre)ugh the! glewm: 
Kiiiit with the- pennp e)f le)fty se'titime'iits, 
I'le'iis'el Pride! |ire)claime'el what ile'ase)n elisbe'liejveel. 
Prielo, like the Deilphic [)rieste'ss, with a swell 
Raved nemse'nse, de'stineel to be- future' se'uso, 
Whe'n life! irniiie)rtal, in fidl elay, shendel slijne, 
A nd Death's dark shnelows fly the Ge)spel-sun. 
They Sj)e)ke! wbiit ne>thing but iirinuirlal se)nU 
Coulel S])eak ; anel thus the: truth the'y ejuestionod 
pre)veel. 

' f 'an, then, absiirdities, as we'll as crimes, 
Speak man imme)rtar!' All things spe'idc him so. 
Much has l)e!en urgeiel ; anel ele)sttlie)u e-all for morel 
('all, and with e-nelle'ss que'stietns bei elistreissed, 
All imre'Me)lv;i[bIe', if earth is all. 

' Why life! a me)tne!nt? indnite! elesirn? 
Our wisll eteTuity, e)ur heirne! the; grave? 
Ifeaven's premiiso ele)rmant lie-s in hu:nan hope: 
Wlu) wisbe'H lif' imrne>rtal, pre)ve's it tew. 
Why ha[)i)iiie'ss purnueid, tbe)ugh ne!ve'r fe)undl 
Man's thirst of hapi)inesH de'r.lare!s it is, 
(I' or Nature ne'ver gravitate's te) nought) 
That thirst unepiene-.be'd, eleclareis it is ne)t here. 
My Lucia, thy f/larissa call to the)iight; 
Why cordial frienelship rivete'el so ele!ep. 
As he'arts te) |)ieTe-e' at (irst, at parting r.!nd, 
If frienel and frienelship vanish in an bemr? 
Is not this torrne'nt in the mask of je)y ? 
Why by refle'e'tion marre'el the joys e)f sense? 
Why part and future pn!ying on our hearts, 



48 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



And puttiniT all our present joys to death? 
■Why luhours rc:isoii'! instinct were as well; 
Instinct far better : what can choose can eri". 
O how infallible the thoughtless brute ! 
'Twere well his Holiness were half as sure, 
Reason with inclination why at war? 
Why sense of guilt ! why conscience up in arms'! 

Conscience of guilt is prophecy of pain, 
And bosom-counsel to decline the blow. 
Reason with inclination ne'er had jarr'd. 
If nothing future paid forbearance here. 
Thus on — these, and a thousand pleas uncall'd. 
All promise, some insure, a second scene; 
Which, were it doubtful, would be dearer far 
Than all things else most certain: were it false, 
What truth on earth so precious as the lie? 
This world it gives us, let what will ensue ; 
This world it gives in that high cordial, hope; 
Tiie future of the present is the soul. 
TTow this life groans when severed from the nextl' 
Poor mutilated wretch that disbelieves ! 
By dark distrust his being cut in two, 
In both parts perishes ; life void of joy, 
Sad prelude of eternity in pain ! 

Couldstthou persuade nie the next life could fail 
Our ardent wisiies, how should I pour out 
My bleeding heart in anguish, new as deep! 
Oh! with what thoughts thy hope, and my de- 
spair, 
Abhor'd Annihilation ! blasts the soul, 
And wide extends the bounds of hitman wo! 
Could I believe Lorenzo's system true. 
In tins black channel would my ravings run: — 

' Grief from the future borrow'd peace, ere-while. 
The future vanished! and the present pained! 
Strange import of \inprecedetited ill ! 
Fall how jmifound ! like Lucifer's the fivU! 
Unequal fate! his fall, without his guilt! 
From where fond Hope built her pavilion high, 
The go<ls among, hurled headlong, hurled at once 
To night! to nothing! darker still than night. 
If 'twas a dream, why wake me, my worst foe, 
Lorenzo ! boastful of the name of friend ! 
O for delusion! O for error still! 
Could vengeance strike much stronger than to 

plant 
A tliinking being in a world like this, 
Not over-rich before, now beggar'd quite. 
More cnrs'd than at the fall! — The sun goes out! 
The thorns shoot up ! what thorns in every tho't ! 
Why sense of better? it imbitters worse. 
Why sense? why life? if but to sigh, then sink 
To what I was ! twice nothing ! and much wo ! 
Wo from Heaven's bounties ! wo from what was 

wont 
To flatter most, high intellectual powers. 
Thouglit, virtue, knowledge ! blessings, by thy 

scheme. 
All poisoned into pains. First, knowledge, once 



My soul's ambition, now her greatest dread. 
To know myself true wisdom? — No; to shun 
That shocking science, parent of Despair ; 
A'(>rt thy mirror; if I see, I die. 

' Know my Creator? climb his blessed abode 
By painful speculation, pierce the veil, 
Dive in his nature, read his attributes, 
And gaze in admiration — on a foe. 
Obtruding life, withholding happiness! 
From the full rivers that surround his throne, 
Not letting fall one drop of joy on man ; 
Man gasping for one drop, that he might cease 
To curse his birth, nor envy reptiles more; 
Ye sable clouds, ye darkest shades of night ! 
Hide him, forever hide him from my thought. 
Once all my comfort, source and soul of joy! 
Now leagued with furies, and with thee,* against 
me. 

' Know his achievements? study his renown? 
Contemplate this Amazing Universe, 
Dropt from his hand with miracles replete I 
For what? mid miracles of nobler name 
To find one miracle of misery? 
To find the being, wliich alone can know 
And praise his works, a blemish on his praise ! 
Through Nature's ample range, in thought, to 

stroll. 
And start at man, the single mourner there, 
Breathing high hope ! chain'd down to pangs and 
death ? 

' Knowing is sulTering : and shall Virtue share 
The sigh of Knowledge ? — Virtue shares the sigh. 
By straining up the steep of excellent. 
By battles fougiit, and from temptation won, 
What gains she but the i)ang of seeing worth, 
Angelic worth, soon shutlled in the dark 
With every vice, and swept to brutal dust? 
Merit is madness, virtue is a crime, 
A crime to reason, if it costs us pain 
Unpaid: what pain, amidst a thousand more, 
To think the most abandoned, afler days 
Of triumph o'er their betters, find in death 
As sotl a pillow, nor make fouler clay ! 

'Duty! religion! — these, our duty done, 
Imply reward. Religion is mistake. 
Duty ! — there 's none, but to repel the cheat. 
Ye Cheats! away: ye daughters of my pride. 
Who feign yourselves the favourites of the skies, 
Ye towering Hopes ! abortive energies ! 
That toss and struggle in my lying breast. 
To scale the skies, and build presumption there, 
As I were heir of an eternity. 
Vain, vain ambitions ! trouble me no more. 
Why travel far in quest of sure defeat ? 
As bounded as my being be my wish. 
All is inverted, wisdom is a fool. 
Sense ! take the rein ! blind Passion ! drive us on ; 

* Lorcnza 



THE COMPLAINT. 



49 



And, Ignorance 1 bcfVicnd us on our way; 
Ye new, but truest patrons of our peace! 
Yes, give the pulse lull empire ; live the brute, 
Since ns" the brute we die : the sum of man, 
Of Godlike man ! to revel and to rot. 

'But not on equal terms with other brutes; 
Their revels a more jjoijjnant relish yield, 
And safer too; they never poisons choose. 
Instinct than reason makes more wholesome meals. 
And sends all-marring Murmur far away, 
I'or sensual life they best philosophise, 
Theirs that serene the sages sought in vain : 
'Tis man alone expostulates with Heaven: 
His all the power and all the cause to mourn. 
Shall human eyes alone dissolve in tears? 
And bleed in anguish none but buman hearts'? 
The wide stretched realm of intellectual wo. 
Surpassing sensual far, is all our own. 
In life so fatally distinguished, why 
Cast in one lot, confounded, luin{)ed in death'? 

' Ktc yet in being, was mankind in guilt ■? 
Why thundered this peculiar clause against us, 
' All-mortal, and all-wretched !' — Have the skies 
Reasons of state their subjects may not scan, 
Nor humbly reason when they sorely sigh? — 
' All-mortal, and all-wretched !' — 'Tis too much, 
Unparalleled iti Nature: 'tis too much, 
On bemg unre(|nested at thy bands. 
Omnipotent! for I see nought but power. 

'And why see that? why, thought! To toil 
and eat, 
Then make our bed in darkness, needs no thought. 
What superfluities arc reasoning souls! 
Oh ! give eternity, or thought destroy. 
But without thought our curse were half unfelt; 
Its blunted edge would spare the throbbing heart. 
And therefore 'tis bestowed. I thank thee, Reason ! 
For aiding life's too small calamities. 
And giving being to the dread of death. 
Such are thy bounties ! — Was it then too much 
For me to trespass on the brutal rights ? 
Too much for Heaven to make one emmet more? 
Too much for Chaos to permit my mass 
A longer stay with essences unwrought, 
Unfashioned, untormented into man ? 
Wretched preferment to this round of painsl 
Wretched cajitivity of frenzy, thought! 
Wretched captivity of dying, life! 
Life, thought, worth, wisdom, all (O foul revolt!) 
Once friends to p«-ace, gone over to the foe. 

' Death, then, hiis changed its nature too. O 
Death! 
Come to my bosom, thou best gift of Heaven ! 
Best friend of man ! since man is man no more. 
Why in this thorny wilderness so long, 
Since there 's no promised land's ambrosial bower 
To pay me with its honey for my stings? 
If needful to the selfish schemes of Heaven 
To sting us sore, why mocked our misery? 



Why this so sumptuous insult o'er our heaJs? 
Why this illustrious canopy displayed ? 
Why so magnificently lodged, Despair] 
At stated ])eriods, sure-returning, roll 
These glorious orbs, that mortals may compute 
Their length of labours and of i)ains. nor lose 
Their misery's full measure? — Smili's with flowers 
And fruits, promiscuous, ever-teeming earth, 
That man may languish in luxurious scenes, 
And in an Ivlen mourn his withered joys? 
Claim earth and skies man's admiration, due 
For such delights ? blessed animals ! too wise 
To wonder, and too hapj)y to complain ! 

' Our doom decreed demands a mournful scene: 
Why not a dungeon dark for the condemned 1 
Why not the dragon's subterranean den 
For man to howl in ? why not his abode 
Of the same dismal colour with his fate ? 
A Thebes, a Babylon, at vast expense 
Of time, toil, treasure, art, for owls and adders 
As congruous, as for man this lofty dome, 
Which prompts proud thought, and kindles high 

desire ; 
If from her hund)le chamber in the dust. 
While i)roud thought swells, and high desire in- 
flames, 
The poor worm calls us for her inmates there, 
And round us Death's inexorable band 
Draws the dark curtain close, undrawn no more. 

' Undrawn no more! — Behind the cloud of death, 
Once, I beheld a sun, a sun which gilt 
That sable cloud, and turned it all to gold. 
How the grave's altered ! fathomless as hell ! 
A real hell to those who dreamt of Heaven. 
Annihilation ! how it yawns before me! 
Next moment I may drop from thought, from sense, 
The privilege of angels and of worms, ., 
An outcast from existence! and this spirit, 
This all-pervading, this all-conscious soul. 
This particle of energy divine, 
Which travels Nature, flies from star to star, 
And visits gods, and emulates their powers, 
For ever is extinguished. Horror ! death I 
Death of that death I fearless, once, surveyed I— 
When horror universal shall descend. 
And heaven's dark concave urn all human race, 
On that enormous, unrefunding tomb, 
How just this verse; this moimuicntal sigh!' — 
" Beneath the lumber of demolished worlds. 
Deep in tlie rubbish of the general wreck, 
Swei)t ignominious to the common mass 
Of matter, never dignified with life. 
Here lie proud ratiomds ; the sons of Heaven! 
The lords of earth ! the property of worms! 
Brings of yesterday, and no to-morrow ! 
Who lived in terror, and in pangs expired! 
All gone to rot in chaos, or to make 
Their happy transit into blocks or brutes, 
Nor longer sully their Creator's name." 



BO 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Loren/.ol lirar, j)au(ie, ponilcr, and pronounce. 
Just in (IiIh liistory"? ifrtiicli in man, 
Miinluiul's liistoriaii, tiioii<;li ciiviiic, inif^lit weep: 
And dares Loron/.o hmuIo — I know thee proud I 
For onco let pride lielriend tliee: Pride IooUm pale 
At cueh a wene, and siirlis tor Hoinetliinfj more. 
Amid thy boastH, presumptions, and displays, 
And art lliontlien a sliadow] less tlian sluidol 
A notliiiiij I less llian nolhin;^ ( To luivo lieen, 
And not to ho, js lower than unborn. 
Art tlion andiiliiins? why then make the worm 
'I'hine eijual >. — Runs thy taste of pleasure hiifli ? 
Wliy patronise suro ileath of ovory joy7 — 

rs, Ciiarm riches? wiiy choose beijijary in. the grave, 
* C)f every ho|i<< a iiankrupt! and tor ever! — 
Ambition, I'leasure, Avarice, persuade then 
To make tiiat world of glory, rapture, wealtl), 
They lately proved,* thy soul's supreme desire! 

What art thou made of ! rather, how umnade7 
Groat Nature's nuister-ai)|U"tite destroyed, 
]s endless life and hap|>iuoss despised : 
Or both wished hen', whore neither can be tiMUid. 
(Such man's perverse, eternal war witii Heaven! 
Dar'st thou jH'rsist ? and is thoro nought on earth 
But a lonij train of transitory forms. 
Rising and breaking millions in an hour'{ 
Bubbles of a fantastic deity, blown up 
In sport, and then in cruelty destroyed? 
Oh! for what crime, uniniTcifid l.ori>n/.oI 
Destroys thy scheme the whole of human race 7 
Kind is fell Lucifer compared to thee. 
(.)h! spare this waste of being half-divine, 
And vindicate the econoniy of Heaven. 

Heaven is all love, all joy in giving joy; 
It never had created but to bless; 
And shall it then strike oil" the list of life 
A being blessed, or worthy so to be! 
Heaven starts at an annihilating God. 

Is tiiaf, all Nature starts at, thy desire? 
Art such a clod to wish thyself alt clay 7 
■What ia that dr«'adfui wish 7 — the dying groan 
Of Nature, murd<<red by the blackest guilt. 
What tieadly poison has thy nature drank? 
To nature, undebauched, no shock so groat, 
Nature's first wish is endless happiness; 
Ainiihilalion is an alter tiiought, 
A monstnuis wish, uidiorn till Virtue dies, 
And, oh ! what depth of horror lies inclosed ! 
For uon oxist<'ncc no man ever wished, 
But (irst Uf wished the IVity destroyed. 

If so; what words are dark enough to draw 
Thy picture true? the darkest are too fair. 
Beneath what baleful planet, in what hour 
Of desperation, by what fury's aid, 
In what internal posture of the soul, 
All bell invited, and all hell in joy 
At such a birtji, so near of kin, 

■ In th« Sixth NighL 



Did thy t(>ul fancy whelp so black a scheme 
()|'lu>|ies abortive, faculties half blown, 
Anil ileilies begun, reduced to ilust. 

' Tiiore's nought (tliou say'st) but one eternal 
flu.<( 
Of feeble essences, tunuiltuous driven 
'I'hrough time's rough billows into night's abyss.' 
Say, in this rapid tiile of lunnaii ruin. 
Is there no riK-k on which man's tossing thought 
( 'an rest from terror, dare his fate survey, 
And boldly think it something to be born? 
Amid sucii hourly wrecks of btMug t'air, 
Is there no ctMitral, all-sustaining base, 
All-realizing, all-coiuiecling power, 
Which, as it called forth all tilings, can recall, 
And force nestructii>n to refund her spoil? 
( 'onunand the grave n-storo her taken prey 
Kid death's dark vale its human harvest yield ? 
And earth and ocean ])ay their debt of man, 
True to the grand deposit trusted there? 
Is there no potentate, whoso outstretched arm, 
When riiHMiing time calls forth the appointed 

hour, 
Pluekod from foul Devastation's famished inaw, 
Hinds prestMit, past, and future, to his throne? 
llis tin-one how glorious! thus divinely graced 
\\y germinating beings clustering round ! 
A garland worthy the Divinity 1 
A throne, by Heaven's Onuupoteuce in smiles, 
Built (like a Pharos towering in the waves) 
Anudst inunenso olVusious of his love! 
An ocean of oonununicated bli.ss! 

An all prolilic, all-preserving (lod ! 
This wore a God indeed. — Andsucii is man, 
As here |)resumed ; he rist>s from his t'all. 
Think'st thou (.>nmipotenco a naked root, 
Imu'Ii blos.som fair of L^eity destroyed 7 
Nothing is dead ; nay, nothing slivps; each soul, 
That over animated human clay. 
Now wakes, is on the wing; and where, O where, 
Will the swarm settle? — When the trumpet's call, 
As sounding brass, collects us, round Heavcn'a 

throne 
Conglobod, wo bask in everlasting day, 
(Paternal splendour!) and adhere forever. 
Had not the soul this outlet to the skies. 
In this vast vessel of the luiivorse 
I low sluudd we gasp, os in an empty void ! 
How in the pangs of famished hope expire I 

1 low bright my prospect shines ! how gloomy 
thine * 
A trembling world 1 and a devouring God I 
l'',arth but the shambles of (^mni|H>tonco! 
1 leaven's face all stained with causeless massacres 
Of countless millions, born to fool the pang 
Of being lost. 1 .oren/x) ! can it bo 7 
This bids us shudder at the thoughts of life! 
Who would l» Iwrn to such a phantom world, 
W hero nought substantial, but our misery 7 



THE COMPLAINT. 



51 



Where joy (i''j<>y) liut lu'ijfliU'iis our distress, 
So *)oii to perish, and revive no more? 
Tlie i;reater such a joy, the more it pains. 
A World so far Iroin {jreat, (and yet how }rrcat 
It sliines to thee!) tliere's nothing real in it; 
Being, a shadow ; consciousness, a dream : 
A dream how dreadful! universal blank 
I-iefore it and iK'lund ; poor man, a sjjark 
From non-existence struck by wrath divine, 
GiiUerinir a moin(.'nt, nor that inonieut sure, 
Mi.ist upper, nether, and sumnuuiiiiiv night. 
His sad, sure, sudden, and eternal totnb! 

Lorenzo ! dost tliou feel these arguments? 
Or is there nought but vengeance can be felf 
How hast tiiou dared the Deity dtllirone ? 
How dared indict him of a world like tliis 7 
If such the world, Creation was a crime; 
F(tr wliat is crime, but cause of misery? 
Retract, blasphemer ! and unriddle tiiis, 
Of endless argument above, below. 
Without us, and within, tiie short result — 
' If man's immortal, there's a God in Heaven!' 

But wherefore such rcdundancyl such waste 
Of argument 1 one sets my soul at rest; 
One obvious, and at band, and oh ! — at heart. 
So just the skies, Philander's life so pained. 
His heart so pure, that or succeeding scenes 
Have palms to give, or ne'er had lie been born! 

' What an old talc is this! Lorenzo cries. — 
1 grant this argument is old; but truth 
No years impair; and had not this been true, 
Thou never had'st despised it for its age. 
Truth is iimiiortal as thy soul, and fable 
As (leeting as thy joys. Be wise, nor make 
Heaven's highest blessing vengeance. O be wise! 
Nor make a curse of immortality ! 

Say, know'st thou what it is, or what thou art? 
Know'st thou the importance of a soul immortaH 
Behold this mid-night glory : worlds on worlds I 
Amazing pomp; redoubled this amaze! 
Ten thousand add; add twice ten thousand more; 
Then weigh the whole; one soul outweighs them 

all, 
And calk the astonishing magnificence 
Of unintelligent creation poor. 

For this, believe- not me: no man believe; 
Trust not in words, but deeds; and dt^cds no less 
Than those of the Supreme, nor his a few : 
Consult them all ; consulted, all proclaim 
Thy soul's importance. Tremble at thyself, 
For whom Omnipotence has waked bo long; 
Has waked, and worked for agi^s; from the birth 
Of Nature to this uni)elieving hour. 

In this small province of his vast domain 
(All Nature bow while I pronounce his name!) 
What has Go<l done, and not lor this sole end. 
To rescue souls from death? The soul's high price 
Is writ in all the conduct of the skies. 
The soul's high price is the Creation's key, 



Unlocks its mysteries, and naked lays 
The genuine cause of every deed divine: 
That is the chain of ages which maintains 
Their obvious correspondence, and unites 
Most distant periods in one blessed design: 
That is the mighty hinge on which have turned 
All roNolutions, whether we regard 
The natural, civil, or religious world ; 
The former two, but servants to the third : 
To that their duty done, they both expire, 
Their mu.ss new-cast, forgot their deeds renowned, 
And angels ask, ' Where once they shone so faiiT 

To lilt us from this abject, to sublime; 
This llux, to permanent; this dark, to day; 
This foul, to [)ure; this turbid, to serene; 
This mean, to mighty !-^for this glorious eiid 
The Almighty, rising, his long sabbath broke! 
The world was made, was ruined, was restored: 
Laws from the skies were published, were re- 
pealed ; 
On earth kings, kingdoms, rose ; kings, kingdoms, 

fell ; 
Famed sages lighted up the Pagan world; 
Prophets from Sion darted a keen glance 
Through distant age; saints travelled, martyrs 

bled ; 
By wonders sacred Nature stood controlled; 
The living were translated; dead were raised; 
Angels, and more than angels, came from Heaven; 
And, oh! for this descended lower still: 
Guilt was liell's gloom ; astonished at his guest, 
For one short moment Lucifer adored. 
Lorenzo ! and wilt thou do less 1 — For this 
That hallowed page, fools scolF at, was inspired, 
Of all these truths thrice-venerable code! 
Deists; jjerform your quarantine ; and then 
Fall prostrate, ere you touch it, lest you die. 

Nor less intensely bent infernal powers 
To mar, than those of light, this end to gam. 
() what a scene is here ! — Lorenzo ! wake ! 
Rise to the thought; exert, expand thy soul 
To take the vast idea ; it denies 
All else the name of great. I'wo warring worlds, 
Not Europe against Afric ! warring worlds. 
Of more than mortal! niounted on the wing! 
On ardent wings of energy and zeal. 
High-hovering o'er this little brand of strife. 
This sublunary ball. — But strife, for whaf? 
In their own cause conflicting! no: in thine. 
In man's. His single interest blows the flame; 
His the sole stake; his fate the trumpet sounds 
Which kindles war immortal. How it burns [ 
Tumultuous swarms of deities in arms; 
Force force opposing, till the waves run high, 
And tcm[)est Nature's universal sphere. 
Such opjiosites eternal, stedfast, stern. 
Such foes implacable are good and ill ; 
Yet man, vain man, would mediate peace between 
them, 



M 



YOUNG'S W()RK«. 



TliiiiU not tliiM (lotion: "J'tiore wim war in 

llmivon.' 
From IImivom'h liiij;li i-rv«liil iiiiuiiilaiii wlicrti il. 

Iiiiii^', 
Tito Aliiii^lity'i^ odtHlrt^tclit^il urni lnok down IiIh 

liow, 
iVnii mIioI liiii indi^nalioii iit llir ilci'ii: 
Hr lliilliiliMi'il I lill, iiikIiImiIi'cI nil In r (iii-H, — 
7\nil rtciMUH (lir nlllKl^ of llltir loouii'lll HtlH f 

i\n(i Nliimlioi'M iiiMii, who (tinj^iy nniHt'd llie Mtonn'? 
Tic «li'r|m And iilt tlioii Mliiiclicd ill liiVHtt'l'icrt I 
'I'lii- ^rrnli'Ml, lluni, Mow dn'iidlid lo rrlli'd 
Wlmt urdonr, ciirc, mid I'miiiMrl, iiioi'IiiIh oiuimo 
In lirivirtlridlviiiol how hlHc in Ihrir own I 

Whi'i'i'Vi' I liii'ii, how iii'w |)roolfi |Hiur u|ioii nicl 
I low hii|i|iilY IhlH wondmUH vitm nnpiiortH 
Mv lonniT iiiffomrnl! how Htroiijfly hIi'IUcm 

lililiiol'lal hli'M lull dclliollMll'itlioli hcrit ! 

Why IhiM I'xt'i'lion I why IIiIm Mlriinj!;o iv^jard 
l''roiii I Iriivcii'H ()nini|iol('iit iiiilid>.n'd to man 't- 
Iti-ciiiiNi^ ill man lhi< HjInrioiiH, dii'MiUliI powor, 
Kxli'oiiii'ly to ho |iaint'd, or hli'MHod lor ovor, 
Jlhiralion ^ivoH iiii|i<irtani'o, hwi*IIh lhi< jirictv 
!An i»n>!;t'l, ila rroatnro ot'n day, 
"NVhal wtiuld ho ho 7 n trillo ol' no wi'if^hl ; 
Or hliiiid or (all, no nuillor whirh, Iio'm f^oiio. 
Iti'canm' Innnoftnl, tliorcroro im indnlj^od 
'I'IiIh Hlr»ii;.M' rcjjjard oI'di'ilii'H (o diiisl. 
lii'iu'o llravin IouKh down on earth wilii all her 

t'VfH , 

I li'iico, iho moiiI'h ini;.*lilv inomonl in hor rti;.;lil ; 

I liMico, rvrry moiiI han |iarli/.aiiH nliovo, 

And ovrry (honiifld ii oritio in tl\o Mv»: 

1 1, nco, flay, vilr clay! Iiiih aiiffciN for itH ^Miard, 

And every f!;uard a [lawHion liir hin char>^o: 

llonc«\ t'roin all uirt^, tho cnhinct divino 

JliiH held lii^rh connwl oVr the late man. 

Nor have lliecloudn IhoHO uraciouw coiniHcU hid; 
AomcIh nndrmv tho cnrtain ol'lhi* throne, 
And Providence came tortli to meet mankind: 
In vurioiiM modcri ot'einiiliaHiH and iiwo 
il le ftpoke his will, and lriMnl>lin<.^ Nalin'e lii<ard; 
Ila H|ioke il lond, in Ihinider, and in ulorin: 
WilnoHrt tlion, Sinai! whoHiMloml ooveivd l\ei);l\t, 
And rilmken haniH, owned the |ireMenl ( ii>d : 
AVilncMri, ye HiIIowm; whom^ ri'lnrninjj lido, 
Itroakin); tlio chain timl laHleneil It in iiir, 
Swcjil l''nvi't and her inenai'eM lo lu'll : 
VVllneHH, ye llamcH, the AHMyrian tyrant hiew 
Tomwenlold vajjo, «m iiniH)ti>nt M Htronji; 
And Ihoii, l'"arth, witncdH, whoNe e\|>andinif ja\vn 
« 'liweil o'er l'rcHnnn>tion'« Maerile^iooN koiih,* 
I liiH not eiteh element, in torn, Htilmcrihed 
'The howI'm hi^li |iriet>, und Mworn it to tiiewirtot 
llax nol llaiiic, ocean, ether, e»rlhii\iake, hirovo 
Tohlrike tlii< Irnlii lhron>{t) adamanlint^ man ! 
ir nol all tulanmnt, LortMUO, iteur ; 

* Koritli, <fciV 



All Ih ileliiHioni Niitno' in wrapt np 

In lenlold nif^hl, I'rom IteaHon'H ke(MieHt eyo: 

'I'liercH no coiiHiMtence, ineaniiiir, jilaii, or end, 

III all iiiMiealh the Hnn, in all ahovi^ 

(Anl'araM man can pendrale) or I leaven 

Ih an iimnttiiHe, iiieHlimahIo pri/,e ; 

Or all in lutWiUx^, or that pfi'/.e Ih all, — 

And rtiudl eacli liiy lie Hiiil a iiialch liir lleiiven, 

Ami lull e(|nivaleiil liir ^roaiiH helow ( 

Who woiiltl nol f^ivoalrille to prevent, 

VVhal he would ^liv<^ a ihoiiHand woridri lo enrol 

I .orcn/.o, I lion liar<l Hecii (il liiine lo Hei^) 
All Nature (vml her (iod, (hy Natnro'u eonrno, 
And Nature 'm coinHi' eoiilrollcd) declare lor me, 
'I'hc iiUicH aliove prochiiin ' immorlid niiinl' 
And ' man inimortitli' nil helow reHoinulx. 
'I'ho vvorld'h a Mynlem of theoliij;;y, 
Ucaii hy Ihe fjiealcMl Hlrani^t^rM lo the hcIiooIm; 
It hoiicMt, learned ; and imu;eM o'er a. plough. 
Ih nol, l<oren/o, Ihen, iiii|ioned on thee 
'I'loM hard allernalivt<, or lo reiionnco 
Thy ri'aHoii and thy HciirtO, or lo l>(<lievol 
What Ihen w nnhelicl'/ 'tlH an exploit, 
A HtrennouH enlerpHMe; toKiiin II, man 
Miml hiUHl Ihiciiifji every har of coininon Honne, 
( >l cnnimon Mluiine, nuif^iianimonMlv wroiifj; 
And whal rewanlH liie Hindy comhatant'l— 
lli.i pri/i\ repciilance; inlamv, Ium crown. 

Mill wheieliire iiiratny '/—lor want of I'liilli 
l>own the Hteep pivelpieo of wn)nj; he HlideHj 
'I'hcre'rt nolhiiiir lo Hupport him in Iherif^hl. 
I'ailli in lluMiitnri< waiilin<r in, al Ieai4 
In emhryo, (>very weukiieHH, every fjnilt, 
And Htroii}; lempliitioii ripeiiH il lo hirtli, 

II'iIiIn lili^'x ^ain invilen him lo Ihe di<ed, 
Why nol liirt coimlry Mold, Inn I'ulher filain'l 
"I'lH virtue lo pnrHUe our j^ood nnpreino. 
And IiIh Hupreme, IiIm only gooil.iM here! 
Amiiilioii, avarice, hv the wiwe iliHilnincd, 
Ih peilcci wIhiIoiii while mankind are IooIh, 
And lliiiik a liirl'or lomhiitone cover* till: 
'riiene lind einplovnienl, and provide Tor HemtO 
A richer paHliirt> and a laij^i-r raiij^'c; 
And Mi<nHO, hy ri(;ht divine, niicendM tlu< thronfl. 
When virtne'n pri/.e and uronpecl are no mor<<, 
N'irliie no morii w<< llniik Ihe will of I leaven. 
Would lleaven ipiite hl^)r<Jar Virliu<, il'helovedl 

"I Ian Virtue charinM'l"--! jjraiit her heiivi'iily 
lair; 
liiil il' imporlioiied, all will InlercHt wed, 
'I'hon^'li that our admiridioii, IIiIh our choioo. 
The virtncM jjrovv on immortality; 
Thai root dcNlroyi'd, they willier and expire. 
A l>city helieved, will nought avail; 
H(<wnrdM and puniMlunenlH Hink(> (.iod adored, 
.'\ud hopes and I'earH jjive Ooimeience all her 

power. 
Am in the dyln>j paivnt iliemthe child, 
Virtue with Immortality I'xpircH. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



63 



Who tells mo ho dcni(« hia soul immurtal, 
Whato't'r his boast, lins told me he's a knave. 
His duty 'tis to love hiiiisi'll' alone, 
Nor care thou^^h mankind perisii if he smiles. 
Who thinks ere lon^ the niun shall wholly dio, 
Is dead already ; noujrht hut hrute survives. 
And arc there such'} — Such candidates tiicre 

ure 
For more than death; for utter loss of being; 
Btin^, the basis of the Deity! 
Ask you the cause '( — the cause they will not IcU ; 
Nor need they. Oh, the sorceries of sense! 
They work this transformation on the soul, 
Dismount her like the serjM^nt at the fall. 
Dismount her from her native wing (which soared 
Erewliili! (ithereal heifrhts) and throw her down 
To lick tJKMlust, and crawl in such a thuujflit. 

Is it in wonls to paint you7 O ye fallen 1 
Fallen from the wings of reason and of hope! 
Erect in stature, jjrone in a])iietite ! 
Patrons of pleasure, posliuff into pain! 
Lovers of arffument, averse to sense ! 
Boasters of liberty! fast bound in chains! 
Lords of the wide creation, and the shame ! 
More senseless than the irrationals you scorn ! 
More base than those you rule! than those you 

pity 
Far more undone! O ye most infamous 
Of beinjfs, from superior dignity! 
Deepest in wo, from means of boundless bliss ! 
Ye cursed l)y blessings infinit*? I because 
Most highly favoured, most profoundly lost. 
Ye motley mass of contradiction strong! 
And are you, too, convinced your souls fly off 
In exhalation soft, and die in air. 
From the full flood of evidence against youl 
In the coarse drudgeries and sinks of sense, 
Your souls have quite worn out the make of 

Heaven. 
By vice new-cast, and creatures of your own ; 
Rut tliough you can (h^form, you can't destroy : 
To curse, not uncreaht, is all your power. 

Lorenyx) I this black brotherhood renounce ; 
Renounce St. Evremoiid, and reail St. Paul. 
Erf! ra[it by miracle, by reason winged, 
His mounting mind made long abode in Heaven. 
This is free-thinking, unconlined to parts, 
To end the soul, oit curious trav4>l l)ent, 
Throngli all th<! provinc4!s of huiuaii thought; 
To dart her flight through the whole sphere of 

man; 
Of this vast universe to make th(! tour; 
In each recess of space and time at home. 
Familiar with their wonders; diving deep; 
AnrI, like a prince of boundless interests there, 
Still most ambitious of the most remote; 
To look on truth unbroken and entire; 
Truth in Jhe system, Mie full orb; where tniths 
liy truths enlightened and sustained, aflbrd 



An urch-like, strong foundation, to 8U[)port 
'I'he inc\nnb(^iit weight of absolute, complete 
< 'onviction : here, the more w<^ press, we stand 
More llrm: who most examim^, must belie vo. 
Parts, Uke half si^ntences, confound; the whole 
( Conveys the sense, and God is undtTstood; 
Who not in fraguu^nts writes to human race: 
Read his whole volume, sceptic! then reply. 

This, this is thinking free, u thought that 
grasps 
Beyond a grain, and looks beyond an hour. 
Turn up thine eye, survey this midnight scene; 
What arei'arth's kingdoms to yon boundless orbs, 
Ol' human souls, one day, the destined range I 
And what yon boundless orbs to godlike mani 
Those numerous worlds that throng the firma- 
ment, 
And ask more space in Heaven, can roll at large 
In man's capacious thought, and sldl leave room 
l''or ampler orbs, for new creations there, 
f !aii sucli a soul contract itself, to gripe 
A |)oint of no dimension, of no weight'! 
It can; it does: the world is such a point; 
And of tliat point how small a part iMislaves! 

How small a part — of nothing, shall 1 say '? 
Why not? — Friends, our chief treasure, how they 

drop! 
Lucitt, Narcissa fair, Philander gone ! 
The grave, like fabled Cerberus, has oped 
A trijde mouth, and in an awful voice 
Loud calls my soul, ami utters all 1 sing. 
1 1 ow the world falls to pieces round about us, 
And leavers us in a ruin of our joy ! 
What says this trans|iortation of my friends? 
It bids mi! love the place where now they dwell, 
And scorn this wreUdieil spot they leave so poor. 
Eternity's vast ocean lies bi^fore thee ; 
'I'here, tliere, Lorenzo! thy tJlarissa sails. 
(Jive thy mind sea-room; keep it wide of earth, 
That rock of souls immortal ; cut thy cord; 
Weigh anchor; spread thy sails; call (ivcry wind; 
Ky(! thy great Pol<!-star ; make the land of Lite ! 

Two kinds of life has double-natured man, 
And two ol' death; the last far more severe. 
I.iife animal is nurturitd by the sun. 
Thrives on his bounties, trium])hs in his beams: 
Life rational subsists on highc^r food, 
Triumphant in His beams who made the day: 
When we leave that sun, and an; led by this, 
(The fate of all who die in stubborn guilt) 
'Tis utt(!r darkness, strictly double death. 
W<! sink by no judicial stroke of Heaven, 
But Nature's course, as sure as plummets fail. 
Since CJod or man must alter ere they meet, 
(Since light and darkness l)lendnotin one sphere) 
'Tis manifest, Lorenzo, who must change. 

If, then, that ilouble death shoulil prove thy lot, 
Blame not the bowels of the Deity; 
Man shall be blessed, as fur as man i^etaata. 



','tl* 



51 



YOUNG'S WORKS, 



INot, iimii iildiic, nil riitioimln llcavc^ii iiriiiH 

Willi ail illimlridiiH, but InMiii-iidouH |iiivvi'r, 

'J'o (•ounlcriicl its own inoHt ^nicioiiH ciuIn, 

7\ii(l (liis iilMtrict iicfcHHify, iu)t<'li(>ic<' ; 

'riiii( ]H)\vrr (Iciiii'ii, uww, unrein, woii' no iiuin) 

ISiil irnHHivii (MiM;iii<'H, void ot priiirtd tir blame. 

A niiluro rntional iinplii-H tiui power 

< >r liciii;^ blesHfil or wrelclied, as we |ili'aHe; 

IOIho idle KcMNon would have iiou^^bl. to do, 

And ho that would be barred cuiiiicity 

Of pain, I'oinlH iiiCMiiMcily t>ri>liHH. 

I leaven wills our liap|>iiii-HH, allown our (loom; 

InvileH iw ardently, but not conipolfl; 

llefiven but |iiM'siinden, almifjlity man (kcrrort. 

JMaii in the maker of immortal tales. 

Man falls by man, it' linally he falls; 

Ami liiil he must, who learns from death alone 

'I'lie (Ireadliil secret, — that he lives for «'ver. 

Why this tolluie'/ — tlu'e yet, [leriiaiis in doubt 
Of seeoiid litii/ but vvhi^relbri< doubtful still ! 
I'llernal lite is Nature's ardent wish: 
What ardeiillv we wish we soon bi'lieve; 
'I'hy tai<ly faith deelares that wish destroyed: 
What lias destroyeil it'? — hIuiU 1 tell thee what? 
When feared the future, 'tis no Ioniser wished; 
And when unwislied, wt> strive to disbelieve. 
' Thus inlidelity our ffuilt betrays.' 
Nor thai tli(> sole deteetion! lilush, Loreu/.o! 
iiiusli for hypoerisy, if not liir i;uilt. 
The future feared J — An infidel, and f«>ar'J 
1''ear what I a dream 7 a fable'? — How thy dreail, 
llnwilliiif; evidence, and Iherelbre stroni^, 
AlVords my <'ause an nndcsif^ned support'/ 
1 low Oisbelief allirms what it denieul 
' It, unawares, asserts immortal life.' — 
{■iurprisiui; ! Inlidelity turns out 
A creed and a confession of our sins: 
ApostatoH, thus, lire orthodox divines. 

l.oren/.o! with lioren7.o clash no more, 
Nor longer a transiiareut vi/.or wear, 
Thlnk'st thou ReIi<rion only hna lior matik 1 
Our inl'idi'ls are Satan's hvpocritcs, 
rretenil the worst, and, at tlie bottom, fail. 
When visited by thoui;ht, (Ihouijht will inlrudt>) 
Like him Ihcy serve, they Ireiuble and believe. 
Is there hvpocrisy so Ibul as tiiis / 
So fatal lo the welfare of \\w world '! 
What (lelestution, what contempt, tlieir due! 
Anil, if uuimid, be thanked for their escape, 
'I'hal (^hrislian caiido\ir they strive hard to scorn. 
If not lor that asylum, they uii^ht lliul 
A hell on earth, nor '8cn|)e u worse below. 

AVith insolence and impotence of thought, 
Instead of rackini; fancy to refute, 
Keforiu thy manners, and the truth enjoy. — 
l»ut shall 1 tiare confess the dire result 'I 
<'an thy proud, reason brook so black iv braiull 
From purer nuuiners to sublimer faith, 
Is Nature's unavoidable ascent. 



All honest Deist, whore the jjospcl shineH, 

Miitined to nobler, in the ('hrislian enda. 

VVlieii that blessed clmiif^e arrives, e'en east aaido 

This son<r superlluoiis: life immortal strikes 

( 'onviction in a Hood of liirhl divine. 

A CliriMtian dwells, like Uriel,* in the suu ; 

Meridian evidence puts doubt to (linht, 

And ardent hope aiilicipates the skies. 

( )f that brifjlit Sim, I <oren/,o ! scale the sphere: 

"I'is ottHy ; it invites thee ; it descends 

li'roin I leaven, to wooiind wall thee whence it caino. 

Ivead and revere the sacrcil pa;;e, a pajje 

Where li'iumiihs immortality ; u pai;e 

Which not the whole (^realion could produce; 

Winch not llic ( 'oullaifriition shall destroy : 

"I'is printed in the niiiul of f{ods for ever, 

111 Nature's ruins not mie letter lost. 

In proud disdain of what e'en i^ods adori", 
Dost sinilo'} — I'oor wretch 1 thy yunrdian angol 

weeiiH. 
Auj^els and men assent to what 1 sin,'i; 
Wits smile, and thank me for my iiiidiii^^ht dream. 
How vicious hearts fnme frenzy to the brain! 
Parts ]iush us on to pride, and pride to shanio. 
Pert Inlidelity is Wit's cockade, 
'i'o ijracc the bra/en brow that braves the ukieH, 
l\y loss of beini; dreadfully secure. 
Loreu/.o I if thy doctrine wins the day. 
And lirives my dreams, defeated, from the lieUI ; 
If this is all, if earth u linal scene, 
'I'aki' heed; stand fast; be sure lo be a knavo 
A knave in jj;raiii! ne'er deviate to the rinht. 
Slunildst tlioii be ifood — how iufmite thy loss I 
(iiiilt only makes annihilation ({aiii. 
nicssed scheme! which life deprives of comfort, 

death 
t>f hope, and which vice only rcconunends. 
If 80, whciv, Infidels 1 your bait thrown out 
'I'o catch weak converts '! where your lolly Inmst 
CH" 7.(>al liir virtue, and of love to man'/ 
Annihilation 1 I confess in these. 

VVhal can reclaim you'! dari> I hope i)rofoun(I 
I'hilosophers the conv«>rls oi a soiij;'/ 
Vet know its titlet Hatters you, not ino ; 
A'our's be the praise to make my title good ; 
Mine to bless I leaven, and triumph in your praise. 
Hut since so pestilential your ilisease, 
'I'hoiiifh sovereii;n is the medicint> i jirescribo, 
As ycl I'll neither triumph nor despair, 
Hut hope, ere loiii;, my mitlniifht dream will wako 
Your henrts, and leach your wisdom — lobe wise: 
For why shouUl souls immortal, nuule for bliss, 
b'.'cr wish (and wish in vain !) that souls coulddie? 
What ne'er can die, oh! {fraiit lo live, and crown 
The wish, mul aim, and labour of tho skies ; 
Increase, and enter on tho joys of Heaven : 

* Milton's rnmdiiw I/vrt. 
t Tlio Iiitklol Koclulmml. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



55 



Thus kIiiiII my tillr puss a Hurrcil seal, 
Ilcrcivo uii inipriiiiatur from aliove, 
While Qiifiji'lH sliout — an ItifKlcl Jli'dniincd ! 
To cIoHC Lorenzo! spile of all my pains, 
Still seems it stranjre tiiat thon shouldst live forever? 
Is it less Btranfje that thou shouldst live at nil? 
This is a miracle, and that no more. 
Who {favc heiriiniinif can exeludi! an end. 
Deny thou art ; then douht if thou shalt he. 
A miracle with miracles inclosed 
Is man ! and starts his f;iilh at what is strange! 
What less than wonders from the wonderlul 7 
What less than miracles from (Jod can flowl 
Admit a Cod — that niystciry supreme! 
That cause uncaused! all otiu'r wonders ccaso: 
Nothinjr is marvellous for him to do: 
Deny him — all is mystery besides ; 
Millions of mysteries! each darker fir 
Than tfiat Ihy wisdom would, unwisely, shun. 
If weak thy faith, wliy choose the harder side f 
We nothinjjknow hut what is marvellous; 
Yet what is marvellous we can't he!i('ve. 
So weak our reason, and so great our God, 
What most surprises in the sacred pajre, 
Or full as strange, or stranifcr, nmst he true. 
Faith is not reason's lahour, hut repose. 

To faith and virtue why so backward, man? 
From hence ; — the |)reKent strouf^ly strik<'s us all ; 
The future, faintly: can we, then, ho men'! 
If men, Lorenzo! the reverse is riffht. 
Reason is man's peculiar ; sense the brute's. 
I'he |)resent is the scanty realm of S(!nse; 
1'he future, Reason's ( m|)ire uticondned : 
On that expending all her godlike power, 
She plans, providiis, expatiates, triumphs, tln^re : 
There huilils Ikt blessings! there expects her 

j)raise ; 
And nothing asks of Fortune or of men. 
And what is Reason? be she thus defined; 
Reason is upright stature in the soul. 
Oh ! be a man, — and strive to be a god. 

'For what? (thou say'st) to damp the joys of 
life?— 
No ; to give heart and substance to thy joys. 
That tyrant, IIo|)e, mark how she domineers; 
She hills us (juit realilii^s for dreams. 
Safety and peace for hazard and alarm. 
That tyrant o'er the tyrants of the soul, 
She bi<ls Anibition (juit its taken |)rizc, 
Spurn the luxuriant branch uti which it sits. 
Though bearing crowns, to spring at distant game. 
And plunge in toils and dangers — for repose. 
If hojie precarious, and of things, when gained, 
Of little moment and as little stay. 
Can sweeten toils and dangers into joys. 
What then that hope which nothing can defeat, 
Our leave unasked ? rich lio])e of boundless bliss! 
Bliss past man's j)ower to paint it, tinui's to close! 
This hope iii earth's most estimable prize; 



This is man's jKirtion, vviiiN; no more than man, 

llope, of all passions, most bi^fri(Mids us here; 

Passions of |)roii(ler name befriend us less. 

.loy has her tears, and Transport bus her death: 

lIo|)e, like a conliid, innocent, tiiough strong, 

Man's heart, at once, inBj>irits and serenes, 

Nor makes him p.iy his wisdom liir his joys: 

'Tis all our present state can safely bear, 

1 lealth to tlu! frame ! and vigour to the mind ! 

A joy att(Mn|)ered ! a chantis(ul delight! 

Like the fair summercvening, mild and sweet! 

'Tis man's full cup, his |)aradise billow! 

A blessed hereafler, then, or hoped or gained. 

Is idl, — our whole of happiiK^ss! full |)roof 

I clioost! no trivial or inglorious tlieme. 

And know, yv, (bes to song! (well-meaning men, 

'I'hough (piite forgotten* half your Hil)l(^'s jjraise!) 

Imj)ortant truths, in spile of verse, may j)leasfl: 

(J rave minds you praise, nor can you praise too 

much. 
If there is weiglit in an eternity, 
Jjct the grave; listen, and be graver still. 



NIGHT VIII. 



VIRTlJK'rt APOLOGY I 

Oil, 

TIIK MAN OV TIIK WORI.l) ANSWKKEI). 

IN wiiKii AUK coNHiDKin;!), ■riii; i.uvK 1)1" Turn 
r.iFi;; tiik amiution ank i'i.easuiie, with tiik 

WIT AND WISDOM OF TIIK WOIII.D. 



And has all Nature, then, espoused my part? 
Have I bribed Heaven and Earth to plead against 

thee ? 
And is thy soul immortal? — What remains? 
All, all, Lorenzo! — midu! immortal blessed. 
Unblessed immortals! — what can shock us morct 
And ytit Lon^nzo still alh^cts the world ; 
There stows his treusuni ; thence his titb? draws, 
Man of the World! (for such wouldat thou bo 

called) ^ 

An<l art thou [)roud of that inglorious style? ^' 
Proud of reproach ? for a reproach it was, 
In ancient days, and Christian, — in an ago 
Whcni nuui were men, and not ashamed of Hea- 
ven, — 
Fired their ambition, as it crowiK^d (heir joy! 
Sprinkled with dews, from th<; (lastiiian Ibnt, 
Fain would I reba[)tizo thee, and confer 
A purer spirit, and a nobler name. 

Thy fond attiichments, fatal and inflamed, 
Point out my i)alh, and dictate to my song. 
To thee the world how f;iir! how strongly strikes 
AmbitirmI and gay Pleasure stronger still! 
Thy triple bane ! the triple bolt, that lays 



* Tlio poetical paxU of ll. 



56 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Thy virtue dead ; be these my triple theme ; 
Nor shall tliy wit or wisdom be forgot. 

Common the theme ; not so the song, if she 
My song invokes, Urania! deigns to smile. 
The charm that chains us to the world, her foe, 
If she dissolves, the man of earth, at once, 
Starts from his trance, and sighs for other scenes ; 
Scenes, where these sparks of night, these stars, 

shall shine 
Unnumbered suns, (for all things as they are, 
The blessed behold,) and, in one glory, pour 
Their blended blaze on man's astonished sight ; , 
A blaze — the least illustrious object there. 

Lorenzo ! since Eternal is at hand. 
To swallow Time's ambitions ; as the vast 
Leviathan the bubbles vain that ride 
High on the foaming billow ; what avail 
High titles, high descent, attainments high, 
If unattained our highest ■? O Lorenzo! 
What lofty thoughts, these elements above, 
What towering hopes, what sallies from the sun, 
What grand surveys of destiny divine. 
And pompous presage of unfathomed fate, 
Should roll in bosoms where a spirit burns, 
Round for Eternity ! in bosoms read 
By Him, who foibles in archangels sees ! 
On human hearts He bends a jealous eye. 
And marks, and in Heaven's register enrols, 
The rise and progress of each option there ; 
Sacred to Doomsday ! that the page unfolds. 
And spreads us to the gaze of gods and men. 

And what an option, O Lorenzo! thine 1 
This world ! and this, unrivalled by the skies I 
A world where lust of pleasure, grandeur, gold. 
Three demons that divide its realms between 

them. 
With strokes alternate buffet to and fro 
Man's restless heart, their sport, their flying ball ; 
Till, with the giddy circle sick and tired, 
It pants for peace, and drops into despair. 
Such is the world Lorenzo sets above 
That glorious promise angels were esteemed 
Too mean to bring ; a promise their Adored 
Descended to communicate, and press. 
By counsel, miracle, life, death, on man. 
Such is the world Lorenzo's wisdom wooes, 
And on its thorny pillow seeks repose ; 
A pillow which, like oinates ill-prepared, 
Intoxicates, but not composes ; fills 
The visionary mind with gay chimeras. 
All the wild trash of sleep, without the rest: 
What unfeigned travel, and what dreams of joy! 

How frad men, things ! how momentary, both ! 
Fantastic chase, of shadows hunting shades ' 
The gay, the busy, equal, though unlike ; 
Equal in wisdom, differently wise ! 
Through flowery meadows, and through dreary 

wastes. 
One bustling, and one dancing, into death. 



There 's not a day but, to the man of thought, 
Betrays some secret that throws new reproach 
On life, and makes him sick of seeing more. 
The scenes of business tell us — ' What are men;' 
The scenes of pleasure — ' What is all beside :' 
The others we despise ; and here ourselves. 
Amid disgust eternal dwells delight ? — 
'Tis approbation strikes the string of joy. 

What wondrous prize has kindled this career, 
Stuns with the din, and chokes us with the dust, 
On life's gay stage, one inch above the gravel 
The proud run up and down in quest of eyes; 
The sensual, in pursuit of something worse; 
The grave, of gold ; the politic, of power ; 
And all, of other butterflies as vain ! 
As eddies draw things frivolous and light, 
How is man's heart by vanity drawn in! 
On the swift circle of returning toys 
Whirled, straw-like, round and round, and then 

ingulfed. 
Where gay delusion darkens to despair! 

' This is a beaten track.' — Is this a track 
Should not be beaten? never beat enough. 
Till enough learned the truths it would inspire. 
Shall Truth be silent because folly frowns 1 
Turn the world's history, what find we there 
But Fortune's sports, or Nature's cruel claims, 
Or woman's artifice or man's revenge. 
And endless inhumanities on manl 
Fame's trumpet seldom sounds, but like the knell, 
It brings bad tidings: how it hourly blows 
Man's misadventures round the listening world! 
Man is the tale of narrative old Time; 
Sad tale ! which high as Paradise begins ; 
As if, the toil of travel to delude. 
From stage to stage, in his eternal round, 
The Days, his daughters, as they spin our hours 
On Fortune's wheel, where accident unthought 
Oft, in a moment, snaps life's strongest thread. 
Each, in her turn, some tragic story tells 
With now and then, a wretched farce between. 
And fdls his chronicle with human woes. 

Time's daughters, true as those of men, deceive 
us; 
Not one but puts some cheat on all mankind. 
While in their father's bosom, not yet ours. 
They flatter our fond hopes, and promise much 
Of amiable, but hold him not o'erwise 
Who dares to trust them, and laugh round the 

year, 
At still-confiding, still-confounded man. 
Confiding, though confounded ; hoping on, 
Untaught by trial, unconvinced by proof. 
And ever looking for the never-seen. 
Life to the last, like hardened felons, lies, 
Nor owns itself a cheat till it expires ; 
Its little joys go out by one and one, 
And leave poor man at length, in perfect night; 
Night darker than what now involves the pole. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



57 



O Thou who dost permit these ills to fall 
For gracious ends, and wouldst that man should 

mourn ! 
O Thou, whose hands this goodly fabric framed, 
Who know'st it best, and wouldst that man should 

know ! 
What is this sublunary world 1 a vapour; 
A vapour all it holds ; itself, a vapour ; 
From the damp bed of Chaos, as thy beam 
Exhaled, ordained to swim its destined hour 
In ambient air, then melt and disappear. 
Earth's days are numbered, nor remote her doom; 
As mortal, though less transient than her sons; 
Yet they dote on her, as the world and they 
Were both eternal, solid; Thou a dream. 

They dote, on what1 immortal views apart, 
A region of outsides! a land of shadows! 
A fruitful field of flowery promises ! 
A wilderness of joys! perplexed with doubts. 
And sharp with thorns! a troubled ocean, spread 
With bold adventurers, their all on board ; 
No second hope, if here their fortune frowns; 
Frown soon it must. Of various rates they sail, 
Of ensigns various ; all ahke in this, 
All restless, anxious, tossed with hopes and fears 
In calmest skies ; obnoxious all to storm, 
And stormy the most general blast of life : 
All bound for Happiness ; yet few provide 
The chart of Knowledge, pointing where it lies. 
Or Virtue's helm, to shape the course designed: 
All, more or less, capricious Fate lament, 
Now lifted by the tide, and now resorbed, 
And farther from their wishes than before : 
All, more or less, against each other dash. 
To mutual hurt, by gusts of passion driven, 
And suffering more from folly than from Fate. 

Ocean ! thou dreadful and tumultuous home 
Of dangers, at eternal war with man ! 
Death's capital, where most he domineers. 
With all his chosen terrors frowning round. 
(Though lately feasted high at Albion's cost*) 
Wide-opening, and loud-roaring still for more ! 
Too faithful mirror ! how dost thou reflect 
The melancholy face of human life! 
The strong resemblance tempts me farther still : 
And, haply, Britain may be deeper struck 
By moral truth, in such a mirror seen. 
Which Nature holds for ever at her eye. 

Self-flattered, unexperienced, high in hope 
When young, with sanguine cheer and streamers 

gay, 

We cut our cable, launch into the world, 

And fondly 'dream each wind and star our friend ; 

All in some darling enterprise embarked : 

But where is he can fathom its event 1 

Amid a multitude of artless hands. 

Ruin's sure perquisite ! her lawful prize ! 

' Admiral Balchen, &c. 



Some steer aright, but the black blast blows hard, 
And puffs them wide of Hope: with hearts of proof, 
Full against wind and tide, some win their way, 
And when strong Effort has deserved the port, 
And tugged it into view, 'tis won ! 'tis lost! 
Though strong their oar, still stronger is their fate 
They strike! and while they triumph, they expire. 
In stress of weather most, some sink outright; 
O'er them, and o'er their names, the billows close ; 
To-morrow knows not they were ever born. 
Others a short memorial leave behind. 
Like a flag floating, when tlie bark's ingulfed , 
It floats a moment, and is seen no more. 
One CaBsar lives; a thousand are forgot. 
How few, beneath auspicious planets born, 
(Darlings of providence ! fond Fate's elect!) 
With swelling sails make good the promised port, 
With all their wishes freighted ! yet ev'n these, 
Freighted with all their wishes, soon complain ; 
Free from misfortune, not from Nature free. 
They still are men ; and when is man secure? 
As fatal time as storm ! the rush of years 
Beats down their strength; their numberless es- 
capes 
In ruin end. And now their proud success 
But plants new terrors on the victor's brow : 
What pain to quit the world, just made their own, 
Their nest so deeply downed, and built so high! 
Too low they build, who build beneath the stars. 

Wo then apart (if wo apart can be 
From mortal man,) and Fortune at our nod, 
The gay! rich! great! triumphant! and august! 
What are they ? — The most happy (strange to say) 
Convince me most of human misery. 
What are they 7 smiling wretches of to-morrow I 
More wretched, then, than e'er their slave can be, 
Their treacherous blessings, at the day of need, 
Like other faithless friends, unmask and sting : 
Then what provoking indigence in wealth ! 
What aggravated impotence in power ! 
High titles, then, what insult of their pain ! 
If that sole anchor, equal to the waves. 
Immortal Hope! defies not the rude storm. 
Takes comfort from the foaming billow's rage 
And makes a welcome harbour of the tomb. 

Is this a sketch of what thy soul admires 1 — 
' But here (thou say'st) the miseries of life 
Are huddled in a group : a more distinct 
Survey, perhaps, might bring thee better news. 
Look on life's stages ; they speak plainer still ; 
The plainer they, the deeper wilt thou sigh. 
Look on thy lovely boy; in him behold 
The best tliat can befal the best on earth ; . 
The boy has virtue by his mother's side : 
Yes, on Florello look : a father's heart 
Is tender, though the man's is made of stone : 
The truth, through such a medium seen, may 

make 
Impression deep, and fondness prove thy friend. 



58 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Florello ! lately cast on this rude coast 
A helpless infant, now a heedless child. 
To poor Clarissa's throes thy care succeeds; 
Care full of love, and yet severe as hate ! 
O'er thy soul's joy how oft thy fondness frowns ! 
Needful austerities his will restrain, 
As thorns fence in the tender plant from harm. 
As yet his Reason can not go alone. 
But asks a sterner nurse to lead it on. 
His little heart is often terrified ; 
The blusli of morning, in his cheek, turns pale ; 
Its pearly dew-drop trembles in his eye. 
His harmless eye! and drowns an angel there. 
Ah ! what avails his innocence 1 the task 
Enjoined must discipline his early powers : 
He learns to sigh ere he is known to sin ; 
Guiltless and sad ! a wretch before the fall ! 
How cruel this ! more cruel to forbear. 
Our nature such, with necessary pains 
We purchase prospects of precarious peace : 
Though not a father, this might steal a sigh. 

Suppose him disciplined aright (if not, 
'Twill sink our poor account to poorer still,) 
Ripe from the tutor, proud of liberty, 
He leaps inclosure, bounds into the world ; 
The world is taken, after ten years' toil, 
Like ancient Troy, and all its joys his own. 
Alas! the world's a tutor more severe. 
Its lessons hard, and ill deserves his pains ; 
Unteaching all his virtuous Nature taught. 
Or books, (fair Virtue's advocates) inspired. 

For who receives him into public life 1 
Men ol the world, the terrai-tilial breed, 
AVelcome tlic modest stranger to their sphere, 
(Which glittered long, at distance in his sight) 
And in their hospitable arms inclose ; 
Men who think nought so strong of the romance, 
So rank knight errant, as a real friend ; 
Men that act up to Reason's golden rule. 
All weakness of affection quite subdued ; 
Men that would blush at being thought sincere, 
And feign, for glory, the few faults they want ; 
That love a lie, where truth would pay as well, 
As if, to them. Vice shone her own reward. 

Lorenzo ! canst thou bear a shocking sight] 
S.ich, for Florello's sake, twill now appear. 
See the steeled files of seasoned veterans, 
Train'd to the world, in burnished falsehood bright; 
Deep in the fatal stratagems of peace. 
All sort sensation, in the throng, rubbed ofl'; 
All their keen purpose in politeness sheathed ; 
His friends eternal— -during interest ; 
His foes implacable, when worth their while ; 
At war with every welfare but their own; 
As wise as Lucifer, and half as good ; 
And by whom none, but Lucifer, can gain- 
Naked through these, (so conunon Fate ordains) 
Naked of heart, his cruel course he runs, 
Stung out of all most amiable in life, 



Prompt truth, and open thought, and smiles un- 
feigned ; 
Afleclion, as his species \vide diffused, 
Noble presumptions to mankind's renown, 
Ingenuous trust, and confidence in love. 

These claims to joy (if mortals joy might claim) 
Will cost him many a sigh, till time and pains. 
From the slow mistress of this school, Experience, 
And her assistant, pausing, pale Distrust, 
Purchase a dear-bought clue to lead his youth 
Through serpentine obliquities of life. 
And the dark labyrinth of human hearts. 
And happy, if the clue shall come so cheap. 
For while we learn to fence with public guilt, 
Full oft we feel its foul contagion too. 
If less than heavenly virtue is our guard. 
Thus a strange kind of cursed necessity 
Brings down the sterling temper of his soul, 
By base alloy, to bear the current stamp. 
Below called Wisdom ; sinks him into safety. 
And brands him into credit with the world. 
Where specious titles dignify disgrace. 
And Nature's injuries are arts of life ; 
Where brighter reason prompts to bolder crimes, 
And heavenly talents make infernal hearts. 
That unsurmountable extreme of guilt ! 

Poor Machiavel ! who labour'd hard his plan, 
Forgot that Genius need not go to school ; 
F'irgot that man, without a tutor wise, 
His plan had practised long before 'twas writ. 
The world 's all title page ; there 's no contents. 
The world 's all face : the man who shows his heart 
Is hooted for his nudities, and scorned. 
A man I knew who lived upon a smile, 
And well it fed him; he looked plump and fair. 
While rankest venom foamed through every vein, 
Lorenzo! what I tell thee take not ill! 
Living, he fawned on every fool alive ; 
And, dying, cursed the friend on whom he lived. 
To such proficients tliou art half a saint ! 
In foreign realms (for thou hast travelled far) 
How curious to contemplate two state-rooks, 
Studious their nests to feather in a trice, 
With all the necromantics of their art, 
Playing the game of faces on each other, 
Making court sweet-meats of their latent gall, 
In foolish hope to steal each other's trust ; 
Both cheathig, both exulting, both deceived, 
And, sometimes, both (let earth rejoice) undone I 
Their parts we doubt not, but be that their shame. 
Shall men of talents, fit to rule mankind. 
Stoop to mean wiles that would disgrace a fool ; 
And lose the thanks of those few friends tlicy 

serve ? 
For who can thank the man he can not see ? 
Why so nmch cover 1 it defeats itself. 
Ye that know idl things! know ye not men's 

hearts 
Are therefore known, because they are concealed 1 



THE COMPLAINT. 



59 



For why concealed ? — the cause they need not tell. 
I give him joy that's awkward at a lie ; 
Whose feeble nature Truth keeps still in awe ; 
His incapacity is his renown. 
'Tis great, 'tis manly, to disdain disguise ; 
It shows our spirit, or it proves our strength. 
Thou say'st 'tis needful ! is it therefore right 7 — 
Howe'er, I grant it some small sign of grace 
To strain at an excuse ; and wouldst thou, then, 
Escape that cruel need 7 thou may'st with ease ; 
Think no post needful that demands a knave. 
When late our Civil helm was shifting hands, 
So Pelham thought : think better if you can. 

But this how rare ! the public path of life 
Is dirty : — yet allow that dirt its due. 
It makes the noble mind more noble still. 
The world's no neuter ; it will wound or save ; 
Our virtue quench, or indignation fire. 
You say the world, well-known, will make a man. — 
The world, well-known, will give our hearts to 

Heaven, 
Or make us demons, long before we die. 

To show how fair the world, thy mistress, shines. 
Take either part ; sure ills attend the choice ; 
Sure, though not equal, detriment ensues. 
Not Virtue's self is deified on earth ; 
Virtue has her relapses, conflicts, foes ; 
Foes that ne'er fail to make her feel their hate. 
Virtue has her peculiar set of pains. 
True friends to virtue, last and least complain ; 
But if they sigh, can others hope to smile 1 
If Wisdom has her miseries to mourn, 
How can poor Folly lead a happy life 1 
And if both suffer, what has earth to boast. 
Where he most happy who the least laments ? 
Where much, much patience, the most envied 

state. 
And some forgiveness, needs, the best of friends 1 
For friend or happy life who looks not higher, 
Of neither shall he find the shadow here. 

The world's sworn advocate, without a fee, 
Lorenzo smartly, with a smile, replies ; 
' Thus far thy song is right, and all must own 
Virtue has her peculiar set of pains: — 
And joys peculiar who to Vice denies 1 
If vice it is with nature to comply: 
If pride and sense are so predominant, 
To check, not overcome them, makes a saint, 
Can Nature in a plainer voice proclaim 
Pleasure and glory, the chief good of man 1' — 

Can pride and sensuality rejoice 7 
From purity of thought all pleasure springs, 
And from an humble spirit all our peace. 
Ambition, Pleasure ! let us talk of these ; 
Of these the Porch and Academy talked ; 
Of these eacli following age had much to say, 
Yet unexhausted, still, the needful theme. 
Who talks of these, to mankind all at once 
He talks ; for where the saint from either free 7 

x2 



Are these thy refuge 7 — No ; these rush upon thee, 
Thy vitals seize, and, vulture-like, devour: 
I'll try if I can pluck thee from thy rock, 
Prometheus ! from this barren ball of earth, 
If reason can unchain thee, thou art free. 

And first, thy Caucasus, Ambition, calls ; 
Mountain of torments ! eminence of woes ! 
Of courted woes ! and courted through mistake ! 
'Tis not ambition charms thee; 'tis a cheat 

Will make thee start, as H at his Moor. 

Dost grasp at greatness 7 first know what it is. 
Think'st thou thy greatness in distinction lies7 
Not in the feather, wave it e'er so high. 
By Fortune stuck, to mark us from the throng, 
Is glory lodged : 'tis lodged in the reverse ; 
In that which joins, in that which equals all, 
The monarch and iiis slave — ' a deathless soul, 
Unbounded prospect, and immortal kin, 
A Father-God, and brothers in the skies ;' 
Elder, indeed, in time, but less remote 
In excellence, perhaps, than thought by man. 
Why greater what can fall than what can risel 

If still delirious, now, Lorenzo ! go. 
And, with thy full-blown brothers of the world. 
Throw scorn around thee ; cast it on thy slaves, 
Thy slaves and equals. How scorn cast on them 
Rebounds on thee ! If man is mean, as man, 
Art thou a god 7 If Fortune makes him so, 
Beware the consequence : a maxim that 
Which draws a monstrous picture of mankind. 
Where, in the drapery, the man is lost ; 
Externals fluttering, and the soul forgot. 
Thy greatest glory, when disposed to boast. 
Boast that aloud in which thy servants share. 

We wisely strip the steed we mean to buy. 
Judge we, in their caparisons, of men, 
It nought avails thee where, but what, thou art. 
All the distinctions of this httle Ufe 
Are quite cutaneous, foreign to the man. 
When through Death's streights earth's subtl« 

serpents creep. 
Which wriggle into wealth, or climb renown, 
As crooked Satan the forbidden tree. 
They leave their party-coloured robe behind, 
All that now glitters, while they rear aloft 
Their brazen crests, and hiss at us below. 
Of Fortune's focus strip them, yet alive, 
Strip them of body too ; nay, closer still. 
Away with all but moral in their minds, 
And let what then remains impose their name, 
Pronounce them weak or worthy, great or mean. 
How mean that snuft' of glory Fortune lights, 
And Death puts out ! Dost thou demand a test, 
A test, at once, infallible and short. 
Of real greatness7 that man greatly Hves, 
Whate'er his fate or fame, who greatly dies; 
High-flushed with hope where heroes sliall deqpaif. 
If this a true criterion, many courts. 
Illustrious, might aflbrd but few grandeeSv 



60 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



The Aliiiiglity, from hia throne, on earth sur- 
veys 
Nouiflit c^rciitiT tliaii an Iioncst, liumlilc heart; 
An liunililo hoiirt, hirt residence ! pronouncud 
Hist second seat, and rival to the siiiea. 
The private |mth, the secret acta of men, 
If noble, far the nohlest of ourhvesi 
How far ahove Lorenzo's glory sits 
The illuHtrions master of a natiie ntdcnown'? 
Whose worth unrivalled, and unwitnessed, loves 
Life's sacred shades where gods converse with 

men, 
An<l |)eace, beyond the world's conceptions, smiles ; 
As tlion (now dark) l)eforo we part shalt see. 
lUtl thy grciit soul (iiis skulking glory scorns: 
Lorenzo's sick, lint when Lorenzo's seen, 
And wlu-n he shrugs at puMic business, lies. 
IJenied the public eye, the public voice, 
As if he lived on others breath, luMlies, 
Fain would he make (he world liis pedestal, 
IVlaidiind the gazers, the sole figure he. 
Knows he, that mankind [jraise against their will, 
And mix as nmcli (jelrnclion as tliey can ? 
Knows he, that faithless Fame her whispers has, 
As well as trumpet ? that his vanity 
Js so nnu-h tickled, from not hearing all"? 
Ivnows this all-knower, that from itch of praise, 
Or from an it(;h more sordid, when he shines. 
Taking his country by livi^ hundred ears, 
yeiKites at once admire him and despise, 
With modest laughter lining loud a|)planse. 
Which nudves the smile more mortal to his fame 7 
His fame which (like the mighty Ciesar) crowned 
With laurels, in full senate, greatly falls. 
By si'cming friends, that honour and destroy. 
We rise in glory as we sink in pride; 
Where boasting ends, there dignity b(>gins; 
And ve», mistaken beyond all mistake. 
The blind Lorenzo's proud — of being proud, 
And dreams himself ascending, in his fall. 

An eminence, though fancied, turns the brain ; 
All vice wants hellebore; but of all vice 
Pride loudest calls, and for the largest bowl; 
Because, unlike all otiier vice, it (lies. 
In fact, the point in fancy most pursued. 
Who court a])[)lause oblige the world in this; 
They gratify man's passion to refuse. 
Superior honour, when assumed, is lost: 
E'en good men turn batulitti, and rejoice. 
Like Ivouli-Kan, in i)lunder of the proud. 

Though somewhat disconcerted, steady still 
To the world's cause ; with half a face of joy, 
lioren/.o cries, — ' Be, then, Ambition cast; 
Ambition's dearer far stands uuim|)cached, 
(<ay Pleasure! proud Ambition is her slave; 
For her he sonrs at great, and hazards ill; 
For her he fights, and bletnls, or overcomes, 
And paves his way, with crowns, to reach her smile. 



Who can resist her charms 7 — Or should? Loren- 
zo! 
What mortal shall resist where angels yieldl 
rieasure's the mistress of ethereal i)ovver8 ; 
For her contend the rival gods ahove ; 
Pleasure's the mistress of the world below, 
A nd well it is lor man that Pleasure charms ; 
How would all stagnate but for Pleasure's ray 
I Tow would the frozen stream of action cease! 
What is the pulse of this so busy world 7 
The love of pleasure: that, through every vein, 
Throws motion, warmth, and shuts out death from 
life. 

Though various arc the tempers of mankind, 
Pleasure's gay family holds all in chains. 
Some most allect the black, and some the fair; 
Some honest pleasure court, and some obscene. 
Pleasures obscene are various, as the throng 
Of passions that can err in human hearts. 
Mistake their objects, or transgress their hounds. 
Think you there's but one whoredom 7 whoredom 

all. 
Rut when our reason licenses delight. 
Dost doubt, Lorenzo 7 thou shalt doubt no more. 
Thy fatlier chides thy gallantries, yet hugs 
An ugly, common harlot in the dark, 
A rank adulterer with others' gold ; 
And that hag, Vengeance, in a corner charms, 
f latred her brothel has, as well as Love, 
Where horrid epicures debauch in blood. 
Whal(^'er the motive. Pleasure is the mark: 
For her the black assassin draws his sword ; 
For her dark statesmen trim their midnight lamp, 
To which no single sacrifice may fall ; 
For her the saint abstains, tlie miser starves; 
The stoic proud, for Pleasure, pleasure scorned ; 
For her Aflliction's daughters grief indulge. 
And (ind, or hope, a lu.xury in tears; 
For her guilt, shame, toil, danger, we defy, 
And, with an aim voluptuous, rush on death: 
Thus universal her despotic power! 

And as her empire wide, her jiraise is just. 
Patron of Pleasure ! Doter on delight ! 
1 am thy rival; pleasure I profess; 
Pleasure the purpose of my gloomy song. 
Pleasure is nought but Virtue's gayer name ; 
I wrong her still, I rate her worth too low: 
Virtue the root, and pleasure is the flower; 
And honest Epicurus' foes 'vere fools. 

But this sounds harsn, and gives the wise offence, 
If o'crstrained wisdom still retains the name. 
How knits Austerity her cloudy brow. 
And blames, as bold and hazardous, the praiso 
0{ pleasure, to mankind unjiraised, too dear! 
Ye modern stoics ! hear my soil reply ; 
"^I'heir senses men will trust : we can't impose, 
Or, if we would, is imposition right7 
Own honey sweet; but, owning, add this sting, 
' When mixed with poison it is deadly too.' 



THE COMPLAINT, 



CI 



Trutli never was indebted to a lie. 
Is nought but virtue to be praiHod as good? 
Wliy then is heahh preferred before disease'? 
Wliat Nature loves is good, witliout her leave; 
And where no future (irawl)ack cries, ' Beware,' 
Pleasure, though not from virtue, should prevail : 
'Tis balm to life, and gratitude to Heaven. 
How cold our tiianks for bounties unonjoycd! 
The love of Pleasure in man's eldest-born, 
Born in his cradle, living to his tomb; 
Wisdom, her younger sister, though more grave, 
Was meant to minister, and not to mar. 
Imperial Pleasure, queen of human hearts. 

Lorenzo! thou, her majesty's renowned, 
Though uncoill counsel, learned in the world! 
Who lliiidi'st thyself a Murray, with disdain 
May'st look on me: yet, my Demosthenes! 
Can'st thou plead Pleasure's cause as well as I? 
Know'st thou her nature, jjurpose, parentage 1 
Attend my song, and thou shalt know them all; 
And know thyself, and know tliyscdf to be 
(Strange truth!) the most abstemious man alive. 
Tell not Calista, she will laugh thee dead, 

Or send thee to her hermitage with L . 

Absurd presumption ? thou who never knew'st 
A serious thought! shalt thou dare dream of joy 1 
No roan e'er found a happy life by chance, 
Or yawned it into being with a wish : 
Or with the snout of grovelling Aiipetite 
E'er smelt it out, and grubbed it from the dirt. 
An art it is, and must be learned; and learned 
With unremitting ellbrt, or be lost. 
And leaves us perfect l)locklieads in our bliss. 
Tlic clouds may drop down titles and estates; 
Wealth may seek us, but Wisdom must be sought; 
Souglit before all; but (how unUke all else 
We seek on earth !) 'tis never sought in vain. 

First, Pleasure's birth, rise, strength, and gran- 
deur gee : 
Brought forth by Wisdom, nursed by Discipline, 
Dy Patience taught, by Perseverance crowned. 
She rears hc^r head majestic; round her throne, 
Erected in the bosom of the just, 
F'ach virtue, listed, forms her manly guard. 
For what are virtues l (formidable name !) 
What but the fountain or defence of joy 1 
Wiiy then commanded"? need mankind commands. 
At once to merit and to make their bliss ! — 
Great Legislator I scarce so great as kind ! 
If men are rational, and love delight. 
Thy gracious law but flatters human choice : 
In the transgression lies the penalty ; 
And they the most indulge who most obey. 

Of Pleasure, next, the final cause explore ; 
Vs mighty purpose, its irn[)ortant end. 
Not to turn human brutal, but to build 
Divine on human. Pleasure came from Heaven : 
In aid to Reason was the goddess sent, 
To call up all its strength by such a charm. 



Pleasure, first, succours virtue ; in return. 
Virtue gives Pleasure an eternal reign. 
What but the j;Ieasure of food, friendship, faith, 
Supiiorts life natural, civil, and divine] 
'Tis from tiie jileasure of repast we live ; 
'Tis from the pleasure of applause we please; 
'Tis from the pleasure of belief we pray ; 
(All prayer would cease, if unbelieved the prize) 
It serves ourselves, our sjtecies, and our God ; 
And to serve more is i)a8t the sphere of man. 
Glide then, for ever. Pleasure's sacred stream! 
Through Eden, as Euphrates ran, it runs, 
And fosters every growth of hai)|)y life; 
Makes a new Eden where it flows, — but such 
As must be lost, Lorenzo ! by thy fall. 

' What mean I by thy fall 1 — Tliou'lt sliorlly see. 
While Pleasure's nature is at large displayed, 
Already sung her origin and ends : 
Those glorious ends by kind, or by degree, 
When Pleasure violates, 'tis then a vic^e, 
And vengeance too ; it hastens into pain. 
From due refreshment life, health, reason, joy ; 
From wild excess pain, grief, distraction, death ; 
Heaven's justice this proclaims, and that her love. 
What greater evil can 1 wish my foe, 
Than his full draught of i)leasur(^ from a cask 
Unbroached by just authority, ungnged 
By temperance, by reason utireruie<1 1 
A thousand demons lurk within the lee. 
Heaven, otliers, and ourselves! uniiijun^d these 
Drink deep; the deeper, tlien, the more divine: 
Angels are angels from indulgence there. 
'Tis unrepenting pleasure makes a god ! 

Dost think thyself a god from other joys 1 
A victim rather ! shortly, sure to bleed. 
The wrong must mourn. Can Heaven's appoint- 
ments fail 1 
Can man outwit Omnipotence ? strike out 
A self-wrought happiness, unmeant by him 
Who made us, and the world we would enjoy 1 
Who forms an instrument ordains from whence 
Its dissonance or harmony shall arise. 
Heaven bid the soul this mortal frame inspire ; 
Bid Virtue's ray divine inspire the soul 
With unprecarious flows of vital joy ; 
And without breathing man as well might hope 
For life, as, without piety, for peace. 

' Is virtue, then, and piety the sameT — 
No ; piety is more : 'tis virtue's source. 
Mother of every worth, as that of joy. 
Men of the world this doctrine ill digest ; 
I'hey smile at piety, yet boast aloud 
' Good-will to men,' nor know they strive to part 
What Nature joins, and thus confute themselves. 
With piety begins all good on earth ; 
'Tis the first born of Rationality ! 
Conscience, her first law broken, wounded lies; 
Enfeebled, lifeless, impotent to good. 
A feigned aflcction bounds her utmost power. 



62 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Some we can't love, but for th' Almighty's sake ; 
A foe to God was ne'er true friend to man. 
Some sinister intent taints all he does, 
And in his kindest actions he's unkind. 

On piety humanity is built. 
And on humanity much happiness ; 
And yet still more on piety itself. 
A soul in commerce with her God is Heaven 
Feels not the tumults and the shocks of life, 
The whirls of passions, and the strokes of heart. 
A Deity believed, is joy begun ; 
A Deity adored, is joy advanced ; 
A Deity beloved, is joy matured ! 
Each branch of piety delight inspires ; 
Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next, 
O'er Death's dark gulf, and all its horror hides : 
Praise, the sweet exhalation of our joy, 
That joy exalts, and makes it sweeter still : 
Prayer ardent opens Heaven, lets down a stream 
Of glory on the consecrated hour 
Of man, in audience with the Deity ; 
Who worships the great God, that instant joins 
The first in Heaven, and sets bis foot on hell. 

Lorenzo ! when wast thou at church before"? 
Thou think'st the service long : but is it just ? — 
Though just, unwelcome. Thou hadst rather tread 
Unhallowed ground : the Muse, to win thine ear, 
Must take an air less solemn. She complies. 
Good Conscience ! at the sound the world retires , 
Verse disafl'ects it, and Lorenzo smiles; 
Yet has she her seraglio full of charms, 
And sucli as age shall heighten, not impair. 
Art thou dejected 1 is thy mind o'ercast 1 
Amid lier fair ones thou the fairest choose 
To chase thy gloom. — ' Go, fix some weighty truth ; 
Chain down some passion ; do some generous good ; 
Teach Ignorance to sec, or Grief to smile ; 
Correct thy friend ; befriend thy greatest foe ; 
Or, witli warm heart and confidence divine, 
Spring up, and lay strong hold on Him who made 

thee. 
Thy gloom is scattered, sprightly spirits flow, 
Thougli withered is thy vine, and harp unstrung. 

Dost call the bowl, the viol, and the dance, 
Loud mirth, mad laughter 1 Wretched comforters ! 
Physicians ! more than half ol ihy disease. 
Laugliter, though never censured yet as sin, 
(Pardon a thought that only seems severe) 
Is half immoral ; is it much indulged 1 
By venting spleen, or dissipating thought, 
It shows a scorner, or it makes a fool, 
And sins ; as hurting others, or ourselves. 
'Tis pride, or emptiness, applies the straw 
That tickles little minds to mirth efluse ; 
Of grief a[)proaching the portentous sign ! 
The house of laughter makes a house of wo. 
A man triumphant is a monstrous sight; 
A man dejected is a sight as mean. 
What cause for triumuh when such iNs abound 1 



What for dejection, where presides a Power 
Who called us into being — to be blessed 1 
So grieve, as conscious grief may rise to joy: 
So joy, as conscious joy to grief may fall. 
Most true, a wise man never will be sad ; 
But neither will sonorous, bubbling mirth, 
A shallow stream of happiness betray ; 
Too happy to be sfiortive, he 's serene. 

Yet wouklst thou laugh (but at thy own expense) 
This counsel strange would I presume to give — 
' Retire, and read thy Bible, to be gay.' 
There truths abound of sovereign aid to peace : 
Ah ! do not prize them less because inspired, 
As thou and thine are apt and proud to do. 
If not inspired, that pregnant page had stood, 
Time's treasure ! and the wonder of the wise ! 
Thou think'st, perhaps, thy soul alone at stake 
Alas ! — should men mistake thee for a fool ; — 
What man of taste for genius, wisdom, truth, 
Though tender of thy fame, could interpose t 
Believe me, sense, here, acts a double part. 
And the true critic is a Christian too. 

But these, thou think'st, are gloomy paths to joy. 
True joy and sunshine ne'er was found at first. 
They first themselves offend who greatly please, 
And travel only gives us sound repose. 
Heaven sells all pleasure ; effort is the price. 
The joys of conquest are the joys of man ; 
And Glory the victorious laurels spreads 
O'er Pleasure's pure, perpetual, placid stream. 

There is a time when toil must be preferred. 
Or joy, by mistimed fondness, is undone. 
A man of pleasure is a man of pains. 
Thou wilt not take the trouble to be blessed. 
False joys, indeed, are born from want of thought; 
From thought's full bent and energy the true ; 
And that demands a mind in equal poize, 
Remote from gloomy grief and glaring joy. 
Much joy not only speaks small happiness. 
But happiness that shortly must expire. 
Can joy, unbottomed in reflection, standi 
And, in a tempest, can reflection livel 
Can joy, like thine, secure itself an hour? 
Can joy, like thine, meet accident unshockedl 
Or ope the door to honest poverty? 
Or talk with threatening Death, and not turn pale! 
In such a world, and such a nature, these 
Are needful fundamentals of deliglit : 
These fundamentals give delight indeed ; 
Delight pure, delicate, and durable ; 
Delight unshaken, masculine, divine; 
A constant and a sound, but serious, joy. 

Is Joy the daughter of Severity 1 
It is : — yet far my doctrine from severe. 
' Rejoice for ever :' it becomes a man ; 
Exalts, and sets him nearer to the goda. 
' Rejoice for ever,' Nature cries ; ' Rejoice !' 
And drinks to man in her nectarious cup, 
Mixed up of delicates for every sense ; 



TPIE COMPLAINT. 



63 



To the great Founder of the bounteous feast 

Drinks glory, gratitude, eternal praise ; 

AikI he that will not pledge her is a churl. 

Ill firmly to support, good fully taste, 

Is the whole science of felicity ; 

Yet, sparing, pledge ; her bowl is not the best 

Mankind can boast. — ' A rational repast, 

Exertion, vigilance, a mind in arms, 

A nalitiiry discipline of thought. 

To foil temptation in the doubtful field. 

And ever-waking ardour for the right.' 

'Tis these first give, then guard, a cheerful heart. 

Nought, that is right, think little ; well aware 

What Reason bids, God bids : by his command 

How aggrandized the smallest thing we do ! 

Thus nothing is insi[)id to t!ie wise ; 

To tliee insipid all but what is mad, 

Joys seasoned high, and tasting strong of gnilt. 

' Mad ! (thou reply'st, with indignation fired) 
Of ancient sages proud to tread the steps, 
[ follow Nature.' — Follow Nature still. 
But look it be thine own. Is Conscience, then, 
No part of Nature 7 is she not supreme ? 
Thou regicide ! O raise her from the dead ! 
Then follow Nature, and resemble God. 

When, spite of conscience, pleasure is pursued, 
Man's nature is unnaturally pleased ; 
And what 's unnatural is painful too 
At intervals, and must disgust e'en thee ! 
The fact thou know'st ; but not, perhaps, the cause. 
Virtue's foundations with the world's were laid : 
Heaven mixed her with our malce, and twisted close 
Her sacred interest with the strings of life : 
Who breaks her awful mandate shocks himself, 
His better self: and is it greater pain 
Our soul should murmur, or our dust repine? 
And one, in their eternal war, must bleed. 

If one must suffer, which should least be spared 1 
The pains of mind surpass the pains of sense : 
Ask, then, the Gout, what torment is in guilt 1 — 
The joys of sense to mental joys are mean : 
Sense on the present only feeds: the soul 
On past and future forages for joy : 
'Tis hers, by retrospect, througli time to range, 
And forward time's great sequel to survey. 
Could human courts take vengeance on the mind, 
Axen might rust, and racks and gibbets fall. 
Guard then thy mind, and leave the rest to Fate? 
Lorenzo ! wilt thou never be a man? 
The man is dead who for the body lives. 
Lured by the beating of his pulse, to list 
With every lust that wars against his peace, 
And sets him quite at variance with himself. 
Thyself first know, then love: a self there is, 
Of virtue fond, that kindles at her charms: 
A self there is, as fond of every vice. 
While every virtue wounds it to the heart; 
Humility degrades it. Justice robs. 
Blessed Bounty beggars it, fair Truth betrays, 
18 



And godlike Magnanimity destroys. 
This self, when rival to the former, scorn; 
When not in competition, kindly treat, 
Defend it, feed it: — but when Virtue bids. 
Toss it or to the fowls or to the flames. 
And why? 'tis love of pleasure bids thee bleed: 
Comply, or own self-love extinct, or blind. 

For what is vice? — Self-love in a mistake: 
A poor blind merchant buying joys too dear. 
And virtue wliat? 'tis self-love in her wits, 
Q.uite skilful in the market of delight. 
Self-love's good sense is love of that dread Power, 
From whom herself, and all she can enjoy. 
Other self-love is but disguised self-hate. 
More mortal than the malice of our foes; 
A sclf-hate now scarce felt, then felt full sore. 
When being cursed, extinction loud-implored, 
And every thing preferred to what we are. 

Yet this self-love Lorenzo makes his choice. 
And, in tliis choice triumphant, boasts of joy. 
How is his want of happiness betrayed 
By ilisafli^ction to the present hour! 
Imagination wanders far a-field; 
The future pleases: why? the present pains. — ' 
" But that's a secret." — Yes, which all men knoW; 
And know from thee, discovered unawares. 
Thy ceaseless agitation restless rolls 
From cheat to cheat, impatient of a pause. 
What is it? — 'Tis the cradle of the soul, 
From Instinct sent, to rock her in disease, 
Which her physician. Reason, will not cure. 
A poor expedient! yet thy best; and while 
It mitigates thy pain, it owns it too. 

Such are Lorenzo's wretched remedies! 
The weak have remedies, the wise have joys. 
Superior wisdom is superior bliss. 
And what sure mark distinguishes the wise ? 
Consistent Wisdom ever wills the same; 
Thy fickle wish is ever on the wing. 
Sick of herself is Folly's character. 
As Wisdom's is a modest self-applause. 
A change of evils is thy good su|)reme, 
Nor but in motion canst thou find thy rest, 
Man's greatest strength is shown in standing stilL 
The first sure symptom of a mind in health 
Is rest of heart, and [)leasure felt at home. 
False pleasure from abroad her joys imports; 
Rich from within, and self-sustained, the true. 
The true is fixed and solid as a rock; 
Slippery the false, and tossing, as the wave. 
This a wild wanderer on earth, like Cain; 
That like the fabled, self-enamoured boy. 
Home-contemplation her supreme delight: 
She dreads an interruption from without, 
Smit with her own condition, and the more 
Intense she gazes, still it charms the more. 

No man is hapjiy till he thinks on earth 
There breathes not a more happy tha> himself: 
Then envy dies, and love o'crflows on all; 



64 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



And lovo oVrHowing nmkos an aiigd hero. 

Such angels all, entitled to repose 

On Him who governs fiite. Though tempest 

frowiiH, 
Though Nature shakes, how soft to lean on 

Heaven! 
To lean on him on vvliom archangels lean ! 
Witli inward eyes, and silent as the grave, 
They stand eolleeting every heani oF thought, 
Till their hearts kiiulle witli divine delight; 
For all their thoughts, like augels, seen of old 
1m Israel's dreaui, come from, and go to Heaven; 
Hence arc they studious of sequestered scenes, 
While noise and dissipation eomfort tlire. 

Were all men happy, revellings would cease. 
That opiate for iiuiuietude within. 
Loren/o! never man was truly lilessed. 
But it composed and gave him sueii a cast. 
As Folly might mistake for want of joy: 
A cast, unlike the triumi)h of the proud; 
A modest aspect, and a smile at heart. 
O for a joy from thy Philander's spring! 
A spring, perennial, rising in the breast, 
An<l permanent as jiure! no turbid stream 
Of rapturous exultation, swelling high, 
Which, like land-lloods, impetuous pour awhile, 
Then siid; at once, and leave us in the niiro. 
What does the man wiio transient joy prefers? 
What, but [irefcr tlie liubhies to the stream'? 

Vain are all sudden sallies of delight. 
Convulsions of a weak distempered joy. 
Joy's a iixed state; a teno\ir, not a start. 
Bliss there is none but unprecarious bliss: 
That is the gem: sell all, and purchase that. 
Why go a-begging to contingencies. 
Not gained with case, nor safely loved, if gained? 
At good fortuitous draw back, and pause; 
Suspect it; what tiiou canst ensure, enjoy ; 
And nouglit, but what thou giv'st thyself', is sure. 
Reason perpetuates joy that reason gives. 
And mak("s it as iuuuortal as herself: 
To mortals, nought immortal, but their worth. 

Worth, conscious Worth! should absolutely 
reign, 
And other joys ask leave (or their ai)proach. 
Nor unexamined, ever leave obtain. 
Thou art all anarchy; a mob of joys 
Wage war, and perish in intestine broils; 
Not the least promise of internal peace! 
No liosom-comfort ! or unborrowed bliss! 
Thy thoughts are vagabonds: all outward bound 
Mid sands and rocks, and storms, to cruise for 

pleasure ; 
If gained, dear-bought; and better missed than 

gained. 
Much pain must expiate what much pain pro- 
cured. 
Fancy and Sense, from an infected shore, 
Thy cargo bring, a:id pestilence the prize, 



Then such thy thirst, (insatiable thirst, 
By fond indulgence but inflamed the more) 
Fancy still cruises, when i)oor Sense is tired. 

Imagination is the Papliian shop 
Where feeble Happiness, like Vulcan, lame. 
Bids f()ul ideas, in their dark recess, 
And hot as hell (which kindled the black fires) 
Willi wanton art those fatal arrows form, 
Whicii murder all tiiy time, health, vveaHli, and 

fame. 
Would'st thou receive them, other thoughts there 

aro 
On angel wing, descending from above ; 
Which these, with art divine, would counter- 
work. 
And form celestial armour for thy peace. 

In this is seen Imagination's guilt ; 
But who can count her follies ! she betrays thee, 
To think in grandeur there is somothing great. 
For works ofcurious art, and ancient fame. 
Thy genius hungers, eli'gantly pained. 
And foreign dimes must cater t()r thy taste. 
Hence, what disaster! — Though the price was 

paid. 
That persecuting priest, the Turk of Rome, 
Whose loot, (ye gods!) though cloven, must bo 

kissed, 
Detained thy dinner on the l.atian shore; 
(Such is tile fate of honest i)rotestaiits!) 
And poor Magnificence is starved to death. 
Hence just resentment, indignalion, ire! — 
He pacilied; if outward things are great, 
"Pis magnanimity great things to scorn; 
Pompous expeiisi-s, and parades august, 
And courts that insalubrious soil to peace. 
True happiness ne'er entered at an eye; 
True happiness resides in things unseen. 
No smiles of l'"'ortune ever blessed tlie bad. 
Nor can her frowns rob Innocence of joys; 
That jewel wanting, triple crowns are juxir: 
So tell his Holiness, and be revenged. 

Pleasure, we both agree, is man's chief good; 
Our only contest, what deserves the name. 
Give Pleasure's niuiie to nought but what has 

l)assed 
The authentic seal of Reason (which, like Yorko, 
Demurs on what it passes) and defies 
The tooth of Time; when (last, a pleasure still ; 
Dearer on trial, lovelier for its age. 
And doubly to be prized, as it promotes 
Our future, while it forms our jiresent joy. 
Some joys the future overcast, and some 
Throw all their beams that way, and gild tho 

tomb. 
Some joys endear eternity: some give 
Abhorred Annihilation dreadful charms. 
Are rival joys contending for tliy choice? 
Consult thy whole existence, and be safe; 
That orado will put all doubt to flight. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



65 



Short is tlic losson, though my lecture long; 
' Be good' — and let Heaven answer for the rest! 

Yet, with a sigh o'er all mankind, I grant, 
In this our day of proof, our land of hope, 
The good man has his clouds that intervene ; 
Clouds that obacure his suhlunary day, 
But never conquer: even the best must own, 
Patience and resignation are the pillars 
Of human peace on earth: the pillars these, 
But those of Scth not more remote from thee, 
Till this heroic lesson tiiou hast learned. 
To frown at pleasure, and to smile in pain. 
Fired at the prospect of unclouded bliss, 
Heaven in reversion, like the sun, as yet 
Beneath the horizon, cheers us in this world; 
It sheds, on souls susceptible of light. 
The glorious dawn of our eternal day. 

' This (says Lorenzo) is a fair harangue!' 
But can harangues blow back strong Nature's 

stream, 
Or stem the tide Heaven pushes through our 

veins, 
Which sweeps away man's impotent resolves. 
And lays his labour level with the worldl 

Thcmsi^lvcs men make their comment on man- 
kind, 
And think nought is, but what they find at home: 
Thus weakness to chimera turns the truth. 
Nothing romantic has the Muse prescribed. 
Above,* Lorenzo saw the man of earth. 
The mortal man, and wretched was the sight. 
To balance that, to comfort and exalt. 
Now see the man immortal: liim, I mean. 
Who lives as such; whoso heart, full-bent on 

Heaven, 
Leans all that way, his bias to the stars. 
The world's dark shades, in contrast set, shall 

raise 
His lustre more ; though bright, without a foil : 
Observe his awful portrait, and admire ; 
Nor stop at wonder; imitate, and live. 

Some angel guide my pencil, while I draw, 
What nothing less than angel can exceed, 
A man on earth devoted to the skies; 
Like ships in seas, while in, above the world. 

Willi aspect mild, and elevatcul eye. 
Behold him seated on a mount serene. 
Above the fogs of sense, and passion's storm; 
All the black cares and tumults of this life. 
Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet, 
Excite his pity, not impair his peace. 
Earth's genuine sons, the sceptered and the slave, 
A mingled mob! a wandering herd! he sees, 
Bewild(!red in the vale; in all unlike! 
His full reverse in all! what higlicr praise 1 
What stronger demonstration of the right? 

The present all their care, the future his. 

" In a former Niglit. 



When public welfare calls, or ])rivatc Want, 
They give to Fame; his bounty he conceals. 
Their virtues varnish Nature, his exalt. 
Mankind's esteem they court, and he his own. 
Theirs the wild chase of false felicities; 
His, the composed possession of the true. 
Alike througliout is his consistent peace, 
All of one colour, and an even thread; 
While party-coloured shreds of happiness, 
With hideous gaps between, patch up for them 
A madman's robe; each puff of Fortune blows 
The tatters by, and shows their nakedness. 

He sees with other eyes than theirs : where they 
Behold a sun, he spies a Deity. 
What makes tlu^m only smile, makes him adore. 
Where they see mountains, he but atoms sees. 
An empire, in his balance, weighs a grain. 
They things terrestrial worship as divine; 
His hopes, immortal, blow them by as dust. 
That dims his sight, and shortens his survey, 
Which longs, in infinite, to lose all bound. 
Titles and honours (if they prove his fate) 
He lays aside to find his dignity ; 
No dignity they find in aught besides. 
They triumph in externals, (wiiich conceal 
Man's real glory) jiroud of an eclipse : 
Himself too much he prizi^s to be proud. 
And nothing thinks so great in man, as man. 
Too d(Nir he holds bis interest lo neglect 
Another's welfare, or his right invade : 
Their interest, like a lion, lives on prey. 
They kindle at tlie shadow of a wrong ; 
Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on Heaven, 
Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe : 
Nought but what wounds liis virtue wounds his 

peace. 
A covered heart their character dcfimds ; 
A covered heart d(!nies him half his praise. 
With nakedness hi.s innocence agrees. 
While their broad foliage testifiers their fidl. 
Their no joys end where his full fi-ast begins; 
His joys create, theirs murder, future bliss. 
To triumph in existimce his alone; 
And his alone triumphantly to think 
His true existence is not yet begun. 
His glorious course was, yesterday, complete; 
Death then was welcome; yet lif(! still is sweet. 

But nothing charms Lorenzo like the firm. 
Undaunted breast. — And whose is that high 

praise 1 
They yield to pleasure, though they danger bravo, 
And show no fortitude but in the field; 
If there they show it, 'tis for glory shown; 
Nor will that cordial always man their hearts. 
A cordial his sustains, that can not fail : 
By pleasure unsubdued, unbrokc by parin, 
He shares in that Onmipotence he trusts; 
All-bearing, all-attempting, till ho falls; 
And when he falls, writes Vici on his shield. 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Krolu iiia;in;iiiiiiiity all foar ubovo; 
From iioblor rtToniiuMisc above applause, 
Whicli owes to man's short outlook all its charms. 

Baekwanl to credit what he never felt, 
Loren/o cries, — 'Where shines this miracle 1 
From what root rises tiiis immortal man'?' — 
A root that grows not in Lorenzo's grouiul : 
The nxit dissect, nor wonder at the flower. 

He lollows Nature (not like thee*) and shows us 
An uuinvertcd system of a man. 
His appetite wears Reason's jrolden chain, 
And linds, indue restraint, its luxury. 
His passion, like an eagle well reclaimed, 
Is taught to fly at nought but infinite. . 
Patient his hope, unanxious is his care, 
His caution fearless, and his grief (if grief 
The gods ordain) a stranger to despair. 
And why ! — because nlVection, more th;ui meet. 
His wisdom leaves not disengaged from Heaven. 
Those secondary gi>i>ds that smile on earth 
He, loving in proportion, loves in jH'ace. 
They most the world enjoy who least admire. 
His understanding 'scapes the common cloud 
Of fumes arising from a boiling breast. 
His head is clear, because his heart is C(X>I, 
By worldly competitions uninllamed. 
The moderate movements of his soul admit 
Distinct ideas, and matured debate. 
An eye intpartial, antl an even scale; 
Whence judgment sound, and unrejHMiting choice. 
Thus in a double sense the good are wise; 
On its own dung!\ill wiser tium the world. 
What, then, tho world ! it must be doubly weak. 
Strange truth! as soon would they believe their 
crivd. 

Yet thus it is, nor otherwise can be, 
So far from aught romantic what I sing; 
Bliss has no being, Virtue has no strength. 
But from the prospect of inunortal life. 
Who think Earth all, or (what weighs just the 

same) 
Who care no farther, nnist (iri/.e what it yields. 
Fond of its fancies, proud of its parades. 
Who thinks earth nothing can't its charms admire; 
He can't a foe, though most malignant, hate, 
Because that hate would prove his greater Hh\ 
'Tis hard for them (yet who so loudly boast 
Goinl-will to men7) to love their dearest friends? 
For may not he invade their good supreme, 
Where the least jealousy turns love to gall 1 
All shines to them, that tor a season shines: 
Each act, each thought, he questions; ' What its 
weight, 

lis colour what, a thousand ages henceT 

And, what it there appears, he deems it now; 
Hence pure are the recesses of his soul. 
The godlike luoii has nothing to conceal; 

* Se« Night Uie Eighth, p. 6a 



His virtue, constitutionally deep. 

Has Habit's firnniess, and Afrcction's flame: 

Angels, allied, descend to feed the fire, 

And death, which others slay, makes him a god. 

And now, Lorenzo ! bigot of this world ! 
Wont to disdain poor bigots caught by Heaven 1 
Stand by thy scorn, and be reduced to nought! 
For what art thou?— Thou boaster! while thy 

glare. 
Thy gaudy grandeur, and mere worldly worth, 
Like a broad mist, at distance, strikes us most, 
And, like a mist, is nothing when at hand; 
His merit, like a mountain, on approach. 
Swells more, and rises nearer to the skies ; 
By promise now, and by possession, soon 
(Too soon, too much, it con not be) his own. 

From this thy just annihilation ris^, 
Lorenzo ! rise to something, by rei)ly. 
The worlil, thy client, listens and expects. 
And longs to crown thee with immortal pniisc. — 
Can'st thou be silent? no; for wit is thine. 
And Wit talks most when least she has to say. 
And Reason interrupts not her career. 
She'll say — that mists above the mountains rise, 
And with a thousand jileasantries amuse ; 
She'll sparkle, puzzle, flutter, raise a dust, 
And fly conviction in the dust she raised. 

Wit, how delicious to man's dainty taste ! 
Tis prt>cious as the vehicle of sense. 
But, as its substitute, a dire disease. 
Pernicious talent! flatter'd by the world, 
By the l^Iind world, which thinks the talent rare. 
Wisdom is rare, Lorenzo! wit abounds; 
Passion can give it ; sometimes wine inspires 
The lucky flash ; and madness rarely fails. 
Whatever cause the spirit strongly stirs, 
Confers the bays, and rivals thy renown. 
For thy renown 'twere well this was the worst ; 
Chance of)cn hits it ; ami, to pique thee more, 
See Dulncss, blundering on vivacities. 
Shakes her sage head at the CAlamity 
Which has ex]>osed, and let her down to thee. 
But Wisdom, awful Wisdom! which insjH'cts, 
Discerns, compares, weighs, separates, infere. 
Seizes the right, and holds it to the last, 
How rare ! in senates, synods, sought iti vain : 
Or if there found, 'tis sacred to the few ; 
While a lewd prostitute to multitudes. 
Frequent, as fatal, Wit. In civil life 
Wit makes an enterpriser, sense a man. 
Wit hates authority, connnotion loves. 
And thinks herself the lightning of the storm. 
In states 'tis dangerous; in religion death. 
Shall Wit turn Christian when the dull lielievo 1 
Sense is our helmet, Wit is but the plume ; 
The j)lume exjxises, 'tis our helmet saves. 
Sense is the diamond, weighty, solid, sound ; 
When cut by Wit it casts a brighter beam ; 
Y'et Wit apart, it is a diamond still. 



THE COMPLAINT. 



67 



Wit, vvidowrd of good flrnso, in worse than 

nought; 
It huititH more Bail to run air;iiii«l a rock. 
Thus a luilf (^lirstorficld in (|uito ft fool, 
Whom (hill fools Hcorii, :iiul Mess their want of wit. 

llovv ruiuout) tho rock I wiirii tlico shun, 
Where Sirens sit to sing thee to thy fate ! 
A joy in whicli our rciinori Ix-nrs no part, 
Jm hut ft sorrow lickhng ere it slings. 
Let not the cooings of tlio world alhiro thee ; 
Which of her lovers ev(ir found her truel 
1 la|)|)y, of this had world who little know: — 
And yet we much nnist know her, to hn safe. 
To know th(^ world, not lovc^ her, is thy point ; 
She gives hut little, nor that littli! long. 
There is, I grant, a triumph of the pulse, 
A dftnce of spirits, a mere froth of joy, 
Our thoughth-ss ngitation's idle child. 
That mantles high, that sparkles and expires, 
Leaving tiie soul more vapid tluiii hefore ; 
An ftjiimal ovation ! such as holds 
No conuni-rce with our reason, hut suhsisls 
On juices, through the well-toned tubes well 

strained ; 
A nice machine ! scarce ever tuned ftriglit ; 
And wh(>n it jars — thy sirens sing no more; 
Thy dance is done ; the demi-god is thrown 
(Short apotheosis!) IxMieutli the man. 
In coward gloom inunersed, or fi^ll des|)air. 

Art thou yet dull enough despair to dnuid. 
And Ktartlc! at (.lestruction 1 if thou art, 
Accept ft buckler; tftke it to the field; 
(A field of hatth' is this mortal life!) 
When danger threatens, lay it on tiiy heart, 
A single sentence proof agftinst the world. 
' Soul, hody, fortune ; every good pertains 
To one of these; hut prize not all alike : 
The goods of fortune to thy body's health, 
Body to soul, an<l soul submit to God.' 
Wouldst thou l)uil(l lasting happiness 1 do this: 
The inverted pyramid can never utand. 

Is this truth doubtfun it outshines the sun; 
Nay, the sun shines not but to show us this, 
Th(! single le!>son of mankind on earth : 
And yet — yet what 1 No news! mankind is mad; 
Such mighty numhers list against the right, 
(And what can't numbers, when bewitched, 

achieve? 
They talk themselves to something like belief 
That all earth's joys are theirs; as Athens' fool 
Clrinii'd from the ])ort on (^very sail his own. 

They grin, but whcreforcl and how long the 
laugh? 
Half ignorance their mirth, and half a lie. 
To cheat the world, and cheat IhemselveB, they 

smile : 
Hard either task ! the most abandoned own 
That others, if al)an(loned, are undone: 
Then for themselves, the moment Reason wakes, 

Y 



(And l^rovidetKre diMiies it long repose,) 
() how liiliorious is tiieir gaiety! 
They scarce can swallow their et)ullient s|)loen, 
Scarce muster patience to support the force. 
And puiii|) sad hiugliier till Ihecurlain falls. 
Scarce did 1 say'! soine can not sit it out; 
Oil their own daring hands the curtain draw. 
And show us what their joy l)y their despair. 

The clotted hair! gored bn^ast! I>las])ii(>ming 
eye I 
Its im|ti()Ms fury still alive in death! 
Shut, shut tiiesliockiiig scene. Hut Heaven denioa 
A cover to sucli guilt, and so should man. 
Ijook round, lioren/.o! seethe reeking blade. 
The envenomed phial, and the fatal ball ; 
The strangling cord, and sulliicaling stream; 
The loathsome rott(Mmess, and tiiiil decays, 
From raging riot, (slower suicidi-sl) 
AikI i)ride in these, more execralile still; 
I low horrid all to thought! — but horrors these, 
That vouch the truth, and aid my fe<il)lo song. 

h'roin vice, sense, fancy, no man can be bless'd 
niisH is too great to lodge within an hour: 
When an immortal being aims ftt bliss, 
Duration is essential to the name. 
O for a joy from reason ; joy from that 
Which makes man man, and, exercised aright, 
Will mak(! him more: a bounteous joy, Ihat gives 
And prornis(>s — that weaves, with art diviiKi, 
Th(! riclic^st prospecrt iiilo |)resenl peace: 
A joy ambilious! joy in common held 
With thrones (Ethereal, and their gnuiter far: 
^ j"y high-privileged from chance, time, d(>ath ! 
A joy which (hvith shall doulile, judgment crown I 
( browned higher, and still higher, at each stage, 
'I'hrongh blessed eternity's long day, yet slill 
Not mor(> remoter from sorrow than from him. 
Whose lavish hand, whose love stupendous poura 
So much of Deity on guilty dust. 
There, O my Lucia! may I meet thee there, 
Where not thy presence can im|)rove my bliss. 

Alli'cts not this llur sages of the world? 
Can nought alfect them but what fools them tool 
I'lternity, d(!|)en(lingon an hour, 
JMakes serious thought, man's wisdom, joy, and 

praise. 
Nor need you blush (though sometimes your de- 
signs 
May shun the light) at your designs on Heaven; 
Sole point! where overbashfiil is your blame. 
Are you not wise? — you know you uw: y(!t hoar 
One truth, amid your numerous schemes mislaid, 
Or overlooked, or thrown aside, if seen; 
' Our schemes to [ilan by this world or the next. 
Is the sole didiTcncn^ between wise, and fool.' 
All worthy men will weigh you in this scale: 
What wonder, then, if thisy pronjunce you lightt 
Is their estiiem alone not worth your care? 
Accept my simple scheme of common sense. 



« 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Thus save your fame, and make two worlds your 
own. 

The world replies not ; — but the world persists, 
And puts the cause oft' to the longest day, 
Planning evasions for the day of doom : 
So far, at that re-hearing, from redress, 
They then turn witnesses against themselves. 
Hear that, Lorenzo ! nor be wise to-morrow. 
Haste, haste ! a man, by nature, is in haste ! 
For who shall answer for another hour "? 
Tis highly prudent to make one sure friend, 
And that thou can'st not do, this side the skies. 

Ye sons of Earth ! (nor willing to be more !) 
Since verse you think from priestcraft somewhat 

free, 
Thus, in an age so gay, the Muse plain truths 
(Tniihs which, at church, you might have heard 

in prose) 
Has ventured into light, well pleased the verse 
Should be forgot, if you the truths retain, 
And crown her with your welfare, not your praise. 
But praise she need not fear; I see my fate. 
And headlong, leap, like Curtius, dovm the gulf. 
Since many an ample volume, mighty tome. 



Must die, and die unwept ; O thou minute, 
Devoted page; go forth among thy foes; 
Go, nobly proud of martyrdom for truth. 
And die a double death : mankind incensed, 
Denies thee long to live ; nor shalt thou rest 
When thou art dead, in Stygian shades arraigned 
By Lucifer, as traitor to his throne. 
And bold blasphemer of his friend, — the World ! 
The world, whose legions cost him slender pay. 
And volunteers around his banner swarm; 
Prudent, as Prussia, in her zeal for Gaul. 

' Are all, then, foob 7' Lorenzo cries. — Yes, all 
But such as hold this doctrine, (new to thee) 
' The mother of true wisdom is the will ;' 
The noblest intellect, a fool without it. 
World- wisdom much has done, and more may do, 
In arts and sciences, in wars and peace ; 
But art and science, like thy wealth will leave thee, 
And make thee twice a beggar at thy death. 
This is the most indulgence can afford, — 
Thy wisdom all can do — but make thee wise.' 
Nor think this censure is severe on thee ; 
Satan, thy master, I dare call a dunce. 



S^lie Consolation. 



-Fatiacontrariafatarependena. Virg. 



NIGHT IX, AND LAST. 

CONTAINING, AMONG OTHER THINGS, — I. A MORAL 
SORVEY OF THE NOCTURNAL HEAVENS. II. A 
NIGHT-ADDRESS TO THE DEITY. 

Humbly inscribed to his Grace the Duke of Newcastle. 

As when a traveller, a long day past 
In painful search of what he can not find. 
At night's approach, content with the next cot. 
There ruminates awhile his labour lost; 
Then, cheers his heart with what his fate affords, 
And chants his sonnet to deceive the time, 
Till the due season calls him to repose ; 
Thus I, long-travelled in the ways of men, 
And dancing with the rest the giddy maze, 
Where Disappointment smiles at Hope's career, 
"Warned by the languor of life's evening ray, 
At length have housed me in an humble shed, 
"Where, future wandering banished from my 

thought, 
,And waiting, patient, the sweet hour of rest, 
I chase the moments with a serious song, 
^ong soothes our pains, and age has pains to soothe. 
When age, care, crime, and friends embraced at 
ht^art. 



Torn from my bleeding breast, emd death's dark 

shade. 
Which hover's o'er me, quench the etherial fire. 
Canst thou, O Night ! indulge one labour more 1 
One labour more indulge ! then sleep, my strain ! 
Till, haply, waked by Raphael's golden lyre, 
Where night, death, age, crime, care, and sorrow 

cease. 
To bear a part in everlasting lays; 
Though far, far higher set ; in aim, I trust, 
Symphonious to this humble prelude here. 

Has not the muse asserted pleasures pure, 
Like those above, exploding other joys ? 
Weigh what was urged Lorenzo ; fairly weigh, 
And tell me, hast thou cause to triumph still 1 
I think thou wilt forbear a boast so bold ; 
But if, beneath the favour of mistake. 
Thy smile's sincere ; not more sincere can be 
Lorenzo's smile, than my compassion for liim. 
The sick in body call for aid ; the sick 
In mind are covetous of more disease ; 
And, when at worst, they dream themselves quite 

well. 
To know ourselves diseased, is half our cure. 
When Nature's blush by custom is wiped off", 
And conscience deadened by repeated strokes. 



THE CONSOLATION. 



60 



Has iato manners naturalized mr crimes, 
Thr curse of curses is, our curse to love ; 
*I'o triumph in the blackness of our guilt, 
(As Indians glory in the deepest jet) 
And throw aside our senses with our peace. 

But, grant no guilt, no shame, no least alloy ; 
Grant joy and glory quite unsullied shone ; 
Yet, still, it ill deserves Lorenzo's heart. 
No joy, no glory, glitters in thy sight. 
But, through the thin partition of an hour, 
I see its sables wove by Destiny ; 
And that in sorrow buried, this in shame. 
While howling fiaries wring the doleful knell, 
And Conscience, now so soft thou scarce canst hear 
Her whisper, echoes her eternal peal. 

Where the prime actors of the last year's scene : 
Their port so proud, their buskin, and their plume 1 
How many sleep, who kept the world awake 
With lustre and with noise ! Has Death proclaimed 
A truce, and hung his sated lance on high 1 
'Tis brandished still, nor shall the present year 
Be more tenacious of her human leaf. 
Or spread, of feeble life, a thinner fall. 

But needless monuments to wake the thought : 
Life's gayest scenes speak man's mortality. 
Though in a style more florid, full as plain 
As mausoleums, pyramids, and tombs. 
What are our noblest ornaments, but Deaths 
Turned flatterers of Life, in paint or marble, 
The well-stained canvass, or the featured stone 1 
Our fathers grace, or rather haunt, the scene : 
Joy peoples her pavilion from the dead. 

' Professed diversions ! can not these escape 1 — 
Far from it : these present us with a shroud, 
And talk of dctath, like garlands o'er a grave. 
As some bold plunderers for buried wealth. 
We ransack tombs for pastime ; from the dust 
Call up the sleeping hero ; bid him tread 
The scene for our amusement. How like gods 
We sit, and, wrapt in immortality, 
Shed generous tears on wretches born to die ; 
Their fate deploring, to forget our own ! 

What all the pomps and triumphs of our lives 
But legacies in blossom 1 Our lean soil, 
Luxuriant grown, and rank in vanities, 
From friends interred beneath, a rich manure ! 
Like other worms, we banquet on the dead ; 
Like other worms, shall we crawl on, nor know 
Our present frailties, or approaching fate 1 
Lorenzo ! such the glories of the world ! 
What is the world itself 1 thy world — a grave. 
Where is the dust that has not been alive 1 
The spade, the plough, disturb our ancestors. 
From human mould we reap our daily bread. 
The globe around earth's hollow surface shakes, 
And is the ceiUng of her sleeping sons. 
O'er devastation we blind revels keep : 
Whole buried towns support the dancer's heel. 
The moist of human frame the sun exhales ; 



Winds scatter, through the mighty void, the dry : 
Earth repossesses part of what she gave. 
And the freed spirit mounts on wings of fire : 
Each element partakes our scattered spoils. 
As Nature wide our ruins spread. Man's death 
Inhabits all things, but the thought of man. 
Nor man alone ; his breathing bust expires ; 
His tomb is mortal ; empires die '; where, now, 
The Roman 1 Greek 1 they .^talk, an empty name ! 
Yet few regard them in tiiis useful light. 
Though half our learning is their epitaph. 
When down thy vale, unlocked by midnight 

thought. 
That loves to wander in thy sunless realms, 

Death ! I stretch my view, what visions rise 
What triumphs ! toils imperial ! arts divine ! 
In withered laurels glide before my sight ! 
What lengths of far-famed ages, billowed high 
With human agitation, roll along 
In unsubstantial images of air ! 
The melancholy ghosts of dead Renown, 
Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause, 
With penitential aspect, as they pass. 
All point at earth, and liiss at human pride ; 
The wisdom of the wise, and prancings of the great. 

But, O Lorenzo ! far the rest above, 
Of ghastly nature, and enormous size. 
One form assaults my sight, and chills my blood. 
And shakes my frame. Of one departed World 

1 see the mighty shadow : oozy wreath 
And dismal sea-weed crown her : o'er her um 
Reclined, she weeps her desolated realms, 
And bloated sons ; and, weeping, prophesies 
Another's dissolution, soon, in flames : 
But, like Cassandra, prophesies in vain : 
In vain to many ; not, I trust, to thee. 

For, know'st thou not, or art thou loth to know, 
The great decree, the counsel of the Skies 1 
Deluge and Conflagration, dreadful powers ! 
Prime ministers of vengeance ! chained in caves 
Distinct, apart, the giant furies roar ; 
Apart, or such their horrid rage for ruin. 
In mutual conflict would they rise, and wage 
Eternal war, till one was quite devoured . 
But not for this ordained their boundless rage. 
When Heaven's inferior instruments of wrath, 
War, famine, pestilence, are found too weak 
To scourge a world for her enormous crimes. 
These are let loose alternate : down they rush. 
Swift and tempestuous, from the eternal throne, 
With irresistible commission armed. 
The world, in vain corrected, to destroy ; 
And ease Creation of the shocking scene. 

Seest thou, Lorenzo I what depends on man 1 
The fate of Nature, as for man her birth. 
Earth's actors change earth's transitory scenes, 
And make Creation groan with human guilt. , 

How must it groan, in a new deluge whelmed, ' 
But not of waters ! At the destined hour, j 



70 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



By the loud trumpet summoneil to the charge, 
See all the Ibrmidable sons of lire, 
Eruptions, earthquakes, comets, lightnings, play 
Their various engines ; all at once disgorge 
Their blazing magazines, and take, by storm, 
This poor terrestrial citadel of man. 

Aniazintr ')eriod ! when each mountain-height 
Outburns Vesuvi'is; rocks eternal pour 
Their melted mass, a." rivers once they poured ; 
Stars rush, and final Ruii-; fiercely drives 
Her ploughshare o'er Creation ! — while alofl, 
More timn astonishment ! if more can be 1 
Far other firmament than e'er was seen, 
Than e'er was thought by man ! far other stars ! 
Stars animate, that govern these of fire ; 
< Far other sun ! — a Sun, O how unlike 
The Babe at Bethlehem ! how unlike the Man 
That groaned on Calvary ! — yet He it is ; 
That Man of sorrows! Ohowchangedl what pomp! 
In grandeur terrible all Heaven descends ! 
And gods, ambitious, triumph in his train. 
A swill archangel, with his golden wing. 
As blots and clouds that darken and disgrace 
The scene divine, sweeps stars and suns aside. 
And now, all dross removed, Heaven's own pure 

Jay, 
Full on the confines of our ether flames, 
While (dreadful contrast!) far, how far beneath! 
Hell, bursting, belches forth her blazing seas 
And storms sulphureous; her voracious jaws 
Expanding wide, and roaring for her prey. 
Lorenzo ! welcome to this scene : the last 
In Nature's course, the first in Wisdom's thought. 
This strikes ; if auglit can strike thee ; this awakes 
The most supine ; this snatches man from death. 
Rouse, rjuse, Lorenzo ! then, and follow me. 
Where truth, the most momentous man can hear. 
Loud calls my soul, and ardour wings her flight. 
I find my inspiration in my theme : 
The grandeur of my subject is my Muse. 

At midnight, when mankind is wrapt in peace. 
And worldly Fancy feeds on golden dreams. 
To give more dread to man's most dreadful hour; 
At midnight, 'tis presumed, this pomp will burst 
From tenfold darkness, sudden as the spark 
From smitten steel ; from nitrous grain the blaze. 
Man, starting from his couch, shall sleep no more! 
The day is broke, which never more shall close ! 
Above, around, beneatii, amazement all! 
Terror and glory joined in their extremes! 
Our God in grandeur, and our world on fire! 
All Nature struggling in the pangs of death ! 
Dost thou not hear her? dost thou not deplore 
Her strong convulsions, and her final groan 7 
Where are we nowl Ah me! the ground is gone 
On which we stood. Lorenzo! while thou may'st, 
Provide more firm support, or sink for ever ! 
Where ? how 1 from whence 1 Vain hope ! it is 
too late ! 



Where, where, for shelter, shall the guilty fly, 
When consternation turns the good man palel 

Great day! for which all other days were made;" 
For which earth rose from chaos, man from earth, 
And an eternity, the date of gods. 
Descended on poor earth-created man ! 
Great day of dread, decision, and despair ! 
At thought of thee each sublunary wish 
Lets go its eager grasp, and drops the world, 
And catches at each reed of hope in Heaven. 
At thought of thee! .and art thou absent then"? 
Lorenzo ! no ; 'tis here ; — it is begun : — 
Already is begun the grand assize, 
In thee, in all : deputed Conscience scales 
The dread tribunal, and forestalls our doom ; 
Forestalls, and, by forestalling, proves it sure. 
Why on himself should man void judgment passl 
Is idle Nature laughing at her sons 7 
Who Conscience sent, her sentence will support, 
And God above assert that God in man. 

Thrice happy they ! that enter now the court 
Heaven opens in their bosoms : but how rare, 
Ah me ! that magnanimity, how rare! 
What hero, like the man who stands himself; 
Who dares to meet his naked heart alone ; 
Who hears, intrepid, the full charge it brings, 
Resolved to silence future murmurs there? 
The coward flies, and, flying, is imdone. 
(Art thou acoward7 no:) the coward flies; 
Thinks, but thinks slightly; asks, but fears to 

know: 
Asks ' What is truth V with Pilate, and retires 
Dissolves the court, and mingles with the throng: 
Asylum sad from reason, hope, and Heaven ! 

Shall all but man look out with ardent eye 
For that great day which was ordained for man? 

day of consummation! mark supreme 
(If men are wise) of human thought ! nor least 
Or in the sight of angels, or their King ! 
Angels, whose radiant circles, height o'er height, 
Order o'er order, rising, blaze o'er blaze, 
As in a theatre, surround this scene, 
Intent on man, and anxious for his fate. 
Angels look out for thee ; for thee, their Lord, 
To vindicate his glory; and for thee 
Creation universal calls aloud 
To disinvolve the moral world, and give 
To Nature's renovation brighter charms. 

Shall man alone, whoso fate, whose final fate, 
Hangs on that hour, exclude it from his thought? 

1 think of nothing else ; I see ! I feel it ! 
All Nature, like an earthquake, trembling round! 
All deities, like sunmier's swarms, onvv'ing! 
All basking in the full meridian blaze ! 
I see the judge enthroned ! the flaming guard ! 
The volume opened ! opened every heart ! 
A sun-beam pointing out each secret thought! 
No patron ! intercessor none ! now past 
The sweet, the clement, mediatorial hour ! 



THE CONSOLATION. 



71 



For guilt no plea ! to pain no pause ! no bound ! 
Inexorable all! and all extreme ! 

Nor man alone ; the foe of God and man, 
From his dark den, blaspheming, drags his chain. 
And rears his brazen front, with thunder scared, 
Receives his sentence, and begins his hell. 
All vengeance past, now, seems abundant grace. 
Like meteors in a stormy sky, how roll 
His baleful eyes ! he curses whom he dreads, 
And deems it the first moment of his fall. 

'Tis i)resent to my thought ! — and yet where is it "? 
Angels can't tell me ; angels can not guess 
The period, from created beings locked 
In darkness ; but the process and the place 
Are less obscure ; for these may man inquire. 
Say, thou great close of human hopes and fears ! 
Great key of hearts ! great finisher of fates ! 
Great end ! and great beginning ! say, where art 

thoul 
Art thou in time, or in eternity 1 
Nor in eternity nor time I find thee : 
These, as two monarchs, on their borders meet, 
(Monarchs of all elapsed or unarrived !) 
As in debate, how best their powers allied 
May swell the grandeur, or discharge the wrath 
Of him, whom both their monarchies obey. 

Time, this vast fabric for him built (and doomed 
With him to fall) now bursting o'er his head. 
His lamp, the sun, extinguished, from beneath 
The frown of hideous darkness calls his sons 
From their long slumber, from earth's heaving 

womb 
To second birth ! contemporary throng ! 
Roused at one call, upstarted from one bed, 
Pressed in one crowd, appalled with one amaze, 
He turns them o'er, Eternity ! to thee : 
Then (as a king deposed disdains to hve) 
He falls on his own scythe, nor falls alone ; 
His greatest foe falls with him ; Time, and he 
Who murdered all Time's offspring. Death, ex- 
pire. 
Time was ! Eternity now reigns alone ! 
Awful Eternity! offended queen ! 
And her resentment to mankind how just! 
With kind intent, soliciting access, 
How often has she knocked at human hearts ! 
Rich to repay their hospitality, 
How oft«n called ! and with the voice of God ! 
Yet bore repulse, excluded as a cheat ! 
A dream ! while foulest foes found welcome there ! 
A dream, a cheat, now all things but her smile. 
For, lo! her twice ten thousand gates thrown 
wide. 
As thrice from Indus to the frozen pole. 
With banners streaming as the comet's blaze, 
And clarions louder than the deep in storms, 
Sonorous as immortal breath can blow, 
Pour forth their myriads, potentates, and powers, 
Of light, of darkness, in a middle field, 

T 2 



Wide as creation ! populous as wide ! 
A neutral region I there to mark the event 
Of that great drama, whose preceding scenes 
Detained them close spectators, through a length 
Of ages, ripening to this grand result ; 
Ages as yet unnumbered but by God, 
Who now, pronouncing sentence, vindicates 
The rights of virtue, and his own renown. 

Eternity, the various sentence past, 
Assigns the severed throng distinct abodes, 
Sulphureous or ambrosial. What ensues'? 
The deed predominant! the deed of deeds! 
Which makes a hell of hell, a heaven of Heaven. 
The goddess, with determined aspect, turns 
Her adamantine key's enormous size 
Through Destiny's inextricable wards. 
Deep driving every bolt on both their fates; 
Then from the crystal battlements of Heaven, 
Down, down she hurls it through the dark pro- 
found. 
Ten thousand thousand fathom, there to rust. 
And never unlock her resolution more. 
The deep resounds, and Hell, through all her 

glooms. 
Returns, in groans, the melancholy roar. 

O how unlike the chorus of the skies ! 
O how unlike those shouts of joy, that shake 
The whole ethereal! how the concave rings! 
Nor strange ! when deities their voice exalt ; 
And louder far than when Creation rose, 
To see Creation's godlike aim and end, 
So well accomplished I so divinely closed ! 
To see the mighty Dramatist's last act 
(As meet) in glory rising o'er the rest. 
No fancied God ; a God, indeed, descends. 
To solve all knots ; to strike the moral home ; 
To throw full day on darkest scenes of time ; 
To clear, commend, exalt, and crown the whole. 
Hence, in one peal of loud, eternal praise. 
The charmed spectators thunder their applause, 
And the vast void beyond applause resounds. 

What then am 1 1 — 

Amidst applauding worlds, 
And worlds celestial, is there found on earth 
A peevish, dissonant, rebellious string, 
Which jars in the grand chorus, and complains 1 ] 
Censure on thee, Lorenzo! I suspend. 
And turn it on myself; how greatly due I 
All, all is right, by God ordained or done ; 
And who, but God, resumed the friends He gavel 
And have I been complaining, then, so long 1 
Complaining of his favours, pain and death 1 
Who, without Pain's advice, would e'er be good 1 
Who, without Death, but would be good in vain T ; 
Pain is to save from pain ; all punishment 
To make for peace ; and death to save from, death ^ 
And second death to guard immortal life ; 
To rouse the careless, the presumptuous awe, 
And turn the tide of souls another way ; 



re 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



By the same tenderness divine ordained 

That planted Eden, and high-bloomed for man 

A fairer Eden, endless in the skies. 

Heaven gives us Ihends to bless the present 
scene ; 

Resumes them, to prepare us for the next. 

All evils natural are moral goods; 

All discipline indulgence, on the whole. 

None are unhappy ; all have cause to smile, 

But such as to themselves that cause deny. 

Our faults are at the bottom of our pains: 

Error in act, or judgment, is the source 

Of endless sighs. We sin, or wo mistake; 

And Nature tax, wlien false opinion stings. 

Let impious grief be banished, joy indulged; 

But chietly then, when Grief puts in hei: claim. 

Joy from the joyous freipiently betrays, 

0(l lives in vanity, and ches in wo. 

Joy amidst ills, corroborates, exalts ; 

'Tis joy and conquest; joy and virtue too. 

A noble fortitude in ills delights 

Heaven, earth, ourselves; 'tis duty, glory, peace ! 

Affliction is the good man's shining scene, 

Prosperity conceals his brightest ray. 

As night to stars, wo lustri' gives to man. 

Heroes in battle, pilots in the storm, 

And virtue in calamities, admire. 

The crown of manhood is a winter-joy; 

An ever-green that stands the northern blast, 

And blossoms in the rigour of our fate. 
'Tis a prime part of happiness to know 

How nuieh unhappiness must prove our lot; 

A part which few possess! I'll pay life's tax, 

Without one rebel nmrmur, from this hour, 

Nor thiidc it misery to be a man ; 
Who thinks it is, shall never be a god. 
Some ills we wish for, when wc wish to live. 
What spoke proud Passion "? — ' Wish my being 
lost 7'* 
Presumptuous ! blasphemous ! absurd ! and false ! 
The triumph of my soul is, — that I am; 
And therefore that 1 may be — what 1 Lorenzo ! 
Look inward, and look deep; and deeper still; 
Unfathomal)ly deep our treasure runs. 
In golden veins, through all eternity ! 
Ages, and ages, and succeeding still 
New ages, where this phantom of an hour. 
Which courts, eacli night, dull slumber for repair. 
Shall wake, and wonder, and exult, and prai.se. 
And fly through infinite, and all unlock; 
And (if deserved) by Heaven's redundant love. 
Made half-adorable itself, adore; 
And find, in adoration, endless joy! 
Where thou, not master of a moment here, 
Frail as the flower, and fleeting as the gale, 
May'st boast a whole eternity, enriched 
With all a kind Omnipotence can pour. 



Since Adam fell, no mortal uninspired. 

Has ever yet conceived, or ever shall, 

How kind is God, how great (if good) is man. 

No man too largely from Heaven's love can hope, 

If what is hoped he labours to secure. 

Ills! — there are none: All-gracious! none from 
Thee; 
From man full many I Numerous is the race 
Of blackest ills, and those immortal too. 
Begot by Madness on fair Liberty, 
Heaven's daughter, hell-debauched! her hand alone 
Unlocks destruction to the sons of men. 
Fast barred by thine : high-walled with adamant, 
Guarded with terrors reaciiing to this world 
And covered with the thunders of thy law. 
Whose threats are mercies, whose injunctions 

guides, 
Assisting, not restraining. Reason's choice ; 
Whose sanctions, unavoidable results 
From Nature's course, indulgently revealed ; 
If unrevealed, more dangerous, nor less sure. 
Thus an indulgent father warns his sons, 
' Do tliis, fly that ;'— nor always tells the cause ; 
Pleased to reward, as duty to his will, 
A conduct needful to their own repose. 

Great God of wonders I (if, thy love surveyed. 
Aught else the name of wonderful retains) 
What rocks are these on which to build our trust 1 
Thy ways admit no blemish; none 1 find; 
Or this alone, — ' That none is to be found : 
Not one, to soften Censure's hardy crime ; 
Not one, to palliate peevish Grief's complaint, 
Who, like a demon, murmuring from the dust. 
Dares into judgment call her judge. — Supreme! 
For all I bless Thee ; most for the severe ; 
Her death* — my own at hand — the fiery gulf, 
That flaming bound of wrath onniipotent ! 
It thunders; — but it thunders to preserve; 
It strengthens what it strikes ; its wholesome dread 
Averts the dreaded pain : its hideous groans 
Join heaven's sweet hallelujahs in thy praise. 
Great Source of good alone! how kind in all! 
In vengeance kind ! pain, death, gchenna, save I j 

Thus, in thy world material, mighty Mind! 
Not that alone which solaces and shines, 
The rough and gloomy, challenges our praise. 
The winter is as needful as the spring; 
The thunder as the sun. A stagnate mass 
Of vapours breeds a pestilential air : 
Nor more propitious the Favonian breeze 
To Nature's health, than jiurifying storms. 
The dread volcano ministers to good ; 
Its smothered flames might undermine the world. 
Loud .yEtnas fulminate in love to man : 
Comets good omens are, when duly scanned ; 
And, in their use, eclipses learn to shine. 
Man is responsible tor ills received ; 



• Referring to the Fh-st Night, 



Lucia, 



THE CONSOLATION. 



73 



Thoso wc call wretched arc a clioscn band, 

Compelled to refuge in the rifjht, for peace. 

Amid my list of blessings inlinito 

Stund this the foremost, ' That my heart has bled.' 

'Tis Heaven's last elfort of good-will to man. 

When pain can't bless, Heaven quits us in despair ! 

Who fails to grieve, when just occasion calls. 

Or grieves too much, deserves not to be blessed; 

Inhuman, or elleminate, his heart. 

Reason absolves the grief which reason ends. 

May Heaven ne'er trust my friend with happiness. 

Till it has taught him how to bear it well 

By previous pain, and made it safe to smile I 

Such smiles arc mine, and such may they remain. 

Nor hazard their extinction from excess. 

My change of heart a change of style demands ; 

The Consolation cancels the Complaint, 

And makes a convert of my guilty song. 

As when o'er-laboured, and inclined to breathe, 
A panting traveller some rising ground, 
Some small ascent, has gained, he turns him round, 
And measures with his eye the various vale. 
The fields, woods, meads, and rivers, he has past. 
And, satiate of his journey, thinks of home, 
Endeared by distance, nor aHects more toil ; 
Thus I, though small, indeed, is that ascent 
The muse has gained, review the paths she trod, 
Various, extensive, beaten but by few ; 
And, conscious of her prudence in repose, 
Pause, and with pleasure meditate an end. 
Though still remote ; so fruitful is my theme. 
Through many a field of moral and divine 
The Muse has strayed, and much of sorrow seen 
In human ways, and much of false and vain. 
Which none who travel this bad road can miss. 
O'er friends deceased full heartily she wept ; 
Of love divine the wonders she displayed ; 
Proved man immortal ; showed the source of Joy ; 
The grand tribunal raised ; assigned the bounds 
Of human grief In few, to close the whole. 
The moral Muse has shadowed out a sketch, 
Though not in form, nor with a Raphael stroke, 
Of most our weakness needs believe or do, 
In this our land of travail and of hope, 
For peace on earth, or prospect of the skies. 

What then remains 1 much! much! a mighty debt 
To be discharged. These thoughts, O Night ! arc 

thine ; 
From thee they came, like lovers' secret sighs, 
While others slept. So Cynthia, (poets feign) 
In shadows veiled, soft-sliding from her sphere, 
Her shepherd cheered ; of her enamoured less 
Than I of thee. — And art thou still unsung, 
Beneath whose brow, and by whose aid, I sing*? 
Immortal Silence! where shall I begin 1 
Where end 7 or how steal music from the spheres 
To eooth their goddess 1 

O majestic Night 
Nature's great ancestor ! Day's elder-born I 



And fated to survive the transient Sun ! 

By mortals and immortals seen with awe ! 

A starry crown thy raven brow adorns, 

An a'/ure zone thy waist ; clouds, in heaven's loom 

Wrought through varieties of shape and shade, 

In ample folds of drapery divine, 

Thy flowing mantle form, and. Heaven throughout, 

Voluminously pour thy pompous train : 

Thy glooiuy grandeurs (Nature's most august, 

Inspiring aspect!) claim a grateful verse; 

And, like a sable curtain starred with gold. 

Drawn o'er my labours past, sludl close; the scene. 

And what, O man ! so wortliy to be sung"? 
What more prepares us for the songs of Heaven 1 
Creation of archangels is the theme ! 
What to bo sung so needful, what so well 
Celestial joys prepare us to sustain 1 
The soul of man, His face designed to sec 
Who gave these wonders to be seen by man. 
Has here a previous scene of objects great 
On which to dwell ; to stretch to that expanse 
Of thought, to rise to that exalted height 
Of admiration, to contract that awe. 
And give her whole capacities that strength, 
Which best may qualify for final joy. 
The more our spirits arc (jnlargcd on earth, 
The deeper draught shall they receive of Heaven. 

Heaven's King! whose face unveiled consum- 
mates bliss. 
Redundant bliss! which fills that mighty void 
The whole Creation leaves in human hearts! 
Thou, who did'st touch thelij) of Jesse's son, 
Rapt in sweet contemplation of these fires. 
And set his harp in concert with the splieres. 
While of thy works material the Su[)remo 
I dare attempt, assist my daring song: 
Loose me from earth's inclosure; from the sun's 
Contracted circle set my heart at large ; 
Eliminate my spirit, give it range 
Through provinces of thought yet unexplored; 
Teach me, by this stupendous scaffolding, 
Creation's golden steps, to climb to Thee: 
Teach me with art great Nature to control, 
And spread a lustre o'er the shades of niglit. 
Feel I thy kind assent ? and shall the sun 
Be seen at midnight, rising in my song 1 

Lorenzo! come, and warm thee: thou, whose 
heart. 
Whose little heart, is moored within a nook 
Of this oljscure terrestrial, anchor weigh; 
Another ocean calls, a noliler port ; 
I am thy pilot, I thy prosperous gale: 
Gainful thy voyage through yon azure main, 
Main without tempest, pirate, rock, or shore, 
And whence thou may'st import eternal wealth, 
And leave to beggared minds the pearl and gold. 
Thy travels dost thou boast o'er foreign realms 1 
Thou stranger to the world! thy tour begin; 
Thy tour through Nature's universal orb. 



w 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Nature (IrlitH'Rton hor whold chart at htgn, 
On mmriii<r hhiiIh, timt Hnil amoiiK tlio 8|)lu'ri>ii; 
J^Il(l iimiiliow |)iirl>liiiil, if niikiiowii (lio wliolc. 
Will) ciirlcH H()m-ii>iiH tmitli, llu>ii IimvcIh Iumo, 
SImll own Ivo iwwr was I'roin hoinn bctorc. 
('oini', my IVoiik-IIumimI* IVmii lliy |n>inl('il ri)ck 
OC IiiIhc mnliilion, it' iiiiclmiiu'd, wo'll mount; 
Wo'll, innownlly, hIchI cclcHlinl lire, 
And khiilliMiur dovofion iit Uio hIiii-h; 
A llu-n I lull hIimII not clmin, lull st«(. tluw froo. 

Aliovo our !ilmoHplii'n''H iiiloNtini' vvnr«, 
llaiuH ronntiiiii hi'iid, the nmif»/.ino ol'hail; 
Al'ovc (I«i> noillicrn ncH(rtorii>a(li(>ri'(l Hnovvn, 
'rii(> ln-i'W ol' Iliirndt'i-H, and (he llMmin<r forfjo 
'I'lial lorms llio rroolit'd lij;liliiiiij;; 'Itovo thi'cavrM 
WlioM' infant lomiM^sU wait tlu'ir jjrowinj^ winijH, 
And tmif llifir (ciidcr voices lo tlinl roar 
WI\ioli noon, |n>rliniiN, Hliall Hliak<' a fjuilty world; 
AIkivo niiwonstruod (imons oftlio »ky, 
l''Mr travcili'd comctn' cali-nliilcil l>ln/.<>, 
Islanco thy llion^lil, and lliink of moro than man: 
'I'liy Houl, till now contrnrtod, witliortul, HJirunk, 
Ivlif^htod iiy MaslH of oarthV nnwholcHomo air, 
Will lilonsom liiM'c; Hpn'ad all her facnilicH 
'I'o tlu-Mc lirio;li( ardourn; i'vi>ry power unfold, 
And riw" into HulilimilicH of tlioufjiit. 
SlarH toacli, an well an Hliini". At Nuluro's birth 
'riiiiH llicir commiMMioii ran. -' Me Kind to man.' 
VVIicrcart tlion, jioor lifni;;litc(l Iravollorl 
Tlio Htarn will li;r|it thoo, thou^lt tho inoon Hhould 

fail. 
Whoro art thon, inoro lMMiif{ht<'d! moro uHtniy! 
Ill way« immoralf tho stiu-Hcali thoo back. 
And, if obeyed tiieir counsel, set ihee riijbt. 

This prospeet vast, wbal is it !—VVeij;bed aright 
'Tin INalure'MsystiMU of divinity, 
And every Htudent of the nijjlil inspires. 
''l"is elder Scripture, writ by (Jod's own hand; 
Scripture autbentic! nncorrupt by man. 
Loren/.o I with my radius (the rich );itl 
Of thought lUK'turmd') I'll point out lo thoo 
lis various lessons; some Ibal nuiy surjiriso 
An uuadept in mysteries of iNi^hl ; 
Little, jierhftjw, <>xpocteil in hor mcIiooI, 
Nor Ihouiiht lo ijrow on planet or on star; 
Hulls, lions, sciu'pious, mon.sters here we feifjfli, 
OureclvcH more inonstrt)us, not to sec wiiut Ivere 
Kxists, indeed, — a lecture lo mankind! 

What read wo here I th' existi'uce of a Qodl 
Yos: Hiid ofothor boinirs, man above; 
Natives ofethorl sons of hifjber climes! 
Aiul, wbal may move l.oreu/.o's wonder moiv, 
Kternity is writti'n in the skies. 
And whose eternity 1 l..on"U'/.o! thine; 
Mankind's etoruity. Nor faith alone, 
Virtue fjrowii hero; hero Hpringn tlio sovereign 
euro 



' Soo NIglit tho lilglitli, 1% a&S. 



Of ahuoHt ovory vice, but chiorty thine, 
Wrath, prid(<, ambition, and impure desiro. 

l.(iren7.o! thou canst wakeat miduii,;bt too, 
'I'houi^li not on morals bent. Ambition, IMeaHura! 
'riioHo tyrants I forth(>o ao iutely l()nj;ht,* 
Alliird their hnrnssed slaves but slender rest. 
'I'bou, to whom midni;;lit is immoral noon, 
And tho Hun'n noon-tide blnxo priino dawn of dajj 
Not by thy climal(\ but capricious criino, 
( 'ommencini; one of our aniipodesi 
In thy lUM-turual rove one luomeiit halt, 
"I'wixt stajje and slaire of riot and cabal, 
And lilt thine eye (if Ixild an eye lo litl, 
If bold lo meet the l°aci< of injured I leavtMO 
To yonder stars: for otherends they shinu 
'riian to liijhl nwellers from shame to slmino, 
And thus be made a<'com|ilices iuffuilt, 

Why from yon arch, that inlinile of space, 
With iiilinito of lucid orlw replete, 
Whi<'h set the livini; firmament on lire. 
At the first f^laiice, in such an overwhelm 
Of vvondt>rfnl on inan's astonished sight 
ilusbes OmnipoliMice'f— To curb our pride. 
Our reason rouse, and lead it to that I'ower 
Whose love lets down these silver chains of light; 
To draw up man's ambition lo himself, 
And bind our ciiasle alVeclions to bis thrnno. 
Thus the three virtuci, least alive on earth, 
And welcomed on lleavcira coast with most op- 

plause. 
An humlile, ptn-e, anil heavenly minded heart, 
Are here insi)ired; — and canst ihouga/.e too loiigl 

Nor standH thy wrath deprived of its reproof, 
Or umipbraided by this railiaul choir. 
The planets of each system r<>present 
Kind neighlwurs; mutual ninily prevails 
Sweet inlerchauite of rays, received, returned, 
iMiliiOileninjf and eidi^rhleni'd! all, at once, 
Allracliiig and attracted! patriot like. 
None sins against the welfare of the whole; 
I'll! their reciprocal, nnsellish aiil, 
Alfortlsan emblem of millenial love. 
Nothing in nature, much less conscious being, 
Was e'er cn>aled solely for itself. 
Thus man his soven'ign duty learns in this 
A'lalerial picture of benevolence. 

And know, of oil our sujH'n'ilious race, 
Thou most iulliimmatile! Ihou wasp of men ! 
Man's angry heart, insp<>cled, would be found 
As rightly set as are the starry spheres: 
'Tis Natur«>'s structure, broke by stubborn Will, 
Hri>eds all that unceleslial discord there. 
AVilt thou not leel the bias Nature gave ? 
t^anst thou descend from converse with Ihe skies, 
And seize thy brother's throat?— For what }—» 

clod 7 
An inch of eartli? Tho planets cry ' l''orlH5ar.' 



* In Night (ha Eighth. 



THE CONSOLATION. 



75 



Thoy {•htmo our (loul)Io (larlui(^fcirt| Niituro'fl gloom, 
And, (kinder Mtill,) our iiitclli'cliiid iiiiflit. 

And M'c, Day'w iiniialilc Sister Hciida 
Her invitation, in the HofVoHt rays 
Of niitii^iitcd liiMtro ; courts tliy Ki;;1it 
Wlucli n(dli'r« I'roiM licr tyrunl lirolhcr'ri lilazc. 
Niijht fjraiitrt tlico tlm lull IVccdoni of thti hIui'H, 
Nor ruilt'ly n'|iriinandH thy lillt'd eye; 
Willi ii;ain and joy she hrihes Ihce to bo wise. 
Ni^rht open the nohlesl Hceues, and sheds an awo 
W liie.il f^ives those vent-rahle Heeiiew lull weiifht. 
And deep ree.i'ption in the entendered heart; 
While li;^r|it |n'e|is tiiroujj;li the darkness like a spy, 
And darkness shows its grandeur by the lij^lit. 
Nor is the prolit greater than the joy, 
If liuinati liearls at ifjorious ohjeets <,;low, 
And admiration can inspires deliirht. 

What Hpeak 1 more, than 1 tliis moment feci 1 
With pleasni^ stupor lirst the soul is struck, 
(Stupor ordained to make her truly wise;) 
Then into transport startinij from her trance, 
With love and admiration how siie jrlows; 
This j;or}j;eonH apparatus — tiiis display — 
This ost(Mit!iti(»n of creative power! 
This theatre! l^what eye can lake it in 'f 
By what divine enchantment was it raised. 
For minds of the lirst ma;riiitude to launch 
In eniiless Hi)eculation and adonil 
One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine, 
And ii;^dit us deep into the Deity; 
lldW lioundless in mngnilicenee and might! 
O what a confluence of ctlureal lircs. 
From urns uiniundiered, down the titeep of heaven, 
Htreams to a point, and centres in my sight: 
Nor tarries there ; 1 feel it at my heart : 
My heart, at once, it humbles and exalts; 
Lays it in dust, and calls it to th(( skies. 
Who sees it unexidted, or unawed ( 
Who sees it, and can stop at what is seen 1 
Material oll'spring of onniipotence! 
Inanimate, ail-anim:ilin<r birth ! 
Work worthy him who made it ; worthy |>raido — 
AH praise; praise more than human; nor (Jonicd 
Thy praise divine. Hut though man, drowned in 

siciep. 
Withholds his homage, not alone I wake; 
I'riijht h'gions swarm unseen, and sing unheard 
By itiortal ear, tiu; glorious Ari'hitecl, 
In this his iniiversal temple, hinig 
With lustres, with iiuiumeral)l(! lights, 
That slied religion on the soul; ut onco 
The temple and tin; preacher. <) how loud 
It calls devotion ; — genuine! growtii of Night! 

,■ Devotion ! daughter of Astronomy 1 
An undevout astronomer is mad. 
'I'rne; all things speak aUod; but in the small, 
Men trace out Him; in great. He seizes man; 
Seizes, and ehivates, and wraps, and fills 
Witli new enquiries, mid associutcH new. 



Tell me, ye stars, ye jjlam^ts ; tell me, idl 

Ye starred and |)laneted inhaliitiinlH, — what is itl 

What arc! these sons of wonder ! Say, [irond Arch, 

(Within whose azure palaces th(!y dwell) 

Huilt with divini! ambition; in <lisdjin 

( >f limit, built ; built in tlu! tastt! of 1 leaven ! 

Vast concave — am|)le dome ! wast thou designed 

A meet apartment for tiie Deity 1 

Not so; that thought alone thy state impairs, 

Thy lolly siidtH, and shallows thy profound. 

And strengtiiens thy dillusive ; dwarfs the whole, 

And makes an Universe and Orniry. 

15ut when 1 drop mine (!ye, and look on man, 
Thy right regaiiKid, thy grand<!ur is nstored, 
Nature! wide (lies ofl" the expanding round: 
As wlien whole magazines, at once, are (ired, 
'i'he smitten air is Iiollow(!<l by the blow. 
The vast dis|>losion dissipates the clouds. 
Shocked ether's biUows dash the distant skies; 
Thus (but far more) tlu! expanding round Hies olT, 
An<l leaves a mighty void, a spa(!ious wond), 
Mii;ht teem with new creation; reinllamed, 
'I'hy luminaries triumph, and assume 
Divinity themselves. Nor was it Strang"!. 
Matter, higli wrought to su(!h surprising pomp. 
Such godlike glory, stole the stylo of gods, 
I'Vom ages dark, obtUNe, and steeped in S(!llS(! : 
b'or sure to sciuse lh(!y truly ari! diviiic!. 
And half absolved iih)latry from »juilt. 
Nay, turned it into virtue. Such it was 
lntla)Hi!, who put forth all tiiey had of man 
IJnlost, to lill th(!ir thought, nor momited higher; 
Hut, weak of wing, on planets perched, undtiiought 
What was their highest must hi! their adorcid. 

Hut thi!y how weak, who coidd no higher mountl 
And are there, tluin, Lorenzo, those to whom 
Unseen, and unexistent, are the samel 
And if inconipr(!hensii)l<i is joined. 
Who dan; [)ronounce it madness to believel 
Why has the mighty Builder thrown asido 
All measure in his work 7 stretched out his lino 
So far, and spread amazement o'er the whole'? 
Then (as he took delight in wide extremes) 
Deep in the bosom of his Universe 
Dropped down that reasoning mit<!, that insect, 

man ! 
To crawl, and gaze, and woud(!r at the scene 'J — 
That irian might ne'er presume to plead amaze- 
ment 
i''or disbelief of wond<'rs in himself. 
Shall (jod bo less miraculous, than what 
II is hand has form'd '! siiall mysteries descond 
l''rom inmiyHt,(!rious'i things more elevate, 
Be more familiar '! unoreated li(! 
More! obvious than created, to the grasp 
( )f human thought '! Tiie more of wonch'rful 
Is heard in Him, the nuin: we should assent, 
(.'ould wo conceive him. Clod he could not boj 
lOr he not Clod, or wo could not bo men. 



76 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



A God alone can comprehend a God : 
Man's distance how immense ! On such a theme, 
Know this, Lorenzo ! (seem it ne'er so strange) 
Nothing can satisfy but what confounds ; 
Nothing but what astonishes, is true. 
The scene thou seest attests the truth I sing, 
And every star sheds light upon thy creed. 
These stars, this furniture, this cost of Heaven, 
If but reported, thou hadst ne'er beUeved ; 
But thine eye tells thee the romance is true. 
The grand of Nature is the Almighty's oath 
In Reason's court, to silence Unbelief. 

How my mind, opening at this scene, imbibes 
The moral emanations of the skies, 
While nought, perhaps, Lorenzo less admires ! 
Has the Great Sovereign sent ten thousand worlds 
To tell us, He resides above them all, 
In glory's unapproachable recess ? 
And dare earth's bold inhabitants deny 
The sumptuous, the magnific embassy, 
A moment's audience 1 Turn we, nor will hear 
From whom they come, or what they would impart 
For man's emolument ; sole cause that stoops 
Their grandeur to man's eye ? Lorenzo ! rouse ; 
Let thought, awakened, take the lightning's wing, 
And glance from east to west, from pole to pole. 
Who sees, but is confounded, or convinced 1 
Renounces reason, or a God adores 1 
Mankind was sent into the world to see : 
Sight gives the science needful to their peace ; 
r" That obvious science asks small learning's aid. 
"*Wouldst thou on metaphysic pinions soarl 
Or wound thy patience amid logic thorns'? 
Or travel history's enormous round 1 
Nature no such hard task enjoins : she gave 
A make to man directive of his thought ; 
A make set upright, pointing to the stars. 
As who shall say, ' Read thy chief lesson there.' 
Too late to read this manuscript of Heaven, 
When, like a parchment-scroll, shrunk up by 

flames, 
It folds Lorenzo's lesson from his sight. 

Lesson how various ! not the God alone, 
I see his ministers ; I see, diffused 
k In radiant orders, essences sublime. 
Of various offices, of various plume, 
In heavenly liveries distinctly clad. 
Azure, green, purple, pearl, or downy gold, 
Or all commixed ; they stand, with wings out- 
spread. 
Listening to catch the Master's least command, 
And fly through nature ere the moment ends ; 
Numbers innumerable!- Well conceived 
By Pagan and by Christian ! O'er each sphere 
Presides an angel, to direct its course, 
And feed, or fan, its flames ; or to discharge 
Other high trusts unknown ; for who can see 
Such pomp of matter, and imagine mind 
(For which alone inanimate was made) 



More sparingly dispensed 7 that nobler son. 
Far liker the great Sire ! — 'Tis thus the skies 
Inform us of superiors numberless, 
As much, in excellence, above mankind, 
As above earth, in magnitude, the spheres. 
These, as a cloud of witnesses, hang o'er us : 
In a thronged theatre all our deeds. 
Perhaps a thousand demigods descend 
On every beam we see, to walk with men. 
Awful reflection ! strong restraint from ill ! 

Yet here, our virtue finds still stronger aid 
From these ethereal glories sense surveys. 
Something, like magic, strikes from this blue vault: 
With just attention is it viewed 1 we feel 
A sudden succour, unimplored, unthought. 
Nature herself does half the work of man. 
Seas, rivers, mountains, forests, deserts, rocks. 
The promontory's height, the depth profound 
Of subterranean excavated grots, 
Black-browed, and vaulted high, and yawning wide, 
From Nature's structure, or the scoop of Time ; 
If ample of dimension, vast of size. 
E'en these an aggrandizing impulse give ; 
O-f solemn thought enthusiastic heights 
Ev'n these infuse. — But what of vast in these 1 
Nothing — or we must own the skies forgot. 
Much less in art. — Vain Art ! thou pigmy power ! 
How dost thou swell, and strut, with human pride, 
To show thy littleness! What childish toys, 
Thy watry columns squirted to the clouds ! 
Thy basined rivers and imprisoned seas ! 
Thy mountains moulded into forms of men ! 
Thy hundred-gated capitals ! or those 
Where three days' travel left us much to ride ; 
Gazing on miracles by mortals wrought, 
Arches triumphal, theatres immense. 
Or nodding gardens pendent in mid air! 
Or temples proud to meet their gods half-way ! 
Yet these aflect us in no common kind : 
What then the force of such superior scenes 1 
Enter a temple, it will strike an awe : 
What awe from this the Deity has built 1 
A good man seen, though silent, counsel gives : 
The touched spectator wishes to be wise. 
In a bright mirror His own hands have made, 
Here we see something like the face of God. 
Seems it not then enough to say, Lorenzo, 
To man abandoned, ' Hast thou seen the skies'?' 

And yet, so thwarted Nature's kind design 
By daring man, he makes her sacred awe 
(That guard from ill) liis shelter, his temptation 
To more than common guilt, and quite inverts 
Celestial Art's intent. The trembling stars 
See crimes gigantic, stalking through the gloom 
With front erect, that hide their head by day, 
And making night still darker by their deeds. 
Slumbering in covert, till the shades descend. 
Rapine and Murder, linked, now prowl for prey. 
The miser earths his treasure ; and the thief 



THE CONSOLATION. 



7T 



Watching the mole, half-beggars him ere morn. 
Now plots and foul conspiracies awake, 
And, muffling up their horrors from the moon, 
Havock and devastation they prepare, 
And kingdoms tottering in the field of blood. 
Now sons of riot in mid-revel rage. 
What shall I do? — suppress iti or proclaim? 
Why sleeps the thunder ? Now, Lorenzo ! now 
His best friend's couch the rank adulterer 
Ascends secure, and laughs at gods and men. 
Preposterous madmen, void of fear or shame, 
Lay their crimes bare to these chaste eyes of 

Heaven, 
Yet shrink and shudder at a mortal's sight. 
Were moon and stars for villains only made 
To guide, yet screen them, with tenebrious light 1 
No ; they were made to fashion the sublime 
Of human hearts, and wiser make the wise. 

Those ends were answered once, when mortals 
lived 
Of stronger wing, of aquiline ascent, 
In theory sublime. O how unlike 
Those vermine of the night, this moment sung. 
Who crawl on earth, and on her venom feed ! 
Those ancient sages, human stars ! they met 
Their brothers of the skies at midnight hour, 
Their counsel asked, and what they asked obeyed. 
The Stagirite, and Plato, he who drank 
The poisoned bowl, and he of Tusculum, 
With him of Corduba, (immortal names !) 
In these unbounded and Elysian walks, 
An area fit for gods and godhke men. 
They took their nightly round, through radiant 

paths, 
By seraphs trod; instructed, chiefly, thus, 
To tread in their bright footsteps here below. 
To walk in worth still brighter than the skies. 
There they contracted their contempt of earth; 
Of hopes eternal kindled there the fire ; 
There, as in near approach, they glowed, and grew 
(Great visitants !) more intimate with Goo, 
More worth to men, more joyous to themselves. 
Through various virtues they, with ardour, ran 
The zodiac of their learned illustrious hves. 

In Christian hearts for a Pagan zeal ! 
A needful, but opprobrious prayer ! as much 
Our ardour less, as is our greater light. 
How monstrous this in morals! Scarce more 

strange 
Would this phenomenon in nature strike, 
A sun that froze her, or a star that Warmed. 

What taught these heroes of the moral world ? 
To these thou giv'st thy praise, give credit too. 
These doctors ne'er were pensioned to deceive thee. 
And Pagan tutors are thy taste? — They taught, 
That narrow views betrays to misery; 
That wise it is to comprehend the whole ; 
That virtue rose from nature, pondered well. 
The single base of virtue built to Heaven j 



That God and Nature our attention claim; 

That Nature is the glass reflecting God, 

As, by the sea, reflected is the sun. 

Too glorious to be gazed on in his sphere; 

That mind immortal loves immortal aims; 

That boundless mind affects a boundless space; 

That vast surveys, and the sublime of things, 

The soul assimilate, and make her great; 

That, therefore. Heaven her glories, as a fund 

Of inspiration, thus spreads out to man. 

Such are their doctrines; such the Night inspired. 

And what more true? what truth of greater 
weight? 
The soul of man was made to walk the skies, 
Delightful outlet of her prison here ! 
There, disencumbered of her chains, the ties 
Of toys terrestrial, she can rove at large ; 
There freely can respire, dilate, extend. 
In full proportion let loose all her powers, 
And, undeluded, grasp at something great. 
Nor as a stranger does she wander there. 
But, wondering herself, through wonder strays; 
Contemplating their grandeur, finds her own; 
Dives deep in their economy divine. 
Sits high in judgment on their various laws, 
And, Uke a master, judges not amiys. 
Hence greatly pleased, and justly proud, the soul 
Grows conscious of her birth celestial; breathes 
More life, more vigour, in her native air, 
And feels herself at home among the stars, 
And, feeling, emulates her country's praise. 

What call we, then, the firmament, Lorenzo 1 
As earth the body, since the skies sustain 
The soul with food that gives immortal life. 
Call it the noblest pasture of the mind. 
Which there expatiates, strengthens, and exults, 
And riots through the luxuries of thought. 
Call it the garden of the Deity, 
Blossomed with stars, redundant in the growth 
Of fruit ambrosial, moral fruit to man. 
Call it the breast-plate of the true High-priest, 
Ardent with gems oracular, that give. 
In points of highest moment, right response ; 
And ill neglected, if we prize our peace. 

Thus have we found a true astrology; 
Thus have we found a new and noble sense. 
In which alone stars govern human fates. 
O that the stars (as some have feigned) let fall 
Bloodshed and havock on embattled realms, 
And rescued monarchs from so black a guilt! 
Bourbon ! this wish how generous in a foe ! 
Wouldst thou be great, wouldst thou become a god, 
And stick thy deathless name among the stars, 
For mighty conquests on a needle's point? 
Instead of forging chains for foreigners; 
Bastile, thy tutor; grandeur, all thy aim? 
As yet thou know'st not what it is. How great, 
How glorious, then appears the mind of man, 
When in it all the stars and planets roll! 



78 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



And what it seems, it is. Great objects make 
Great minds, enlarging as their views enlarge; 
Those still more godlike as these more divine. 

And more divine than these, thou canst not see. 
Dazzled, o'erpowered, with the delicious draught 
Of miscellaneous splendours, how I reel 
From thought to thought, inebriate, without end! 
An Eden this ! a Paradise unlost • 
I meet tiie Deity in every view. 
And tremble at my nakedness before him! 
O that I could but reach the tree of life ; 
For here it grows unguarded from our taste; 
No flaming sword denies our entrance here : 
Would man but gather, he might live for ever. 

Lorenzo! much of mortal hast thou seen: 
Of curious arts art thou more fond 1 then mark 
The mathematic glories of the skies. 
In number, weight, and measure, all ordained. 
Lorenzo's boasted builders, Chance and Fate, 
Are left to finish his aerial towers; 
Wisdom and Choice, their well-known characters 
Here deep impress, and claim it for their own. 
Though splendid all, no splendour void of use. 
Use rivals beauty, art contends with power ; 
No wanton waste amid effuse expanse, 
The great Economist adjusting all 
To prudent pomp, magnificently wise. 
How rich the prospect! and for ever new; 
And newest, to the man that views it most; 
For newer still in infinite succeeds. 
Then these aerial racers, O how swift! 
How the shaft loiters from the strongest string; 
Spirit alone can distance the career, 
Orb above ascending, without end ! 
Circle in circle, without end, inclosed! 
Wheel within wheel, Ezekiel, like to thine ! 
Like thine, it seems a vision or a dream: 
Though seen, wc labour to believe it true! 
What involution ! what extent! what swarms 
Of worlds, that laugh at earth! immensely great ! 
Immensely distant from each other's spheres ! 
What, then, the wondrous space through which 

they roll! 
At once it quite ingulfs all human thought; 
'Tis Comprehension's absolute defeat. 

Nor think thou seest a wild disorder here: 
Through this illustrious chaos to the sight. 
Arrangement neat and chastest order reign. 
The path prescribed, inviolably kept. 
Upbraids the lawless sallies of mankind. 
Worlds, ever thwarting, never interfere ; 
What knots are tied ! how soon are they dissolved, 
And set the seeming married planets free ! 
They rove for ever, without error rove ; 
Confusion unconfused I nor less admire 
This tumult untumultuous ; all on wing ! 
In motion all ! yet what profound repose ; 
What fervid action, yet no noise ! as awed 
To silence by the presence of their Lord ; 



Or hushed, by his command, in love to man. 
And bid let fall soft beams on human rest. 
Restless themselves. On yon cerulean plain, 
In exultation to their God and thine, 
They dance, they sing eternal jubilee, 
Eternal celebration of his praise I 
But since their song arrives not at our ear, 
Their dance perplexed exhibits to the sight 
Fair hieroglyphic of his peerless power. 
Mark how the labyrinthian turns they take. 
The circles intricate, and mystic maze. 
Weave the grand cipher of Omnipotence ; 
To gods how great ! how legible to man ! 

Leaves so much wonder greater wonder still 1 
Where are the pillars that support the skies 1 
What more than Atlantean shoulder props 
Th' incumbent load 1 what magic, what strange art, 
In fluid air these ponderous orbs sustains 1 
Who would not think them hung in golden chains'? 
And so they are ; in the high will of Heaven, 
Which fixes all ; makes adamant. 
Or air of adamant ; makes all of nought, 
Or nought of all, if such the dread decree. 

Imagine, from their deep foundations torn, 
The most gigantic sons of earth, the broad 
And towering Alps, all tossed into the sea ; 
And, light as down, or volatile as air, 
Their bulks enormous dancing on the waves, 
In time and measure exquisite ; while all 
The winds, in emulation of the spheres, 
Tune their sonorous instruments aloft. 
The concert swell, and animate the ball. 
Would this appear amazing 1 — what then worlds 
In a far thinner element sustained. 
And acting the same part with greater skill. 
More rapid movement, and for noblest ends 1 

More obvious ends to pass, are not these stars 
The seats majestic, proud imperial thrones, 
On which angelic delegates of Heaven, 
At certain periods, as the Sovereign nods. 
Discharge high trusts of vengeance or of love, 
To clothe in outward grandeur grand design. 
And acts more solemn still more solemnize 1 
Ye citizens of air ! what ardent tlianks, 
What full effusion of the grateful heart, 
Is due from man. indulged in such a sight ! 
A sight so noble ! and a sight so kind ! 
It drops new truths at every now survey ! 
Feels not Lorenzo something stir within. 
That sweeps away all period 1 As these spheres 
Measure duration, they no less inspire 
The godlike hope of ages without end. 
The boundless space, through which these rovers 

take 
Their restless roam, suggests the sister-thoughr. 
Of boundless time. Thus, by kind Nature's skill, 
To man unlaboiured, that important guest, 
Eternity, finds entrance at the sight ; 
And an eternity for man ordained, 



THE CONSOLATION. 



79 



Or these his destined midnight counsellors, 
The stars, had never whispered it to man. 
Nature informs, but ne'er insults, her sons : 
Could she, then, kindle the most ardent wish 
To disappoint it? — That is blasphemy! 
Thus of thy creed a second article. 
Momentous as the existence of a God, 
Is found (as I conceive) where rarely sought, 
And thou may'st read thy soul immortal here. 

Here, then, Lorenzo ! on these glories dwell, 
Nor want the gilt, illuminated roof. 
That calls the wretched gay to dark delights. 
Assemblies 7 — this is one divinely bright ; 
Here, unendangered in health, wealth, or fame, 
Range through the fairest, and the Sultan scorn. 
He, wise as thou, no crescent holds so fair 
As that which on his turban awes a world, 
And thinks the moon is proud to copy him. 
Look on her, and gain more than worlds can give, 
A mind superior to the charms of power. 
Thou, muffled in delusions of this life ! 
Can yonder moon turn Ocean in his bed 
From side to side, in constant ebb and flow, 
And purify from stench his watery realms. 
And fails her moral influence 1 wants she power 
To turn Lorenzo's stubborn tide of thought 
From stagnating on earth's infected shore, 
And purge from nuisance his corrupted heart 7 
Fails her attraction, when it draws to Heaven ? 
Nay, and to what thou valuest more, earth's joy 1 
Minds elevate, and panting for unseen. 
And defecate from sense, alone obtain 
Full relish of existence undeflowered, 
The life of life, the zest of worldly bliss; 
All else on earth amounts — to what 1 to this, 
' Bad to be suffered, blessings to be left :' 
Earth's richest inventory boasts no more. 

Of higher scenes be then the call obeyed. 
O let me gaze ! — of gazing there's no end. 
O let me think !— thought, too, is wildered here ; 
In mid-way flight Imagination tires ; 
Yet soon reprunes her wing to soar anew, 
Her point unable to forbear or gain ; 
So great the pleasure, so profound the plan ! 
A banquet this, where men and angels meet. 
Eat the same manna, mingle earth and Heaven. 
How distant some of these nocturnal suns ! 
So distant (says the sage) 'twere not absurd 
To doubt if beams, set out at Nature's birth, 
Are yet arrived at this so foreign world. 
Though nothing half so rapid as their flight. 
An eye of awe and wonder let me roll. 
And roll for ever. Who can satiate sight 
In such a scene 1 in such an ocean wide 
Of deep astonishment, where depth, height, breadth 
Are lost in their extremes ; and where to count 
The thick-sown glories in this field of fire, 
Perhaps a seraph's computation fails. 
19 Z 



Now go, Ambition ! boast thy boundless might 
In conquest o'er the tenth part of a grain. 

And yet Lorenzo calls for miracles, 
To give his tottering faith a solid base. 
Why call for less than is already thine 1 
Thou art no novice in theology : 
What is a miracle ? — 'tis a reproacn, 
'Tis an implicit satire on mankind, 
And while it satisfies it censures too. 
To common sense great Nature's course proclaims 
A Deity. When mankind falls asleep, 
A miracle is sent as an alarm 
To wake the world, and prove him o'er again, 
By recent argument, but not more strong. 
Say which imports more plenitude of power. 
Or Nature's laws to fix, or to repeal ? 
To make a sun, or stop his mid career? 
To countermand his orders, and send back 
The flaming courier to the frighted east, 
Warmed and astonished at his evening ray : 
Or bid the moon, as with her journey tired, 
In Ajalon's soft flowery vale repose? 
Great things are these ? still greater to create. 
From Adam's bower look down through the whole 

train 
Of miracles; — resistless is their power! 
They do not, can not, more ama2« the mind, 
Than this, called unmiraculous survey. 
If duly weighed, if rationally seen, 
If seen with human eyes. The brute, indeed. 
Sees nought but spangles here ; the fool no more. 
Say'st thou, ' The course of Nature governs all?' 
The course of Nature is the art of God. 
The miracles thou call'st for, this attest ; 
For say, could Nature Nature's course control? 

But, miracles apart, who sees him not 
Nature's Controller, Author, Guide, and End? 
Who turns his eye on Nature's midnight face. 
But must inquire — ' What hand behind the scene, 
What arm Almighty, put these wheeling globes 
In motion, and wound up the vast machine ? 
Who rounded in his palm these spacious orbs? 
Who bowled them flaming through the dark pro- 
found. 
Numerous as glittering gems of morning dew, 
Or sparks from populous cities in a blaze, 
And set the bosom of old Night on fire. 
Peopled her desert, and made Horror smile ?' 
Or if the military style delights thee, 
(For stars have fought their battles, leagued with 

man) 
' Who marshals this bright host ? enrols their 

names. 
Appoints their posts, their marches, and returns, 
Punctual, at stated periods ? who disbands 
These veteran troops, their final duty done. 
If e'er disbanded? — He, whose potent word, i 

Like the loud trumpet, levied first their powers 



* 



80 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



In Night's inglorious empire, wiiere they slept 
In beds of darkness; armed them with fierce 

flames ; 
Arranged, and disciplined, and clothed in gold. 
And called them out of Chaos to the field. 
Where now they war with Vice and Unbelief. 
O let us join this army ! joining these 
Will give us hearts intrepid, at that hour 
When brighter flames shall cut a darker night; 
When these strong demonstrations of a God 
Shall hide their heads, or tumble from their 

spheres, 
And one eternal curtain cover all! 

Struck at that thought, as new-awaked, I lift 
A more enlightened eye, and read the stars 
To man still more propitious, and their aid 
(Though guiltless of idolatry) implore. 
Nor longer rob them of their noblest name. 
O ye dividers of my time ! ye bright 
Accomptants of my days, and months, and years. 
In your fair kalendar distinctly marked! 
Since that authentic, radiant register, 
Though man inspects it not, stands good against 

him ; 
Since you and years roll on, though man stands 

still, 
Teach me my days to number, and apply 
My trembling heart to wisdom, now beyond 
All shadow of excuse for fooUng on. 
Age smooths our path to prudence; sweeps aside 
The snares keen appetite and passion spread 
To catch stray souls ; and wo to that gray head 
Whose folly would undo what age has done ! 
Aid, then, aid, all ye Stars! — Much rather Thou, 
Great Artist ! Thou whose finger set aright 
This exquisite machine, with all its wheels. 
Though intervolved, exact; and pointing out 
Life's rapid and irrevocable flight 
With such an index fair as none can miss 
Who lifts an eye, nor sleeps till it is closed; 
Open mine eye, dread Deity ! to read 
The tacit doctrine of thy works ; to see 
Things as they are, unaltered through the glass 
Of worldly wishes. Time, Eternity ! 
('Tis these, mismeasured, ruin all mankind) 
Set them before me ; let me lay them both 
In equal scale, and learn their various weight. 
Let time appear a moment, as it is; 
And let eternity's full orb, at once, 
Turn on my soul, and strike it into Heaven. 
When shall I see far more than charms me now, 
Gaze on creation's model in thy breast 
Unveiled, nor wonder at the transcript more? 
When this vile, foreign dust, which smothers all 
That travel earth's deep vale, shall I shake oft'? 
When shall my soul her incarnation quit. 
And, re-adopted to thy blessed embrace, 
Obtain her apotheosis in theel — 

Dost tliink, Lorenzo, this is wandering wide 1 



No; 'tis directly striking at the mark. 

To wake thy dead devotion* was my point ; 

And how I bless Night's consecrating shades, 

Which to a temple turn an universe. 

Fill us with great ideas, full of Heaven, 

And antidote the pestilential earth ! 

In every storm that either frowns or falls, 

What an asylum has the soul in prayer! 

And what a fane is this, in which to pray ! 

And what a God must dwell in such a fane ! 

O what a genius must inform the skies I 

And is Lorenzo's salamander-heart 

Cold, and untouched, amid these sacred fires'? 

O ye nocturnal sparks ! ye glowing embers, 

On Heaven's broad hearth! Who burn, or burn 

no more, 

Who blaze, or die, as great Jehovah's breath 
Or blows you, or forbears, assist my song ! 
Pour your whole influence; exorcise his heart, 
So long possessed, and bring him back to man. 

And is Lorenzo a demurrer stiU? 
Pride in thy parts provokes thee to contest 
Truths, which, contested, put thy parts to shame: 
Nor shame they more Lorenzo's head than heart, 
A faithless heart, how despicably small ! 
Too straight, aught great or generous to receive ! 
Filled with an atom! filled and fouled with self! 
And self-mistaken! self, that lasts an hour! 
Instincts and passions of the nobler kind 
Lie sufibcated there, or they alone, 
Reason apart, would wake high hope, and open, 
To ravished thought, that intellectual sphere. 
Where Order, Wisdom, Goodness, Providence, 
Their endless miracles of love display. 
And promise all the truly great desire. 
The mind that would be happy must be great; 
Great in its wishes, great in its surveys. 
Extended views a narrow mind extend. 
Push out its corrugate, expansive make, 
Which, ere long, more than planets shall embrace. 
A man of compass makes a man of worth : 
Divine contemplate, and become divine ! 

As man was made for glory and for bliss, 
All littleness is in approach to wo. 
Open thy bosom, set thy wishes wide. 
And let in manhood; let in happiness; 
Admit the boundless theatre of thought 
From nothing, up to God ; which makes a man. 
Take God from Nature, nothing great is left; 
Man's mind is in a pit, and nothing sees; 
Man's heart is in a jakcs, and loves the mire. 
Emerge fi»m thy profound ; erect thine eye ; 
See thy distress ! how close art thou besieged 
Besieged by Nature, the proud sceptic's foe ! 
Inclosed by these innumerable worlds, 
Sparkling conviction on the darkest mind, 
As in a golden net of Providence, 



See page 74. 



THE CONSOLATION. 



81 



How art thou caught, sure captive of belief! 
From this thy blessed captivity what art, 
What blasphemy to reason, sets thee free ! 
This scene is Heaven's indulgent violence ; 
Can'st thou bear up against this tide of glory 1 
What is earth bosomed in these ambient orbs. 
But faith in God imposed, and pressed on man*? 
Dar'st thou still litigate thy desperate cause, 
Spite of these numerous, aAvful witnesses, 
And doubt the deposition of the skies 1 
O how laborious is thy way to ruin ! 

Laborious? 'tis impracticable quite 
To sink beyond a doubt in tliis debate. 
With all its weight of wisdom and of will, 
And crime flagitious, I defy a fool. 
Some wish they did, but no man disbelieves. 
' God is a spirit ;' spirit can not strike 
These gi-oss material organs ; God by man 
As much is seen, as man a God can see. 
In these astonishing exploits of power 
What order, beauty, motion, distance, size ! 
Concertion of design, how exquisite ! 
How complicate in their divine police! 
Apt means ! great ends ! consent to general good !- 
Each attribute of these material gods, 
So long (and that with specious pleas) adored, 
A separate conquest gains o'er rebel thought, 
And leads in triumph the whole mind of man.' 

Lorenzo ! this may seem harangue to thee ; 
Such all is apt to seem, that thwarts our will. 
And dost thou, then, demand a simple proof 
Of this great master-moral of the skies. 
Unskilled, or disincUned, to read it there? 
Since 'tis the basis, and all drops without it, 
Take it in one compact, unbroken chain. 
Such proof insists on an attentive ear, 
'Twill not make one amid a mob of thoughts, 
And for thy notice struggle with the world. 
Retire;— the world shut out; — thy thoughts call 

home ; — 
Imagination's airy wing repress ; — 
Lock up thy senses ; — let no passion stir ; — 
Wake all to Reason ; — let her reign alone ; 
Then in thy soul's deep silence, and the depth 
Of Nature's silence, midnight, thus inquire, 
As I have done, and shall inquire no more. 
In nature's channel thus the questions run : 

' What am 1 ? and from whence 1 — I nothing 
know 
But that I am ; and since I am, conclude 
Something eternal : had there e'er been nought, 
Nought still had been : eternal there must be. — 
But what eternal? — Why not human race? 
And Adam's ancestors without an end? — 
That's hard to be conceived, since every link 
Of that long-chained succession is so frail. 
Can every part depend, and not the whole? 
Yet grant it true, new difficulties rise; 
I'm still quite out at sea, nor see the shore. 



Whence earth, and these bright orbs ? — Eternal 

tool- 
Grant matter was eternal, still these orbs 
Would want some other father; — much design 
Is seen in all their motions, all their makes, 
Design implies intelligence and art; 
That can't be from themselves — or man : that art 
Man scarce can comprehend, could man bestow ! 
And nothing greater yet allowed, than man. — 
Who motion, foreign to the smallest grain, 
Shot through vast masses of enormous weight 1 
Who bid brute matter's restive lump assume 
Such various forms, and gave it wings to fly? 
Has matter innate motion 1 then each atom, 
Asserting its indisputable right 
To dance, would form an universe of dust: 
Has matter none? then whence these glorious 

forms 
And boundless flights, from shapeless and re- 
posed ? 
Has matter more than motion ? has it thought, 
Judgment, and genius? is it deeply learned 
In mathematics? has it framed such laws, 
Which, but to guess, a Newton made immortal?— • 
If so, how each sage atom laughs at me, 
Who thinks a clod inferior to a man ! 
If art to form, and counsel to conduct. 
And that with greater far than human skill, 
Resides not in each block, — a Godhead reigns! — 
Grant, then, invisil)lc, eternal Mind; 
That granted, all is solved; — but granting that, 
Draw I not o'er me a still darker cloud ? 
Grant I not that, which I can ne'er conceive? 
A being without origin or end ! — 
Hail, human Liberty ! there is no God — 
Yet why ? on cither scheme that knot subsists ; 
Subsist it must, in God or human race ; 
If in the last, how many knots beside, 
Indissoluble all 1 — why choose it there 
Where, chosen, still subsist ten thousand more? 
Reject it where, that chosen, all the rest, 
Dispersed, leave Reason's whole horizon clear? 
This is not Reason's dictate; Reason says. 
Close with the side where one grain turns the 

scale. 
What vast preponderance is here ! can Reason 
With louder voice exclaim — ' Believe a God '^' 
And Reason heard, is the sole mark of man. 
What things impossible must man think true, 
On any other system? and how strange 
To disbelieve, through mere credulity ! 

If in this chain Lorenzo finds no flaw, 
Let it for ever bind him to belief 
And where the link, in which a flaw he finds? 
And if a God there is, that God how great I 
How great that Power whose providential care 
Through these bright orbs' dark centres darts a 

ray! 
Of Nature universal threads the whole! j 



m 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Ami liiiiiffn Creation, like a jnccious gem, 
Thoufjh little, on the iiiotstool of his throne ! 

Tliiil little t^ein, how lurge! A weijfht let fall 
From a lixed tstar, in ajjes can it reach 
This distant earth '. Say, then, Lorenzo, where, 
Wliere ends this mi>j;htv huildini; ! where begin 
The snhnrhs of Oealion ? where the wall 
Whose hiittlemenis look o'er into the vale 
Of nonexistence, JNothing's strange abode? 
Say at what jHiint of space Jehovah dropped 
His slackened line, and laid his balance by, 
AVeigiied worliis, and measured inlinite no more? 
WhcTO rears his terminating pillar higli 
Its extraiuundane head? and snys to gfxls, 
In chaniclrrs illustrious as tlie sun, 
' I stand the plan's proud jjcriod ; I pronounco 
The work accomplished; the creation closed; 
Shout, all ye tiods! nor shout, ye Oods, alone; 
Of all that lives, or, if devoid of life, 
That rests, or rolls ; ye Heights and Depths re- 
sound 1 
Resound ! resound I yo Depths and Heights re- 
sound!' 

Hard are those questions! — answer harder still. 
Is this the sole exploit, the single birth. 
The .solitary .son of l'o\vi>r Divine .' 
Or has the Almighty Father, with a breath, 
linprcgnalcd liie womb of distiuit Space? 
I Ills he not bid, in various provinces, 
Urotiier-crentions tlie dark bowels burst 
Of Niglit primeval, barren now no more? 
Anil lie, the ctfitral sun, transi)ierciiig all 
Those giant-generations which disport, 
And dance as motes, in his meridian ray; 
That ray withdrawn, benighted, or absorbed 
I n that abyss of horror whence they sprung ; 
While t'haos triumpiis, repo.ssest of all • 
Rival Creation ravished from his throne? 
Chaos! of Nature both tlie womli and gr.ave! 

Think'st thou my scheme, Lorenzo, spreads too 
wide ] 
Is this extravagant '? — No; this is just ; 
Just in conjecture, though 'twere false in fact. 
If 'lis an ermr, 'tis an error sprung 
From noble root, high thouglit of the Most High. 
But wherefore error ? who can prove it sneii ? 
Ho that can set Onniipotence a bound, 
Can man conceive beyond what tuxl can do? 
Nothing, but quite impossible, is hard. 
He smnmons into being, with like ease, 
A whole creation, and a single grain. 
Speaks lie the word! a tlunisand worlds arclwrn! 
A thousand worUls! there's space t'or millions more; 
And in what space can his great liat t'ail ? 
Condemn me uot. cold critic! but indulge 
The warnj imagination; why condenin ! 
Why not indulge s\ich thoughts as swell our hearts 
With fuller admiration of that Power 



Wlio gives our hearts with such high thoughts to 

swell! 
Why not indulge in his augmented praise 1 
Darts not his glory a still brighter ray, 
Tlie less is led to Chaos, and the realms 
C)f iiideous Night, where Fancy strays aghast, 
And, though most talkative, makes no re^iort'? 

Still seems my thought enormous! think again; 
l'".xpi"rience self shall aid thy lame belief. 
Classes, (that revelation to the sight!) 
Have they not led us in the deep disclose 
()f line-spun Nature, exquisitely small, 
And, though demonstrated, still iil-conceivcd'? 
11" tiien, on tlie revei-se the mind would mount 
In magnitude; what mind can mount too far. 
To keep the balance, anil creation poise! 
Defect alone can err on such a theme: 
What is too great, if we the cause survey ? 
StuiH-nilons Architect! Thou, Thou, art all! 
My sold Hies up and down in thoughts of Thee, 
And linds herself but the centre still ! 
I AM, thy name! existence all thine own! 
Creation's nothing, liattered much if styled 
' 'J'he thin, the lleeting atmosphere of God.' 

O for the voice — of what ! of whoml — what 
voice 
Can answer to my wants, in such ascent 
As dares to deem one universe too smalll 
'I'ell me, Lorenzo! (for now Fancy glows, 
Fired in the vortex of almighty power) 
Is not this home-creation, in the map 
Of iniiversal Nature, as a speck, 
Like fair Hritannia, i>i our little ball ; 
Fxceeding fair and glorious, for its size, 
lUit, el.sewhere, far oulmeasnred, far outshone?, 
In fancy {(or the fact beyond us lies) 
Canst thou not ligure it, an isle almost 
Tot> small for notice in the vast of being ; 
Severed by mighty seas of unbuilt space 
Frouj other realms; from ample continents 
Of higher life, where nobler natives dwell ; 
Less ni>rthcrn, less remote from Deity. 
Glowing beneath the line of the Supreme, 
W heiv souls in excellence make haste, put forth 
Luxuriant growths, nor the late antunui wait 
01' human worth, but ri|)en soon to gods ! 

Yet why dwwn Fancy in such depths as these? 
Return, ])resuin]>tnous Rover! ond confess 
The bounds of man, nor blame them, as too small. 
I'.iijov we not full scope in what is seeni 
Full an)ple the dominions of the sun ! 
Full glorious to behold ! how far, how wide 
The matchless mouairh from his (laming throne, 
Lavisii of lustre, throws his b*'ams about him, 
Farther and faster than a thought can fly. 
And feeds his planets with eternal furs! 
Tills 1 lelioiK>lis, by greater far 
Than the proud tymnt of the Nile, was built; 



THE CONSOLATION. 



83 



And lie aloiio wlio built it, can doslroy. 
Hcyoiid tliirt city why strays Iniinan tliouj^ht? 
Our wonilcrl'iil ciioii^li for man to know I 
One infinite cnouirli lur man to ran^^ul 
Ono fii'inanxMit (Miou<rlt Ibr man to road! 
C) wiial voluMiinouH iiiHtriiction iu^e! 
Wliat \n\in' of wiHiloMi is donicd him'! none, 
lI'K^armn^ his chii^l' lesson malces hiui witio. 
Nor is instruction here our only jjain : 
'I'hcrc dwells a noble pathos in the skies, 
Wliich warms our |)assions, [iroselytes ourhcurtfl. 
How eloquently Bliines the t;lowin(;f pole! 
With what authority it tjives its c.harif(!, 
Remonstratini; jfreat truths in style suhlime, 
Though silent, loud : heard earth around ; above 
The |)lanets heard; and not mdieard in hell; 
Hell has her wonder, thou<,'h loo prouil to praise. 
Is earth, then, more infernan has she those 
Who neither praise ([jorcnzo,) nor admire! 

Lorenzo's admiration, pre-(Mii;aged, 
Ne'er asked the moon on(^ (piestion ; never held 
Least correspondence with a single star; 
Ne'er reared an altar to tlm (jueen of Heaven 
Walking in brightness, or her train adored. 
Their sublunary rivals have long since 
Engrosseil his whole devotion ; stars malign, 
Whii'h madc^ llu! fond astronomer run mad. 
Darken his intellect, corruiit his lu^art; 
Cause him to sacrilice his fame and pcaco 
To momentary madnc^ss, called delight: 
Idolatc^r more gross, than (iver kissed 
The Idled hand to Luna, or poured out 
The blood to Jove. — () Thou, to whom belongs 
All sacrifice! Thou gn^at Jove, iwiliigned! 
Divint! Instructor ! Thy first volume this 
For man's perusal; all in capitals; 
In moon and stars ( lleavciu's goldirn alphaltet,) 
Emiilazed to seize the sight, who runs may n^ad ; 
Who reads can understand. 'Tis uiu^oidined 
To Christian land or Jewry; fairly writ. 
In language universal, to mankind; 
A language lolly to the learned, yet plain 
To those that feed the Hock, or guide the jdougli, 
Or from its husk strike out the lionnding grain : 
A language worthy the gnjat mind that speaks : 
Preface and comment to the sacred page, 
Which oft reli'rs its n-ader to the skies, 
Ah presupi)osing his first lesson there, 
And scripture 'self a fragment, that unread. 
Stupendous book of wisdom to the wis(! ! 
Stu)ieiid()iis book! and opened. Night, by thee. 

By thee much opi;ned, I confess, O Night ! 
Yet more 1 wish ; yet how shall 1 [irevail '{ 
Say, gentle Night, whose nuxlest maiden beams, 
Giv(! UH a n(!W creation, and prescMit 
The world's great picture sfjflened to the sight ) 
Nay, kinder far, far more indulgent still, 
Say thou, whose mild dominion's silver key 
Unlocks our henusphere, and sets to view 

z2 



Worlds beyond number; worlds concealetl by day 

I'ehind the proud and envious star of noon ; 

( !anst thou not draw a dei-per scene, — an<l show 

The Mighty Potentate, to whom belong ^ 

'I'hese rich n^galia, pompously displayed 

To kindle that high ho|)e'{ Like him of Uz, 

1 gaze arounil, I seurcli on every side — 

(> f<)r a glim|)se of I liin my soul adores: 

As the (diased hart, amid the desert waste, 

Pants for the living slre;un, for I limwiiomadc her, 

So pants the thirsty soul amid the blank 

( )f sublunary joys. Say, goddess, where — 

Where blazes his bright court '( wIuto burns Ilia 

throne! 
Thou knowcst, for Thou art near Him ; by tliee,, 

round 
His granil |)avilion, sacred Fame reports 
The sable curtain drawn. If not, can none 
Of thy fair daughtcu'-train, so swifl of wing. 
Who travel far, discover where lu! dwells'! 
A star his dwc^iling pointed out below. 
Ye IMeiades ! A returns ! Mazaroth ! 
And thou, Orion ! of still keener eye. 
Say ye, who guiilt; tlu^ wildereil in the waves. 
And bring them out of tempest into port, — 
On which hand must I bend my course to find him? 
These courtii^rs ke«'p tlu! secret of tlxir king ; 
I wake whole nights in vain, to sleid it from them. 

I wake, and, waking, elindj Night's radiant scale 
J'Vom si)here to s|>here, th(i steps liy Nature set 
l<'or man's ascent, at once to ti!m|it and aid ; 
To tempt his eye, and aid his towering thought. 
Till it arrives at the gr(.'at goal of all. 

In ardent ( ,'onlemplation's rapid car, 
l''rom earth, as from my barrier, 1 set out. 
How swill 1 mount; diminished earth recedes: 
I pass the moon ; and, from her farther side, 
l'ier<-,e I leaven's blue curtain; strike into remote; 
Wlient, with his lilted tube, the sul)lle sago 
I lis artificial airy journey takes. 
And to celestial h'ngtluMis humiin sight. 
1 pause at ev(Ty i)lanet on my roail. 
And ask for Him who gives their orbs to roll. 
Their foreheads fair to stiine. l-'rom Saturn's ring, 
In whicii of earth's an army migiit be. lost, 
With the bold comet take my bold(!r flight. 
Amid those, sovereign glories of the skies. 
Of indepiMident native lustre proud; 
The souls of systems, and the lords of life, 
Through their wide empires!— What behold I 

now? 
A wil(h'rnesH of womh'r iiurning round, 
Where larger suns inhabit higher spheres; 
J'er!iai)s tiie villas of descending gods; 
Nor halt 1 here ; my toil is but b.-gun ; 
'Tis but the threshold of the Dtsity ; 
Or, far beneath it, I am groveling still. 
Nor is it strange; I built on a mistake: 
1 The grandeur of his works, wlienco Folly sought 



84 



YOUNG'S WOR[vS. 



For aid, to reason srta liis ^lory higher; 

Who built thus high for worms (mere worm to 

Him) 
O wiicre, Lorenzo, must the builder dwell 1 

I'uusc, then, and for a moment hero rcsjjirc — 
If human thought can keep its station here. 
Where am 1 7 — where is earth 1 nay, where art 

thou, 
O Sunl — Is tlie stm turn'd recluse'? and are 
His boasted expeditions short to mine ? — 
To min(; how sliort ! On Nature's Alps 1 stand, 
And see a thousand lirmamenls beneath : 
A thousand systems, as a thousand grains 1 
So much a stranger, and so late arrivcH, 
How can man's curious sjiirit not inquire 
What arc the natives of this world sublime, 
Of tliis so foreign vmterrestrial s[)!iere, 
Wliere mortal, untranslated, never strayed 1 

' O ye, as distant from my little homo 
As swiftest sunbeams in an ago can fly; 
Far from my native element 1 roam. 
In quest of new and wonderful, to inan. 
What j)rovince this, of his immense domain, 
Whom all obeys? or mortals here, or gods'? 
Vc borderers on the coasts of bliss ! what are you 7 
A colony from Heaven'? or only raised, 
By frequent visit from Heaven's neighbouring 

reidms. 
To secondary gods, and half divine 1 
Whato'er your nature, this is past dispute, 
Far otluT life you live, far other tongue 
You talk, far other thought, [)erhaps, you think, 
Than man. How various are the works of God ! 
But say, what thought'? Is Reason hero enthroned. 
And absolute? or Sense in arms against her? 
Have you too lights ? or need you no revealed 1 
Enjoy your happy realms their golden age? 
And iiad your Kdeu an abstemious Eve? 
Our Kve's fair (laughters jirove their jiedigrce, 
And ask their Adams — ' Who would not be wise?' 
Or, if your mother fell, are you redeemed '] 
And if r("decin(>(l — is your Redeemer scorned 7 
Is this your final residence ? if not, 
Change you your scene translated, or by death 7 
And if by death, what d(>ath 1 — Know you disease, 
Or horrid war? — With war, this fatal hour, 
Europa groans, (so call we a small field 
Where kings run mad.) In our world, Death deputes 
Intemperance to do the work of Age, 
And, hanging up the quiver Nature gave him, 
As slow of execution, for despatch 
Sends forth imperial butchers ; bids them slay 
Their sheep, (the silly sheep they fleeceil before) 
And toss him twice ten thousand at a meal. 
Sit all your executioners on thrones ? 
With you, can rage for plunder, make a godi 
And bloodshed wash out every other stain 7 — 
But you, p)erhaps, can't bleed : from matter gross 
Your spirits clean are delicately clad 



In flne-s|)un ether, privileged to soar, 

Unloaded, uninfected. How unlike 

The lot of man ! how few of human race 

By their own nmd unmurdered I how we wage 

Self-war eternal ! — Is your painful day 

Of hardy conflict o'er? or are you still 

Raw candidates at school 7 and have you those 

Who (lisaflect reversions, as with us 1 — 

Hut what are we 7 you never heard of man, 

Or earth, the bedlam of the universe ! 

Where Reason (imdiseased with you) runs mad, 

And nurses Folly's children ^s her own. 

Fond of the foulest. In the sacred mount 

Of Holiness, where Reason is pronounced 

lufalliiile, and thunders like a god, 

E'en there, by saints the demons are outdone ; 

What these think wrong, our saints refine to right ; 

And kindly teach dull Hell her own black arts; 

Satan, instructed, o'er their morals smiles. — 

But this how strange to you, who know not mani 

Has the least rumour of our race arrived 7 

Called here Elijah in his flaming car 7 

Past by you the gooil Enoch, on his road 

To those fair fields whence Lucifer was hurled 

Who brushed, perhaps, your sphere in his descent, 

Stained your i)ure crystal ether, or let fall 

A short eclipse from his portentous shade 7 

O that the fiend had lodged on some broad orb 

Athwart his way, nor reached his present home, 

Then blackened earth, with footsteps fouled in hell, 

Now washed in ocean, as from Rome he past 

To Britain's isle ; too, too consi)icuous there.' 

But this is all digression : where is He 
That o'er Heaven's battlements the ftslon hurled 
To groans, and chains, and darkness 7 where is He 
Who sees creation's sununit m a vale 7 
He whom, while man is man, he can't but seek, 
And if he finds, conunences more than man? 
O fiir a telescope his throne to reach ! 
Tell me, ye learned on earth ! or blessed above ! 
Ye searching, ye Newtonian angels ! tell 
Where yourGreat Master'sorb 7 his i)lanets wherel 
Those conscious satellites, those morning-stars, 
First-born of Deity ! from central love, 
By veneration most profound, thrown ofT; 
By sweet attraction no less strongly drawn ; 
Awed, and yet raptured ; raptured, yet serene; 
Past thought illustrious, but with borrowed beams ; 
In still approaching circles still remote, 
Revolving round the sun's eternal Sire? 
Or sent, in lines direct, on embassies 
To nations — in what latitude 7 — beyond 
Terrestrial thought's hori/.on ! — and on what 
High errands sent? — Here human effort ends. 
And leaves me still a stranger to his throne. 

Full well it might! I quite mistook my road; 
Born in an age more curious than devout ; 
More fond to fix the place of Heaven or hell, 
Than studious this to shun, or that secure. 



THE CONSOLATION. 



85 



'Tis not tlie curious, but tlio jiiouH path 
Tli.it Ii'iuIm iiif to my [loiiit. Lorcii/o! know, 
Williout or Htar or iini^cl lor llii'ir f^uidc, 
Who wor«hi|> God hIuiII find him. Humble Lovo, 
And not proud ll<'!iKon, ki'cpH the (h)or of llciivc!!! ; 
Lovi! finds :i(hniHHion where proud Science lailn. 
IVlan's sciencu ia the culture of Iuh heart, 
And not to lose his pluniuict in the th^ptha 
Of Nature, or the more prolouiid of God: 
Either to know, in an attempt that HCts 
Till! wiscHt on a level with the fool. 
To fathom Nature (ill atlemptiid here!) 
Past (loul)t, is dei^p pliilosophy aliovo; 
Higher decrees in UiiM archanjjels take, 
As deeper learned, the deepest learning still. 
For what a thunder of Omnipotence 
(So mi;^ht i dare to Hpeak) is seen in all ! 
In man ! in earth! in more amazing skies t 
Teaching this lesson Pride; is lotii to learn — 
' Not deeply to discern, not nmcii to know, 
Mankind was born to wonder and adore !' 

And is there cause for higher wonder still 
Than that wliich struck us from our [last surveys? 
Yes, and for deejier admiration too. 
From my Iat(; airy travel unconfined, 
Have 1 learned nothing'! — Yes, Lorenzo! this; 
Each of th<'se stars is a religious house; 
I saw their altars smoke, their incense rise, 
And heard hosannus ring through every sphere, 
A seminary fraught with future; gods. 
Nature all o'er is consecratiid ground. 
Teeming with growths immortal and divine. 
The great frojirietor's all-bount<;ous hand 
liCaves nothing waste, hut sows these fiery fields 
Witii seeds of Reason, which to virtues rise 
Peneath his genial ray; and, if escaped 
The pestilential hlasts of stuhhorri will, 
When grown mature, are gathered for the skies. 
And is devotion thought too much on earth, 
When beings, so supi^rior, homage boast, 
And triumph in prostrations to th<; throne 1 

But wherefore more of planets or of stars'? 
Ethereal journies, and, discovered there. 
Ten thousand worlds, ten thousand ways devout. 
All Nature s(;nding incense to the throne, 
Except the bold Loren7A)s of our sphere 1 
Opening the solemn sources of my soul. 
Since i have [joured, like ft'ign<;d Kri<lanu8, 
My flowing numbers o'er the (laming skies, 
Nor see of fancy or of fact what more 
Invites the Mus<; — here turn we, and review 
Our past nwturnal landscajjc wide ; — then say, 
Say, then, Lorenzo! with what hurst of heart 
The whole, at once, revolving in his thought, 
Must man exclaim, adoring and aghast 1 
' O what a root ! () what a branch, is here I 
O what a Father ! what a family ! 
Worlds! systems! and creations ! — and creations, 
In one agglouieratcd cluster, hung. 



Great Vine!* on thee; on thee the cluster lianas, 

'^riu; fiiiul cluster! infinitely spread 

In glowing globes, with various heing fraught. 

And drinks (nectareous draught I) inunortui life. 

Or, shall i say (for who (!an say enough 'i) 

A constellation often thousand gems, 

(And, O! of what dimension! of what weight!) 

Set in one signet, flames on the right hand 

Of Majesty divine! The blazing seal. 

That deeply stamps, on all creatml mind, 

Indelilile, his sovensign attrii)Uti;s, 

t)mni|)olence and Love! that |)assing bound, 

And this surpassing thnt. Nor stop we here 

For want of pow(!rin God, hut tiiouglit in man. 

K'cn this acknowledged, leaves us still in debt; 

If greater aught, tliat greater all is thiii(<. 

Dread Sin;! — Ac^cejil this miniature; of 'L'hco, 

And pardon an attempt from mortal thought. 

In whi(;li archangels might have failed, unhlumcd, 

ilow such ideas of th' Almighty's [)owcr, 
And such ideas of th' Almighty's jilan, 
(Ideas not absurd) distend tin; thought 
Of le(;bl(; mortals! nor of them alone 1 
The fulness of the; Deity breaks forth 
In inconceivables, to m(;n and gods. 
Think, then, O tliitdc, nor ever drop the thought, 
Ilow low must man descend wh(;ri gods adore;! 
Have 1 not, then, accomplished my proud boast 7 
Did I not t(;ll thee ' We would mount, Lorcnzol 
And kindle; our de;ve»tion at tiie; stars'!'! 

And have 1 faile;<r! and did I fiatler thou 1 
And art all adamant 1 and dost confute, 
All urge'd, with erne; irre'fragable smile? 
Le)re;nzo! mirth heiw mise'rable; he;re I 
Swear by the stars, by Him who made them, 

swear. 
Thy he-art, henceforth, shall bo a« pure as they; 
Then thou, like them, shall shine : like them, shalt 

rise 
From low to lofty, from obscure to bright, 
Hy duo graelation. Nature's sucre;d law. 
The stars fre)ni whence? — ask Chae)s — ho can tell. 
The'so bright temptations to idolatry 
I'Vom elarkne'Srf anel e;onfusion texjk their birth; 
Sons of De;formity ! from fluiel elre'gs 
Tartarean, first they rose to masses rude, 
Anel then te) spheres opaepie;; then eliirdy shone, 
'i'he'ri l)righte'ne;el ; then blaze-d out in |)erfe;ct day. 
Nature de;lights in progre-ss, in advance 
Freim worse to bette'r ; but when minels ascend, 
Prejgre-ss, in part, ele;|)(;ndsuj)on themse-lves. 
Heaven aiels exertie)n. Greater makes the great* 
The voluntary little; le;ssens more. 
O he a man! anel thou shalt be a god! 
Anel half se'lf-maele;!— ambition how divine i 

O thou, aml)itie)us of disgrace alone ! 
Still undevout? unkindled'l — though high taught, 



' John, XV. 1. 



t See pag« 74. 



86 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Schooled by the skies, and pupil of the stars, 
Rank coward to the fashionable world ! 
Art thou ashamed to bend thy knee to Heaven 1 
Cursed fume of pride, exhaled from deepest hell! 
Pride in religion is man's highest praise. 
Bent on destruction I and in love with death 1 
Not all these luminaries, quenched at once, 
Were half so sad as one benighted mind. 
Which gropes for happiness, and meets despair. 
How like a widow in her weeds, the Night, 
Amid her glimmering tapers, silent sits ! 
How sorrowful, how desolate, she weeps 
Perpetual dews, and sadden's Nature's scene ! 
A scene more sad Sin makes the darkened soul, 
All comfort kills, nor leaves one spark alive. 

Though blind of heart, still open is thine eye. 
Wl^y such magnificence in all thou seest ? 
Of matter's grandeur, know one end is this, 
To tell the rational, who gazes on it, — 
' Though that immensely great, still greater he 
Whose breast capacious, can embrace and lodge, 
Unburdened, Nature's universal scheme; 
Can grasp creation with a single thought ; 
Creation grasp, and not exclude its Sire.' — 
To tell him farther—' It behoves him much 
To guard the important, yet depending fate 
Of being, brighter than a thousand suns; 
One single ray of thought outshines them all.' — 
And if man hears obedient, soon he'll soar 
Superior heights, and on his purple wing. 
His purple wing bedropped with eyes of gold, 
Rising, where thought is now denied to rise. 
Look down triumphant on these dazzling spheres 

Why then persist ? — no mortal ever lived 
But, dying, he pronounced (when words are true) 
The whole that charms the absolutely vain ; 
Vain, and far worse! — Think thou with dying 

men! 
O condescend to tliink as angels think ! 
O tolerate a chance for happiness ! 
Our nature such, ill choice insures ill fate ; 
And hell had been though there had been no God. 
Dost thou not know, my new astronomer, 
Earth, turning from the sun, brings night to man"? 
Man, turning from his God, brings endless night; 
Where thou canst read no morals, find no friend, 
Amend no manners, and expect no peace. 
How deep the darkness! and the groan how loud! 
And far, how far, from lambent are the flames! — 
Such is Lorenzo's purchase! such his praise! 
The proud, the politic Lorenzo's praise ; 
Though in his ear, and levelled at his heart, 
I've half read o'er the volume of the skies. 

For think not thou hast heard all this from me 
My song but echoes what great Nature speaks 



But, above all, diffuses endless good; 
To whom, for sure redress, the wronged may fly, 
The vile for mercy, and the pained for peace ; 
By whom the various tenants of these spheres, 
Diversified in fortunes, place, and powers. 
Raised in enjoyment, as in worth they rise, 
Arrive at length (if worthy such approach) 
At that blessed fountain-head from which they 

stream, 
Where conflict past redoubles present joy, 
And present joy looks forward on increase, 
And that on more ! no period ! every step 
A double boon ! a promise and a bliss.' 
How easy sits this scheme on human hearts ! 
It suits their make, it sooths their vast desires; 
Passion is pleased, and Reason asks no more: 
'Tis rational ! 'tis great! — but what is thinel 
It darkens! shocks! excruciates! andconfoundsl 
Leaves us quite naked, both of help and hope, 
Sinking from bad to worse; few years the sport 
Of Fortune, then the morsel of despair. 

Say then, Lorenzo! (for thou know'st it well) 
What's vice — mere wantof compass in our thought. 
Religion what! — the proof of common sense. 
How art thou hooted where the least prevails ! 
It is my fault if these truths call thee Fool 1 
And thou shalt never be miscalled by me. 
Can neither Shame nor Terror stand thy friend 1 
And art thou still an insect in the mire'? 
How like thy guardian-angel have I flown. 
Snatched thee from earth, escorted thee tlirough all 
Th' ethereal armies, walked thee like a god. 
Through splendours of first magnitude, arranged 
On either hand; clouds thrown beneath thy feet; 
Close cruised on the bright paradise of God, 
And almost introduced thee to the throne! 
And art thou still carousing, for delight, 
Rank poison ! first fermenting to mere froth, 
And then subsiding into final gall 1 
To beings of sublime, immortal make. 
How shocking is all joy whose end is sure ! 
Such joy more shocking still, the more it charms \ 
And dost thou choose what ends ere well begun, 
And infamous as short 1 and dost thou choose 
(Thou, to whose palate glory is so sweet) 
To wade into perdition through contempt, 
Not of poor bigots only, but thy own? 
For I have peeped into thy covered heart, 
And seen it blush beneath a boastful brow? 
For by strong Guilt's most violent assault, 
Conscience is but disabled ; not destroyed. 

O thou most awful being ! and most vain ! 
Thy will how frail ! how glorious is thy power ! 
Though dread Eternity has sown her seeds 
Of bliss and wo in thy despotic breast ; 
Thout'h Heaven and liell depend upon thy choica. 



What has she spoken? — Thus the goddess spoke. 
Thus speaks for ever: — ' Place, at Nature's head, I A butterfly comes cross, and both are fled 
A Sovereign 'which o'er all things rolls his eye, j Is this the picture of a rational ? 
Extends Ms wing, promulgates his commands, 1 Tliis horrid image, shall it be most just? 



THE CONSOLATION. 



87 



Lorenzo I no ; it can not, — shall not be, 

If there is force in reason, or in sounds. 

Chanted beneath the glimpses of the moon 

A magic, at this planetary hour. 

When Slumber locks the general lip, and dreams. 

Through senseless mazes, hunt souls uninspired. 

Attend — the sacred mysteries begin 

My solemn night-born adjuration hear; 
Hear, and I'll raise thy spirit from the dust, 
While the stars g-aze on this enchantment new ; 
Enchantment not infernal, but divine 1 

' By Silence, Death's pecuhar attribute ; 
By Darkness, Guilt's inevitable doom; 
By Darkness and by Silence, sisters dread! 
That draw the curtain round Night's ebon throne, 
And raise ideas solemn as the scene! 
By Night, and all of awful Night presents 
To thought or sense (of awful much, to both. 
The goddess brings!) By these her trembling fires, 
Like Vesta's, ever burning, and, hke her's, 
Sacred to thoughts immaculate and pure ! 
By these bright orators that prove and praise, 
And press thee to revere the Deity, 
Perhaps, too, aid thee, when revered, awhile. 
To reach his throne, as stages of the soul 
Through which, at different periods, she shall pass, 
Refining gradual, for the final height. 
And purging off some dross at every sphere ! 
By this dark pall thrown o'er the silent world ! 
By the world's kings and kingdoms most renowned, 
From short Ambition's zenith set for ever, 
Sad presage to vain boasters, now in bloom ! 
By the long list of swift mortality, 
From Adam downward to this evening knell. 
Which midnight waves in Fancy's startled eye. 
And shocks her with an hundred centuries. 
Round Death's black banner thronged in human 

thought ! 
By thousands now resigning their last breath. 
And calling thee — wert thou so wise to hear ! 
By tombs o'er tombs arising, human earth 
Ejected, to make room for — human earth. 
The monarch's terror ! and the sexton's trade ! 
By pompous obsequies that shun the day. 
The torch funereal, and the nodding plume, 
Which makes poor man's humiliation proud, 
Boast of our ruin ! triumph of our dust ! 
By tlie damp vault that weeps o'er royal bones. 
And the pale lamp that shows the ghastly dead, 
More ghastly through the thick incumbent gloom! 
By visits (if there are) from darker scenes. 
The gliding spectre! and the groaning grove I 
By groans, and graves, and miseries that groan 
For the grave's shelter! By desponding men. 
Senseless to pains of death from pangs of guilt! 
lij Guilt's last audit! By yon moon in blood, 
The rocking firmament, the falling stars, 
And tliunder's last discharge, great Nature's knell ! 
By second Chaos, and eternal Night, — 



Be wise^-nor let Philander blame my charm ; 
But own not ill discharged my double debt, 
Love to the living, duty to the dead. 

For know I'm but executor; he left 
This moral legacy; I make it o'er 
By his command : Philander hear in me. 
And Heaven in both. — If deaf to these, oh! hear 
Florello's tender voice ; his weal depends 
On thy resolve ; it trembles at thy choice ; 
For his sake — love thyself: example strikes 
All human hearts; a bad example more; 
More still a father's ; that insures his ruin. 
As parent of his being, wouldst thou prove 
Th' unnatural parent of his miseries. 
And make him curse the being which thou gav'sf? 
Is this the blessing of so fond a father! 
If careless of Lorenzo, spare, oh ! spare 
Florello's father, and Philander's friend ! 
Florello's father ruined, ruins him ; 
And from Philander's friend the world expects 
A conduct no dishonour to the dead. 
Let passion do what nobler motive should; 
Let love and emulation rise in aid 
To reason, and persuade thee to be — blessed. 

This setims not a request to be denied ; 
Yet (such the infatuation of mankind !) 
'Tis the most hopeless man can make to man. 
Shall I then rise in argument and warmthl 
And urge Philander's posthumous advice, 

From topics yet unbroached? 

But, oh ! I faint ! my spirits fail ! nor strange ! 
So long on wing, and in no middle clime ! 
To which my great Creator's glory called ; 
And calls — but now, in vain. Sleep's dewy wand 
Has stroked my drooping lids, and promises 
My long arrear of rest : the downy god 
(Wont to return with our returning peace) 
Will pay, ere long, and bless me with repose. 
Haste, haste, sweet stranger ! from the peasant's 

cot. 
The shipboy's hammock, or the soldier's straw. 
Whence Sorrow never chased thee; with thee 

bring 
Not hideous visions, as of late, but draughts 
Delicious of well-tasted cordial rest, 
Man's rich restorative ; his balmy bath, 
That supples, lubricates, and keeps in play 
The various movements of this nice machine. 
Which asks such frequent periods of repair. 
When tired with vain rotations of the day. 
Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn ; 
Fresh we spin on, till sickness clogs our wheels. 
Or death quite breaks the spring, and motion ends: 
When will it end with me ? 

' Thou only know'st, 

Thou, whose broad eye the future and the past ' 

Joins to the present, making one of three 

To mortal thought! Thou know'st, and Thoa 

alone, 



88 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



All-knowing !-aIl-unknownI-aml yet well known! 
Near, tliougli remote! and, though unfathomcd, 

felt' 
And, though invisible, for ever seen ! 
And seen in all, the great and the minute : 
Each globe above, with its gigantic race. 
Each flower, each leaf, with its small people 

swarmed, 
(Those puny vouchers of Omnipotence !) 
To the first thought that asks ' From whence"?' 

declare 
Their common source : thou fountain, running o'er 
In rivers of communicated joy! 
Who gav'st us speech for far, far humbler themes! 
Say by what name shall I presume to call 
Him I sec burning in these countless suns, 
As Moses in the bush ? Illustrious Mind ! 
The whole creation less, far less, to Thee, 
Than that to the creation's ample round. 
How shall I name Thee? — How my labouring 

soul 
Heaves underneath the thought, too big for birth ! 

Great System of perfections ! mighty Cause 
Of causes mighty ! Cause uncaused ! sole root 
Of Nature, that luxuriant growth of God ! 
First Father of cflects ! that progeny 
Of endless series ; where the golden chain's 
Last link admits a period, who can tell? 
Father of all that is or heard or hears! 
Father of ail that is or seen or sees ! 
Father of all that is or shall arise ! 
Father of this immeasurable mass 
Of matter multiform, or dense or rare. 
Opaque or lucid, rapid or at rest, 
Minute or passing bound ! in each extreme 
Of like amaze and mystery to man. 
Father of these bright millions of the night! 
Of which the least, full Godhead had proclaimed. 
And thrown the gazer on his knee — Or, say, 
Is appellation higher still thy choice 1 
Fatlier of matter's tem^wrary lords ! 
Father of spirits ! nobler oflspring I sparks 
Of high paternal glory, rich endowed 
With various measures, and with various modes 
Of instinct, reason, intuition; beams 
More pale or bright from day divine, to break 
The dark of matter organized (the ware 
Of all created spirit) beams that rise 
Each over other in superior light. 
Till the last ripens into lustre strong. 
Of next approach to Godhead. Father fond 
(Far fonder than ere bore that name on earth) 
Of intellectual beings ! beings blessed 
With powers to please thee, not of passive ply 
To laws they know not ; beings lodged in seats 
Of well-adapted joys, in different domes 
Of this imperial palace for thy sons ; 
Of this proud, populous, well-policicJ, 
Though boundless habitation, planned by Thee ; 



Whose several clans their several climates suit, 
And transposition doubtless, would destroy. 
Or, oh ! indulge, immortal King ! indulge 
A title lest august, indeed, but more 
Endearing; ah I how sweet in human cars! 
Sweet in our ears, and triumph in our hearts ! 
Father of immortality to man ! 
A theme that lately* set my soul on fire — 
And Thou the next I yet equal ! thou by whom 
That blessing was conveyed, far more! was 

bought. 
Ineffable the price ! by whom all worlds 
Were made, and one redeemed ! illustrious Light 
From light illustrious ! thou, whose regal power, 
Finite in time, but infinite in space. 
On more than adamantine basis fixed. 
O'er more, far more, tlian diadems and thrones 
Inviolably reigns, the dread of gods ! 
And, oh ! the friend of man ! beneath whose foot, 
And by the mandate of whose awful nod, 
All regions, revolutions, fortunes, fates, 
Of high, of low, of mind, and matter, roll 
Through the short channels of expiring time, 
Or shoreless ocean of eternity. 
Calm or tempestuous (as thy Spirit breathes) 
In absolute subjection ! — And, O Thou ! 
The glorious Third ! distinct, not separate ! 
Beaming from both ! with both incor[)orate. 
And (strange to tell !) incorporate witli dust ! 
By condescension, as thy glory, great, 
Inshrined in man! of human hearts, if pure, 
Divine Inhabitant ! the tie divine 
Of Heaven with distant earth ! by whom, I trust, 
(If not inspired) uncensured this address 
To Thee, to Them — to whom 1 — mysterious pow- 
er! 
Revealed — yet unrevealed ! darkness in light ! 
Number in unity! our joy! our dread! 
The triple bolt that lays all wrong in ruin ! 
That animates all right, the triple sun! 
Sun of the soul ! her never-setting sun ! 
Triune, unutterable, unconceived. 
Absconding, yet demonstrable, Great God ! 
Greater than greatest I better than the best ! 
Kinder than kindest ! with soft Pity's eye. 
Or (stronger still to speak it) with thine own. 
From thy bright home, from that high firmament, 
Where thou, from all eternity, hast dwelt; 
Beyond archangels' unassisted ken. 
From far above what mortals highest call, 
From Elevation's pinnacle, look down. 
Through — what 1 confounding interval ! through 

all. 
And more, than labouring Fancy can conceive ; 
Through radiant ranks of essences unknown ; 
Through hierarchies from hierarchies detached 
Round various banners of Omnipotence, 



* See Nights the Sixtli and Serenth. 



THE CONSOLATION. 



89 



With endless change of rapturous duties fired ; 
Through wondrous beings' intcrjwsing swarms, 
All clustering at the call, to dwell in thee ; 
Through this wide waste of worlds! this vista vast, 
All sanded o'er with suns, suns turned to night 
Before thy feeblest beam — look down — down — 

down. 
On a poor breathing particle in dust, 
Or lower, an immortal in his crimes : 
His crimes forgive! forgive his virtues too! 
Those smaller faults, half converts to the right : 
Nor let me close these eyes, which never more 
May see the sun (though Night's descending scale 
Now weighs up Morn) unpiticd and unblessed ! 
In thy displeasure dwells eternal pain; 
Pain, our aversion; pain which strikes me now; 
And since all pain is terrible to man, 
Though transient, terrible; at thy good hour. 
Gently, ah, gently, lay me in my bed, 
My clay-cold bed I by nature, now, so near ; 
By nature near, still nearer by disease ! 
I'ill then be this an emblem of my grave ; 
Let it out preach the preacher ; every night 
Let it outcry the boy at Philip's ear, 
That tongue of death ! that herald of the tomb ! 
And wlien (the shelter of thy wing implored) 
My senses, soothed, shall sink in soft repose, 
O sink this truth still deeper in my soul, 
Suggested by my pillow, signed by Fate, 
First in Fate's volume, at the page of Man — 
' Man's sickly soul, though turned and tossed for 

ever 
From side to side, can rest on nought but Thee ; 
Here in full trust, hereafter in full joy:' 
On Thee, the promised, sure, eternal down 
Of spirits toiled in travel through this vale : 
Nor of that pillow shall my soul despond ; 
For — Love almighty! Love almighty! (sing, 
Exult, Creation ! ) Love almighty reigns ! 
That death of death! that cordial of despair 
And loud Eternity's triumphant song ! 

Of whom no more : — for, O thou Patron-God ! 
Thou God and mortal ! thence more God to man ! 
Man's theme eternal ! man's eternal theme ! 
Thou canst not 'scape uninjured from our praise: 
Uninjured from our praise can he escape 
Who, disembosomed from the Father, bows 
The Ileaven of heavens to kiss the distant earth ! 
Breathes out in agonies a sinless soul ! 
Against the cross Death's iron sceptre breaks ! 
From famished Ruin plucks her human preyl 
Throws wide the gates celestial to his foes I 
Their gratitude, for such a boundless debt, 
Deputes their suffering brothers to receive ! 
And if deep human guilt in payment fails, 
As deeper guilt, prohibits our despair ! 
Enjoys it, as our duty, to rejoice ! 
And (to close all) omnipotently kind, 



Takes his delights among the sons of men.'* 

What words are these — and did they come from 
Heaven ? 
And were they spoke to man 1 to guilty man 7 
What are all mysteries to love like this 1 
The songs of angels, all the melodies 
Of choral gods, are wafted in the sound 
Heal and exhilarate the broken heart, 
Though plunged, before, in horrors dark as night: 
Rich prelibation of consummate joy ! 
Nor wait we dissolution to be blessed. 

This final effort of the moral Muse, 
How justly titled !t nor for me alone ; 
For ail that read. What spirit of support, 
What heights of Consolation, crown my song f 

Then farewell Night! of darkness, now, no 
more; 
Joy breaks, shines, triumphs; 'tis eternal day! 
Shall that which rises out of nought complain 
Of a few evils, paid with endless joys'? 
My soul! henceforth, in sweetest union join 
The two supports of human happiness. 
Which some, erroneous, think can never meet. 
True taste of life, and constant thought of death! 
The thought of death, sole victor of its dread ! 
Hope be thy joy, and probity thy skill ; 
Thy patron HE whose diadem has dropped 
Yon gems of Heaven, eternity thy prize ; 
And leave the racers of the world their own, 
Their feather and their froth, for endless toils: 
They part with all, for that which is not bread ; 
They mortify, they starve, on wealth, fame, power, 
And laugh to scorn the fools that aim at more. 
How must a spirit, late escaped from earth, 
Suppose Philander's, Lucia's, or Narcissa's, 
The truth of things new blazing in its eye, 
Look back astonished on the ways of men. 
Whose lives' whole drift is to forget their graves! 
And when our present privilege is past. 
To scourge us with due sense of its abuse, 
The same astonishment will seize us all. 
What then must pain us, would preserve us now. 
Lorenzo ! 'tis not yet too late. Lorenzo ! 
Seize wisdom, ere 'tis torment to be wise ; 
That is, seize wisdom ere she seizes thee. 
For what, my small philosopher! is hell 1 
'Tis nothing but full knowledge of the truth, 
When Truth, resisted long, is sworn our foe, 
And calls Eternity to do her right. 

Thus darkness aiding intellectual light. 
And sacred Silence whispering truths divine, 
And truths divine converting pain to peace. 
My song the midnight raven has outwinged. 
And shot, ambitious of unbounded scenes, 
Beyond the flaming limits of the world 
Her gloomy flight. But what avails the flight 



• Prov. chap. viii. 



1 The Consolation. 



90 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Of l''iinoy, wluMi our lioarta rcniiiiii below? 

Virtue abounds in flatterers and foes ; 

'Tig pride to praise Iier, iienanrc to perform. 

To more tlian words, to more than worth of 

tongue, 
Lorenzo ! rise, nt tliis iiuspicious hour, 
i\n hour when I leaven's most intininle with man; 
When, like a f:illinij stiir, the ray divine 
Glides switl into the bosomof the just; 



And just arc all, determined to reclaim ; 
Which sets that title high within thy reach. 
Awake, then ; thy Philander calls: awake ! 
Thou, who shalt wako when the Crenlion sleeps; 
When like a taper, all these suns expire; 
When Time, like him of Gaza in his wrath, 
In Nature's ample ruins lies entombed, 
And midnight, universal midnight ! reigns. 



Kiit ILaKjit 'Bavt. 

A POEM. 

IN TIIIVEE HOOKS. 



Vcnlt fsiiinma ilios. — Virg. 



DEDICATION TO THE aUEEN. 

MADAM, 

My only title to the great honour I now do my- 
self, is the obligation 1 have formerly received from 
your royal indulgence; which I remember with 
the utmost grntitude. I was indeed uneasy, till 
I had bethougiit myself of some means of reliev- 
ing my heart by expressing its acknowledgments : 
my inclination carried me to jioetry ; your virtues 
iletermined me to sacred jHietry al)ovo nil other; 
mill in th;it kind there is no subject more e\alti-d 
and ntfecting than this which I have chosen: its 
very first mention snatches away the soul to the 
borders of eternity, surrounds it with wonders, 
opens to it on every hand the most surprising scenes 
of nwe and astonishment, and terminates its view 
with nothing less than the fulness of glory, and 
the throne of Ciod. 

But this may seem a very improper season for 
nny thing of so grave and solenui a nature to pre- 
sent itself betitre you, and mingle with lii(> gaiety 
nnd splendour of universal joy an<l thanksgiving: 
yet if we consider that the thoughts which you will 
meet in the following ])ages are such na are ever 
uppermost in your own heart; and that, in all pro- 
bability, tlu)se great blessings which your jicople 
now enjoy, arc the reward of that religious bent 
of mind and virtuovis disposition in their Prince; 
1 hope that may seem less foreign and unseasona- 
ble, which is the root of the felicity now flourisli- 
ing amongst us, nnd shedding its ripened fruits on 
our land. 

They are strangers to your Majesty, who think, 
when they write to the British throne, that victo- 
ries and triumphs nuist bo their constant theme; 
they know not there is something you hold nmch 
dearer than either your fortune or your glory : they 
have not attended to your unlwunded charities; 
tliev have not heard of your royal care and gene- 



rosity to those who serve nt the holy altar; tliev 
never siillicicntly admired your resolution of build- 
ing magnificently to the Lonn, nnd setting wide 
the gates of salvation ; in a word, they are still to 
bo informed, that prudent counsels and successful 
arms, well-ordered states, nnd humbled foes, nro 
only the second glories of your most illustrious 
reign. 

It is. Madam, n prospect truly great to behold 
you seated on your throne, surrounded with your 
faithful counsellors nnd mighty men of war, issuing 
f()rth commands to your own people, or giving au- 
dience to the great princes and jiowerful rulers of 
the earth : but why should we confine your glory 
here? I am pleased to see yo\i rise trom this low- 
er world, soaring above the clouds, passing the 
first and second heavens, leaving the fixed stars 
behind you ; nor will I lose you there, but kee]) you 
still in view through the boundless spaces on the 
other side of creation, in your journey towards eter- 
nal bliss ; till I behold the Heaven of heavens ojien, 
and angels receiving nnd conveying yo\i still on- 
ward from the stretch of my imagination, which 
tires in her pursuit, and falls back again to the 
earth. 

What a panegyric is it on human nature to con- 
sider that if shall come to pass in some future tiniF, 
through which the thread of your existence shall 
run, that you yourself may forget this si^lonous 
l/cur* or make its remembrance oidy serve by com- 
parison to recommend superior honours, and more 
splendid renown 1 Let us tremble at the power of 
Gon, and adore the profusion of his goodness on 
us his creatures ! we behold thee, O Clueen I great 
in peace and war, great in thy alliance, greater in 
thyself! We see thee blessing thy i)eoi)le, and 
connxising the strifes of Eurojie ; we survey thee 



• The year 1713| wlion tho peace of I'u^clil was concluded 



TT1F, T.ART DAY. 



91 



In UuH full lljjlit, tliiHliliiznof Hiililnimry grcutiioKH, 
iind own lliy ul'ir.V i« •!"• yd Iii'^mih. 

SiK'li tli<iii;^rlilH iiiiglil ii|i|i('iir Icii) wnriii mid uf 
fi'ctwl on ttnothrr ot'cnHioii ; l)iil llicy nrn w) nntii 
nil to liiiii who iircMcntH hiicIi a tliciiin to Much « 
CiiK'cii, lliiit liicy 111""' not willioiit violciicfi to W 
nn|>|irfHHC(l. When at your royal Icmnrryon liini 
over tint lollowini{ hIutIh, if you liiiil any lliiiii; 
that «'nronran<'H virtuo, or diHluMirtcnH vice, let it 
intercede for [lardon of my many defectu and er 
rors. 

That your reign may be an piouH nH it in glori- 
OUH, and f»ive |ioKl('ri(y aH many iuHtanccH of ex 
(•mpliiry virtue and religion, aH it will of eminent 
talenlH and extraordinary eapacitit^H ; that it may 
not only Hhiiie in liiHtory and lie frreat in the an 
lials of the riirlii, hut alHO he Ket down in the oh- 
Bcrvation of angelH, and with diHtiri(;niKlied cha- 
TftcterH he written in the hook of life, to ^ive joy 
at the (iiiKAT Day ; m the eonn(ant prnyer of iiim 
who M (aH moHt purlirulnrly olilii^ed to he) 
Your MajeHtyV 
JMoHt humhle 

And moHt olii'dieiit Servant, 
Edwaiiii VoiiNd. 



BOOK I. 



IpHii ptiliT, rncdlii niiiilioiiiiii In iioclr), niniwa 

■''llllnillll llinlillll' lli'XU'lt. (lllil llllixilllll lll'IIU 

'IVna irciiiit: liinuiii liTiii; dlinorliilia riirdu 
Pur g«ntuH liiiiiiiliH Htiuvil pavor. Virg, 



Wnii.r oflierHHiiiij the fortune of tlie (jreat, 
]''mpir<^ and ariiiH, and all the |iom|i of Htate, 
With HritainV hero* Het their houIh on [ire, 
And ^row iinmortui aH Iuh deedw iuHpfro, 
I draw a di'eper Hci'iie ; a Hcene that yields 
A ioudi^r trutniiet, and more dreadful fielilH; 
The world alarmed, both liarth and heaven o'er- 

tlirown, 
And t;aHpin^ Nalure'n lawt treiiKwidouH j^roan ; 
IJeath'H ancient Hceptro broke, the teeming tomb, 
Tlie righteouH Jmlge, and man'H eternal doom! 
'Twixt joy ami pain I view (he hold dertign. 
And arik my anxiouH heart if it he mine 'I 
Whatcsver great or dreadful liaH been dono 
Within th<r wight of coriKcioiiH HturH or huh, 
Ik far beneath my daring; 1 look down 
On all the B|il<!ndourii of the BriliHli crown. 
TiuH glolw! in for my Verne a narrow liounil ; 
Attend me, all ye gloriouH worldn around ! 
O all ye angelw, howHoe'or diHJoined, 
Of cv«!ry variouH order, |ilace, and kind, 
Hear, and aHHint a feeble mortal'H layn ; 
'Tin your eternal King I Htrive to praino. 



• Tlie Duke of Marlboroiigli, 

SA 



Hut chiefly thou, great rnlerl Lord of all I 
lielore whoHi" throne archanijcirt prontrnte fall; 
If at thy nod, from dlHcord and IVoiii ni;r|it, 
Sprang beauty, and yon Hparkling worldM of light, 
flxalt e'en uw; all inward lumulln i|uell; 
'rhecloud.l and durkneHH of my mind diHpel; 
To my great Huiijcct thou my lirenHt inspire, 
And raiHc niy labouring houI with e(|ual lire. 

Man I bear thy brow alotl, view every graeo 
In ( Jod'h great o(Vnpring, benuteo\m Natiire'n face ; 
See SpringVgay bloom, Mce golden Aulumn'nHtoro, 
See how Marth HinilcH, and hear old C)cean roar. 
I ,evintli:iiiH liiit heave their cumhroim miiil, 
It inakeH a tide, and wind hound navien Hail. 
I lere forentH riH(^, the moimlaiiiH awful pri<le; 
Here rivern me«Hure rliincH, and worliln ilivide: 
Tlicn^ viiJIieH, IVailglil witil gold'w rrHpli'iident Hcedn, 

I loIdH kingn' and kingdoiim' fortuiieH in their bed*: 
There to the nkii'H iiHpiring liillM iiHccnd, 
Anil into distant lands tlieir nliadeH extend. 
View eiticH, arrnieH, (leelH; of (leetH Ihi^ jiride. 
See JMirope'H law in Alhion'H channel ride. 
View the whole eiirth'H viiKtlandHC,;i|ie, uiKronfmeii, 
Or view in Mritiiin all her glorien joined. 

Then let the firmament thy wonder raine; 
'Twill raiHe thy wonder, but traiiHi-end tliy praiw. 
I low far from east lowest'! llu^ labouring eyi! 
(/'an Hcarci! the diHtanl azure lioundH dcHcry : 
Wide theatre! wIkm'c tempentH play at large. 
And (lod'Hri^ht hiiiid can all its wrath diHcliargc, 
Mark how thime radiant lanipH inflame the pole, 
f /all forth th(! HoaHotm, and the year control : 
'i'liey Hhine through time with an im.'iltered ray, 
See tiiiH grand ]ieriod rise, and that decay : 
So vnHt, thiH world'M a grain; yet myriaiU grace. 
With golden pomp, the thronged ethereal npacc; 
So brigiit,, with hiicIi a wealth of glory Htored, 
'Twcrc Hin JleathcnH not to have adored. 

ITow great, how firm, how HMcred, all a|ipeani 
Mow worthy an immortal round of years! 
Vet all niUHt drop, am autumn'H Kicklient grain. 
And <uirtli and (iriiiamenl be Hoiiglil in vain: 
Tlu^ tract forgot wli'-re I'onstellationn Mhone, 
Or where the Stnartu filled an awful throne: 
Time Hhall be Hlain, all nature be destroyed. 
Nor leavi! an atom in the mighty void. 

Sooner or later, in Home future date, 

(A dreadful Hi'cret in liie hook of fatel) 

This hour, for aught, all human wisdom knowH, 

Or when ten thoUHand liarvcMtH more have roue; 

When Hi-eni'H are, changed on this n^volviiig earth, 

Old ein|)ireH fall, and givi! new eiiijiirr'H birth; 

While other jJonrbonH rule in otlu-r landH, 

And (if iiian'H sin Ibrbids not) other AiineM; 

Wliiii^ the still busy world is treading o'er 

'I'Ik! pallm they trode live thoiiHand yearn bijforo, f 

ThougbllesH as thoHc who now life's inazeH run, ' ' 

Of earth disHoived, or an cxtiiiguiBJied Bun; 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Ye sublunary worlds ! awake, awake ! 
Ye rulers of the nations! hear, and shake! 
Thick clouds of darkness shall arise on day, 
In sudden night all earth's dominions lay, 
Impetuous winds the scattered forests rent, 
Eternal mountains, like their cedars, bend ; 
The valleys yawn, the troubled ocean roar. 
And break the bondage of his wonted shore; 
A sanguine stain the silver moon o'erspread, 
Darkness the circle of the sun invade ; 
From inmost heaven incessant thunders roll, 
And the strong echo bound from pole to pole. 

When, lo! a mighty trump, one half concealed 
In clouds, one half to mortal eye revealed, 
Shall pour a dreadful note; the piercing call 
Shall rattle in the centre of the ball; 
The extended circuit of creation shake, 
The living die with fear, the dead awake. 

Oh, powerful blast ! to wliich no equal sound 
Did e'er the frighted ear of Nature wound, 
Though rival clarions have been strained on high. 
And kindled wars immortal through the sky; 
Though God's whole enginery discharged, and all 
The rebel angels bellowed in their fall. 
Have angels sinned 1 and shall not man beware 1 
How shall a son of earth decline the snare? 
Not folded arms, and slackness of the mind, 
Can promise for the safety of mankind. 
None are supinely good ; through care and pain. 
And various arts, the steep ascent we gaiii. 
This is the scene of combat, not of rest; 
Man's is laborious happiness at best : 
On this side death his dangers never cease; 
His joys are joys of conquest, not of peace. 

If then, obsequious to the will of Fate, 
And bending to the terms of human state, 
When guilty joys invite us to their arms, 
When Beauty smiles, or Grandeur spreads her 

charms. 
The conscious soul would this great scene display. 
Call down the immortal hosts in dread array, 
The trumpet sound, the Christian banner spread. 
And raise from silent graves the trembling dead ; 
Such deep impression would the picture make. 
No power on earth her firm resolve could shake ; 
Engaged with angels she would greatly stand, 
And look regardless down on sea and land : 
Not proffered worlds her ardour could restrain. 
And Death might shake his threatening lance in 

vain. 
Her certain conquest would endear the fight. 
And danger serve but to exalt delight. 

Instructed thus to shun the fatal spring 
Whence flow the terrors of that day I sing. 
More boldly we our labours may pursue, 
And all the dreadful image set to view. 

The sparkling eye, the sleek and painted breast. 
The burnished scale, curled train, and rising crest, 



All that is lovely in the noxious snake, 
Provokes our fear, and bids us flee the brake 
The sting once drawn, his guiltless beauties rise 
In pleasing lustre, and detain our eyes; 
We view with joy what once did horror move. 
And strong aversion softens into love. 

Say then, my muse, whom dismal scenes de- 
light. 
Frequent at tombs, and in the realms of night; 
Say, melancholy maid I if bold to dare. 
The last extremes of terror and despair. 
Oh say what change on earth, what heart in man. 
This blackest moment since the world began. 

Ah mournful turn ! the blissful earth, who late 
At leisure on her axle rolled in state. 
While thousand golden planets knew no rest, 
Still onward in their circling journey pressed; 
A grateful change of seasons some to bring. 
And sweet vicissitude of fall and spring; 
Some through vast oceans to conduct the keel. 
And some those wat'ry worlds to sink or swell: 
Around her some their splendours to display, 
And gild her globe with tributary day: 
This world so great, of joy the bright abode. 
Heaven's darling child, and favourite of her God, 
Now looks an exile from her Father's care, 
Delivered o'er to darkness and despair. 
No sun in radiant glory shines on high. 
No light, but from the terrors of the sky ; 
Fallen are her mountains, her famed rivers lost. 
And all into a second chaos tossed : 
One universal ruin spreads abroad; 
Nothing is safe beneath the throne of God. 

Such, Earth! thy fate: what then canst thou 
afTord 
To comfort and support thy guilty lord ? 
Man, haughty lord of all beneath the moon. 
How must he bend his soul's ambition down? 
Prostrate, the reptile own, and disavow 
His boasted stature, and assuming brow"? 
Claim kindred with the clay, and curse his form, 
That speaks distinction from his sister worm? 
What dreadful pangs the trembling heart invade 1 
Lord! why dost thou forsake whom thou hast 

made? 
Who can sustain thy anger? who can stand 
Beneath the terrors of thy lifted hand? 
It flies the reach of thought: oh, save me. Power 
Of powers supreme, in that tremendous hour! 
Thou who beneath the frown of Fate hast stood. 
And in thy dreadful agony sweat blood ; 
Thou who for me, through every throbbing vein. 
Hast felt the keenest edge of mortal pain; 
Whom Death led captive through the realms 

below. 
And taught those horrid mysteries of wo; 
Defend me, O my God ! oh, save me. Power 
Of powers supreme, in that tremendous hour! 



*iE^ 



ThE LAST DAY. 



93 



From east to west they fly, from pole to line, 
Imploring shelter from the wrath divine; 
Beg flames to wrap, or whelming seas to sweep, 
Or rocks to yawn, compassionately deep: 
Seas cast the monster forth to meet his doom. 
And rocks but prison up for wrath to come. 
So fares a traitor to an earthly crown, 
While Death sits threatening in his prince's frown. 
His heart's dismayed; and now his fears command 
To change his native for a distant land: 
Switt orders fly, the king's severe decree 
Stands in the channel, and locks up the sea; 
The port he seeks obedient to her lord, 
Hurls back the rebel to his lifted sword. 

But why this idle toil to paint that day 1 
This time elaborately thrown away 7 
Words all in vain pant after the distress. 
The height of eloquence would make it less. 
Heavens! how the good man trembles! — 

And is there a Last Day ? and must there come 
A sure, a fixed, inexorable dooml 
Ambition! swell; and, thy proud sails to show, 
Take all the winds that Vanity can blow; 
Wealth! on a golden mountain blazing stand, 
And reach an India forth in either hand ; 
Spread all thy purple clusters, tempting Vine ! 
And thou, more dreaded foe, bright Beauty shine: 
Shine all, in all your charms together rise, 
That all, in all you charms, I may despise, 
While I mount upward on a strong desire. 
Borne, like Elijah, on a car of fire. 

In hopes of glory to be quite involved ! 
To smile at death! to long to be dissolved! 
From our decays a pleasure to receive ! 
And kindle into transport at a grave ! 
What equals this? and shall the Victor now 
Boast the proud laurels on his loaded brow 1 
Religion! oh thou cherub, heavenly bright! 
Oh joys unmixed, and fathomless delight! 
Thou, thou art all ; nor find I in the whole 
Creation aught but God and my own soul. 

For ever, then, my soul! thy God adore. 
Nor let the brute creation praise him more. 
Shall things inanimate my conduct blame. 
And flush my conscious cheek with spreading 

shame '? 
They all for him pursue, or quit, their end ; 
The mounting flames their burning power sus- 
pend ; 
In solid heaps the unfrozen billows stand, 
To rest and silence awed by his command : 
Nay, the dire monsters that infest the flood, 
By nature dreadful, and athirst for blood, 
His will can calm, their savage tempers bind, 
And turn to mild protectors of mankind. 
Did not the prophet this great truth maintain 
In the deep chambers of the gloomy main, 
When darkness round him all her horrors spread, 
And the loud ocean bellowed o'er his head? 



When now the thunders roar, the lightmng 
flies. 
And all the warring winds tumultuous rise ; 
When now the foaming surges tossed on high, 
Disclose the sands beneath, and touch the sky; 
When death draws near, the mariners aghast 
Look back with terror on their actions past, 
Their courage sickens into deep dismay. 
Their hearts, through fearand anguish, melt away; 
Nor tears, nor prayers, the tempest can appease ; 
Now they devote their treasure to the seas ; 
Unload their shattered bark, though richly fraught, 
And think the hopes of life are cheaply bought 
With gems and gold ; but, oh, the storm so hight 
Nor gems not gold the hopes of life can buy. 

The trembling prophet then, themselves to save, 
They headlong plunge into the briny wave; 
Down he descends, and, booming o'er his head 
The billows close ; he's numbered with the dead. 
(Hear, O ye just! attend ye virtuous few! 
And the bright paths of piety pursue) 
Lo! the great Ruler of the world, from high, 
Looks smiling down with a propitious eye, 
Covers his servant with his gracious hand. 
And bids tempestuous Nature silent stand ; 
Commands the peaceful waters to give place, 
Or kindly fold him in a soft embrace ; 
He bridles in the monsters of the deep ; 
The bridled monsters awful distance keep : 
Forget their hunger while they view their prey, 
And guiltless gaze, and round the stranger play. 

But still arise new wonders : Nature's Lord 
Sends forth into the deep his powerful word, 
And calls the great leviathan ; the great 
Leviathan attends in all his state, 
Exults for joy, and, with a mighty bound, 
Makes the sea shake, and heaven and earth ic- 

sound. 
Blackens the waters with the rising sand, 
And drives vast billows to the distant land. 
As yawns an earthquake, when imprisoned air 
Struggles for vent, and lays the centre bare. 
The whale expands his jaws enormous size, 
The prophet views the cavern with surprise, 
Measures his monstrous teeth, afar descried. 
And rolls his wondering eyes from side to side ; 
Then takes possession of the spacious seat. 
And sails secure within the dark retreat. 

Now is he pleased the northern blast to hear, 
And hangs on liquid mountains void of fear, 
Or falls, immersed, into the depths below. 
Where the dead silent waters never flow ; 
To the foundations of the hills conveyed. 
Dwells in the shelving mountain's dreadful shade ; 
Where plummet never reached he draws his breath, 
And glides serenely through the paths of death. 
Two wondrous days and nights through coral 

groves, 
Through labyrinths of rocks and sands he roves; 



94 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



When the third nioriiing witli its level rays, 
The mountains gilJs, and on the billows plays, 
It sees the king of waters rise and pour 
His sacred guest uninjured on the shore; 
A type of that great l)lessing which the Muse 
In her next labour ardently pursues. 

BOOK II. 



■'Ek yctim iXTri^o/uw U <J>uo; IkQiiv. 



Au4'^v (X7roip^of/.iytDV 07ria-a> St Qioi TiKtBovlitt. 

Phocyl. 
I. e. 
We hope that the deparled will rise asjain from the dust ; after 
which, like the gods, tliey will bo immortal. 



Now man awakes, and from his silent bed. 
Where he has slept for ages, lifts his head, 
Shakes oil" the slumber often thousand years, 
And on the borders of new worlds appears. 
Whatc'er the bold, the rash adventure cost, 
In wide eternity I dare be lost. 
The Muse is wont in narrow bounds to sing, 
To teach the swain, or celebrate the king : 
I grasp the whole ; no more to parts confined, 
I lift my voice, and sing to human kind : 
1 sing to men and angels ; angels join, 
While such the theme, their sacred songs with 
mine. 

Again the trumpet's intermitted sound 
Rolls the wide circuit of creation round, 
A universal concourse to prej)arc 
Of all that ever breathed the vital air ; 
In some wide field, which active whirlwinds sweep. 
Drive cities, forests, mountains to the deep, 
To smooth and lengtlicn out the unbounded space. 
And spread an area for all human race. 

Now monuments prove faithful to their trust, 
And render back their long connnitted dust! 
Now charncls rattle ; scattered limbs and all 
The various bones, obsequious to the call, 
Self-moved, advance ; the neck, perhaps, to meet 
The distant head; the distant legs the feet. 
Dreadful to view, see through the dusky sky 
Fragments of bodies in confusion fly, 
To distant regions journeying, there to claim 
Deserted members, and complete the frame. 

When the world bowed to Rome's almighty 
sword, 
Rome bowed to Pompcy, and confesssed her lord : 
Yet one day lost, this deity below 
Became the scorn and pity of his foe; 
His blood a traitor's sacrifice was made. 
And smoked indignant on a ruffian's blade: 
No trumpet's sound, no gasping army's yell, 
Bid, with due horror, his great soul farewell : 
Obscure his fall ! all weltering in his gore, 
His trunk was cast to perish on the shore ! 



While Julias frowned the bloody monster dead, 

Who brought the world in his great rival's head. 

This severed head and trunk shall join once more, 

Though realms now rise between and oceans roar. 

The trumpet's sound rach vagrant mote shall hear, 

Or fixed in earth, or ii afloat in air. 

Obey the signal wafted in the wind, 

And not one sleeping atom lay behind. 

So swarming bees that on a summer's day 

In airy rings and wild meanders play, 

Charmed with the brazen sound, their wanderings 

end. 
And, gently circling, on a bough descend. 

The body thus renewed, the conscious soul, 
Which has perhaps been fluttering near the pole. 
Or midst the burning planets wondering strayed. 
Or hovered o'er where her pale corpse was laid. 
Or rather coasted on her final state. 
And feared, or wished for her appointed fate ; 
This soul, returning with a constant flame, 
Now weds for ever her immortal frame : 
Life, which ran down before, so high is wound. 
The springs maintain an everlasting round. 
Thus a frail model of the work designed 
First takes a copy of the builder's mind ; 
Before the structure firm, with lasting oak, 
And marble bowels of the solid rock, 
Turns the strong arch, and bids the columns rise, 
And bear the lofly palace to the skies; 
The wrongs of time enabled to surptiss, 
With bars of adamant and ribs of brass. 

That ancient, sacred, and illustrious dome,* 
Where soon or late fair Albion's heroes come 
From camps and courts, though great, or wise, or 

just. 
To feed the worm, and moulder into dust ; 
That solemn mansion of the royal dead, 
Where passing slaves o'er sleeping monarchs tread, 
Now populous o'erflows ; a numerous race 
Of rising kings fill all the extended space : 
A life well spent, not the victorious sword, 
Awards the crown, and styles the greater lord. 

Nor monuments alone, and burial earth. 
Labours with man to this his second birth ; 
But where gay palaces in pomp arise, 
And gilded theatres invade the skies, 
Nations shall wake, whose unresiwcted bones 
Support the pride of their luxurious sons. 
The most magnificent and costly dome 
Is but an upper chamber to a tomb. 
No spot on earth but has supplied a grave, 
And human skulls the spacious ocean pave : 
All's full of man ; and at this dreadful turn 
The swarm shall issue, and the hive shall burn. 

Not all at once, nor in like manner, rise : 
Some lift with pain their slow unwilling eyes, 



* Westminster Abbey. 



THE LAST DAY. 



95 



Shrink backward from the terror of the light, 
And bless the grave, and call for lasting night ; 
Others, whose long-attempted virtue stood 
Fixed as a rock, and broke the rushing flood, 
Whose firm resolve nor beauty could melt down, 
Nor raging tyrants from their posture frown ; 
Such, in this day of horrors, shall be seen 
To face the thunders with a godlike mien. 
The planets drop, their thoughts are fixed above ; 
The centre shakes, their hearts disdain to move. 
An earth dissolving, and a Heaven thrown wide, 
A yawning gulf, and licnds on every side. 
Serene they view, impatient of delay. 
And bless the dawn of everlasting day. 

Here Greatness prostrate falls ; their Strength 
gives place, 
Here lazars smile ; their Beauty hides her face. 
Christians and Jews, and Turks, and Pagans stand, 
A blended throng, one undistinguished band. 
Some who, perhaps, by mutual wounds expired, 
With zeal for their distinct persuasions fired. 
In mutual friendship their long slumber break, 
And hand in hand their Saviour's love partake. 

But none are flushed with brighter joy, or, warm 
With juster confidence, enjoy the storm. 
Than those whose pious bounties, unconfined. 
Have made them public fathers of mankind. 
In that illustrious rank what shining light 
With such distinguished glory fills my sight 1 
Bond down, my grateful muse; that homage show. 
Which to such worthies thou art proud to owe. 
Wickham! Fox! Chichcly!* hail, illustrious names! 
Who to far distant times dispense your beams; 
Beneath your shades, and near yourcrystal springs, 
I first presumed to touch the trembling strings : 
All hail, thrice honoured, 'twas your great renown 
To bless a people, and oblige a crown; 
And now you rise, eternally to shine. 
Eternally to drink the rays divine. 

Indulgent God ! oh, how shall mortal raise 
His soul to due returns of grateful praise 
For bounty so profuse to human kind. 
Thy wondrous gift of an eternal mind "? 
Shall I, who some few years ago, was less 
Than worm, or mite, or shadow can express. 
Was nothing ; shall I live, when every fire 
Of every star shall languish and expire 1 
When earth's no more, shall I survive above, 
And through the radiant files of angels move 1 
Or, as before the throne of God I stand, 
See new worlds rolling from his spacious hand, 
Where our adventures shall perhaps be taught, 
As we now tell how Michael sung or fought 1 
All that has being in full consort join. 
And celebrate the depths of love divine. 



• Founders of New College, Corpus Chrisli and All Souls, 
in Oxford ; of all which the Author was a member, 
20 2 A* 



But, oh, before tliis blissful state, before 
The aspiring soul this wondrous height can soar, 
The Judge, descending, thunders from afar. 
And all mankind is summoned to the bar. 

This mighty scene 1 next presume to draw ; 
Attend, great Anna, with religious awe : 
Expect not here the known successful arts 
To win attention, and command our hearts. 
Fiction ! be far away ; let no machine, 
Descending here, no fabled god, be seen ; 
Behold the God of gods indeed descend. 
And worlds unnumbered his approach attend. 

Lo, the wide theatre, whose ample space 
Must entertain the whole of human race, 
At Heaven's all powerful edict is prepared, 
And fenced around with an immortal guard. 
Tribes, provinces, dominions, worlds o'crflow 
The mighty plain, and deluge all below, 
And every age and nation pours along ; 
Nimrod and Bourbon mingle in the throng ; 
Adam salutes his youngest son : no sign 
Of all those ages which their births disjoin. 

How empty learning, and how vain is art, 
But as it mends the life, and guides the heart : 
What volumes have been swelled, what time been 

spent. 
To fix a hero's birth-day or descent. 
What joy must it now yield, what rapture raise, 
To see the glorious race of ancient days — 
To greet those worthies who perhaps have stood 
Illustrious on record before the flood : 
Alas, a nearer care your soul demands ; 
CsEsar unnoted in your presence stands. 

How vast the concourse ! not in number more 
The waves that break on the resounding shore, 
The leaves that tremble in the shady grove, 
The lamps that gild the spangled vaults above; 
Those overwhelming armies, whose command 
Said to one empire /all — another, stand ; 
Whose rear lay wrapt in night, while breaking 

dawn 
Roused the broad front, and called the battle on ; 
Great Xerxes' world in arms, proud Cannaj's field, 
Where Carthage taught victorious Rome to yield, 
(Another blow had broke the Fates' decree. 
And earth had wanted her fourth monarchy) 
Immortal Blenheim, famed Ramillia's host ; 
They all are here, and here they all are lost ; 
Their millions swell to be discerned in vain. 
Lost as a billow in th' unbounded main. 

This echoing voice now rends the yielding air : 
'For judgment, judgment, sons of men! prepare!* 
Earth shakes anew, I hear her groans profound. 
And Hell through all her trembling realms resouniL 

Whoe'er thou art, thou greatest power of earthy 
Blessed with most equal planets at thy birth, 
Whose valour drew the most successful sword^ 
Most realms united in one common lord, 



96 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Who on the day of triumph, saiilst, 'Be thiilo 
The skies, Jehovah; all this world is mine;' 
Dare not to lift thine eye. — Alas ! my muse ! 
How art thou lostl what numbers canst thou 
choose 1 

A sudden blush inflames the waving sky, 
And now tlie crimson curtains open fly; 
Lo ! far witlun, and far above all height, 
Where Heaven's great Sovereign reigns in worlds 

of light, 
Whence Nature he informs, and with one ray, 
Shot from his eye, does all her works survey, 
Creates, supports, confounds! where time and place, 
Matter, and form, and fortune, life, ami grace. 
Wait humbly at the footstool of their God, 
And move obedient at his awful nod ; 
Whence he beholds us vagrant emmets crawl 
At random on tliis air-sus])ended ball, 
(Speck of creation) if he pour one breath. 
The bubble breaks, and 'tis eternal death. 

Thence issuing I behold, (but mortal sight 
Sustains not such a rushing sea of light) 
I see on an empyreal flying throne 
Subliuiely raised. Heaven's everlasting Son, 
Crowned with that majesty which formed the world, 
And the grand rebel flaming downward hurled ; 
Virtue, Dominion, Praise, Omnipotence, 
Support the train of their triumphant Prince, 
A zone, beyond the thought of angels bright. 
Around him, like the zodiac, winds its light ; 
Night shades the solemn arclies of his brows, 
And in his cheek the purple morning glows. 
Where'er, serene, he turns propitious eyes. 
Or we expect, or find, a paradise; 
But if resentment reddens their mild beams. 
The Eden kindles, and the world's in flames. 
On one hand Knowledge shines in purest light; 
On one, the sword of Justice, fiercely bright. 
Now bend tiie knee in sport, present the reed : 
Now tell the scourged Impostor he shall bleed ! 

Thus glorious through the courts of Heaven, 
the Source 
Of hfc and death eternal bends his course; 
Loud thunders round him roll, and lightnings play; 
Th' angelic host is ranged in bright array: 
Some touch the string, some strike the sounding 

shell, 
And mingling voices in rich concert swell ; 
Voices seraphic! blessed with sucii a strain. 
Could Satan hear, lie were a god again. 

Triumphant King of glory ! Soul of bliss! 
What a stupendous turn of fate is this I 
Oil ! whither art thou raised above the scorn 
And indigence of him in Bethlehem born; 
A needless, helpless, unaccounted guest. 
And but a second to the foddered beast? 
How changed from him who, meekly prostrate laid, 
Vouchsafed to wash the feet himself had made 1 



From him who was betrayed, forsook, denied. 
Wept, languished, prayed, bled, thirsted, groaned, 

and died 7 
Hung pierced and bare, insulted by the foe, 
All Heaven in tears above, earth unconcerned be- 
low? 

And was 't enough to bid the sun retire 1 
Why did not Nature at thy groan expire? 
I see, I hear, I feel, the pangs divine ; 
The world is vanished, — I am wholly thine. 

Mistaken Caiaphas! ah, which blasphemed. 
Thou or thy prisoner : which shall be condenmed? 
Well might'st thou rend thy garments, well ex- 
claim. 
Deep arc the horrors of eternal flame ! 
But God is good I 'tis wondrous all I e'en He 
Thou gav'st to death, shame, torture, died for thee. 

Now the descending triumph stops its flight. 
From earth full twice a planetary height ; 
There all the cloudscondensed, two columns raise, 
Distinct with orient veins and golden blaze ; 
One fixed on earth, and one in sea, and round 
Its ample foot the swelling billows sound : 
These an immeasurable arch support. 
The grand tribunal of this awful court : 
Sheets of bright azure, from the purest sky, 
Stream from the crystal arch, and round tlic co- 
lumns fly: 
Death, wrapt in chains, low at the basis lies, 
And on the point of his own arrow dies. 

Here high enthroned th' eternal Judge is placed, 
With all the grandeur of his godhead graced; 
Stars on his robes in beauteous order meet, 
And the sun burns beneath his awful feet. 

Now an archangel, eminently bright, 
From oil" his silver staf!', of wondrous height, 
Unfurls the Christian flag, which waving flies, 
And shuts and opens more than half the skies : 
The Cross so strong a red, it sheds a stain 
Where'er it floats, on earth, and air, and main ; 
Flushes the hill, and sets on fire the wood. 
And turns the deep-dyed ocean into blood. 

O formidable glory ! dreadful bright ! 
Refulgent torture to the guilty sight. 
Ah turn, unwary muse ! nor dare reveal 
What horrid thoughts with the polluted dwell. 
Say not, (to make the sun shrink in his beam) 
Dare not affirm they wish it all a dream ; 
Wish or their souls may wish their limbs decay, 
Or God be spoiled of his eternal sway : 
But rather, if thou know'st the means, unfold 
How they with transport might the scene behold. 

Ah how ! but by repentance, by a mind 
Cluick, and severe, its own olVence to find? 
By tears, and groans, and never-ceasing care, 
And all the pious violence of prayer ? 
Thus then, with fervency, till now unknown, 
1 cast my heart before th' eternal throne, 



THE LAST DAY. 



OT 



la thia great temple, whicli the skies surround 
For homage to its Lord a narrow bound. 

' O Thou ! whoso balance doth the mountains 
weigh, 
Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey, 
Whose breatheiinluriith()S(!wat'ry worlds to flume, 
That flame to tempest, and that temi)est tame ; 
Earth's meanest son, all treiidilinij, prostrate falls, 
And on the boundless of thy goodness calls. 

' Oh ! give the winds all past olTence to sweep. 
To scatter wide, or bury in tht; deep: 
Thy power, my weakness, may I ever see, 
And wholly dedicate my soul to thee : 
Reign o'er my will; my passions ebb and flow 
At thy command, nor human motive know 1 
If anger boil, let anger be my praise, 
And sin the graceful indignation raise: 
My love be warm to succour the distressed, 
And lift, the burden from the soul oppressed. 

' Oh may my understanding ever read 
This glorious volume which thy wisdom made! 
Whodccks the maiden Sjiriiig with flowery pride? 
Wiio calls forth Summer, like a sparkling bride? 
Who joys the mother Autunm's bed to crown ] 
And bids old Winter lay her honours downl 
Not the great Ottoman, or greater Czar, 
Not Europe's arbitress of peace and war. 
May sea, and land, and earth, and heaven, be 

joined, . 

To bring the eternal Author to my mind ! 
When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll, 
May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shako my 

soul; 
When earth's in bloom, or planets proudly shine, 
Adore, my heart, the majesty Divine ! 

' Through every scene of life, or peace or war, 
Plenty or want, thy glory be my care I 
Shine we in arms "? or sing beneath our vino 1 
TInne is the; vintage, and the concpiest thine: 
Thy pleasure points the shall, and bends the bow. 
The cluster blasts, or bids it brightly glow : 
'Tis thou that lead'st our powerful armies forth. 
And giv'st great Anne tiiy sceptre o'er the North. 

' Grant I may ever, at the morning ray, 
Open with prayer the consecrated day ; 
Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arise, 
And with the mounting sun ascend the skies; 
As that advances, lot my zeal im})rove, 
And glow with ardour of consummate love; 
Nor cease at eve, but with the setting sun 
My endless worship shall be still begun. 
And, oh! permit the gloom of solenm Night 
To sacred thought may forcibly invite. 
When this world's shut, and awful planets rise; 
Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies; 
Com|)ose our souls with a less da/.zling sight, 
And show all nature in a milder light; 
How every boist'rous thought in calms subsides! 
How the smoothed spirit into goodness glides! 



Oh how divine! to dread the milky way 
To the bright |)aliice of the Lord of day; 
Ilis court admire, or for his favour sue, 
Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew; 
IMcased to look down, ami see the world asleep. 
While 1 long vigils to its founder kei^) ! 

' Can'st thou not shake the centre? Oh, control, 
Subdue by force, the rcliel in my soul. 
Thou who can'st still the raging of the flood. 
Restrain the various tunmltsof my blood: 
Teach me, with equal (irmness, to sustain 
Alluritig ))leasure, and assaulting pain. 
Oh may I pant for thee in each desire 1 
AikI with strong faith foment the holy fire! 
Stri'tcli out my .soul in hope, and grasp the prize 
Which in Eternity's deep bosom lies ! 
At the great day of recompense behold. 
Devoid of fear, the fatal book unfold ! 
Then walled upward to the blissful seat, 
From age to age my grateful song repeat; 
My light, my life, my God, my Saviour, sec, 
And rival angels in the praise of thee !' 



BOOK III. 

Esse qunquc in fntis reininisr.imr, nfToro Icmpus^ 
Quo marc, quo tellus, corroptatiuo rcgia cash 
Ardeat; clmundi moles ojierosa luboret. 

Ovid Met. 



The book unfolding, the resplendent seat 
Of saints and angels, the tremendous fate 
Of guilty souls, the gloomy realms of wo, 
And all the horrors of the world below, 
I next presume to sing. What yet remains 
Demands my last, but most exalted strains; 
And let the nuise or now afl'ect the sky. 
Or in inglorious shades forever lie. 
She kindles; she's inflamed, so near the goal; 
She mounts ; she gains upon the starry polo ; 
The world grows less as she pursues her flight, 
And the sun darkens to her distant sight. 
Heaven opening, all its sacred pomp displays, 
And overwhelms her with the rushing blaze 1 
The triumph rings ! archangels shout around ! 
And echoing Nature lengthens out the sound ! 

Then thousand trumpets now at once advance; 
Now deei)cst silence lulls the vast expanse; 
So deep the silence, and so strong the blast. 
As Nature died, when she had groaned her last. 
Nor man nor angel moves ; the Judge on high 
Looks round, and with his glory Alls the sky; 
Then on the fatal book his hand he lays, 
Which high to view supporting seraphs raise; 
In solemn form the rituals are prepared. 
The seal is broken, and a groan is heard. 
And thou, my soul ! (oh, fall to sudden prayer, 
And let the thought sink deep !) shall thou be 
there 1 



98 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Sec on the left (for by the jjreat command 
The throiij; divided falls on either hand) 
How weak, how pale, how hagijard, how obscene, 
What more than death in every face and mien? 
With what distress, and glarings of atlright, 
They shock the heart, and turn away the sight? 
In gloomy orbs their trembling eyeballs roll, 
Antl tell the horrid secrets of the soul : 
Each gesture mourns, each look is black with care, 
And every groan is laden with despair. 
Reader! if guilty, spare the muse, and find 
A truer image pictured in thy mind. 

Sliould'st thou behold thy brother, father, wife. 
Anil all the soft companions of thy life. 
Whose blended interests leveled at one aim. 
Whose mixed desires sent up one conunon Hame, 
Divided far, thy wretched self alone 
Cast on the left of all whom thou hast known, 
How would it wound? what millions wouid'st 

thou give 
For one more trial, one day more to live"? 
Flung back in time an hour, a moment's space, 
To grasp with eagerness the means of grace, 
Conteu<l for mercy with a pious rage. 
And in that moment to redeem an age 1 
Drive back the tide, suspend a storm in air, 
Arrest tlie sun, but still of this despair. 

Mark, on the right, how amiable a grace! 
Their Maker's image fresh in every face ! 
What purple bloom my ravished soul admires. 
And their eyes sparkling with immortal fires ! 
Triunn)hant Beauty! charms that rise above 
ThisworKl, and in. blessed angels kindle love! 
To the great .Fudge with holy jiridc they turn, 
And dare behold tlie Almighty's anger burn. 
Its flash sustain, against its terror rise, 
And on the dread tribunal fix their eyes, 
Are these the forms that mouldered in the dustl 
Oh, the transcendent glory of the just! 
Yet still some thin remains of fear and doubt 
The infected brightness of their joy pollute. 
Thus the chaste bridegroom, when the priest draws 

nigh, 
Beholds his blessing with a trembling eye. 
Feels doubtful passions throb in every vein, 
And in his cheeks are mingled joy and pain, 
Lest still some intervening chance should rise. 
Leap forth at once, and snatch the golden prize, 
Inflame his wo, by bringing it so lute, 
And stab him in the crisis of his fate. 

Since Adam's family, from first to last. 
Now into one distinct survey is cast. 
Look round, vain-glorious Muse! and you whoe'er 
Devote yourselves to Fame, and think her fair, 
Look round, and seek the lights of human race. 
Whose shining acts Time's brightest amials grace; 
Who founded sects, crowns conquered or re- 
signed ; 
Gave names to nations, or famed empires joined j 



Who raised the vale, and laid the mountain low 
And taught obedient rivers where to How; 
Who with vast fleets, as with a mighty chain, 
Could bind the madness of the roaring main ; 
All lost? all undistinguished? nowhere found? 
How will this truth in Bourbon's i)alace sound? 

That hour, on which the Almighty King on 
high. 
From all eternity has fixed his eye. 
Whether his right hand favoured or annoyed, 
Continued, altered, threatened, or destroyed, 
Southern or eastern sceptre downward hurled, 
Cfave north or west dominion o'er the world ; 
The point of time, for which the worlil was built, 
For which the blood of God himself was spilt. 
That dreadlul moment is arrived. 

Aloft, the seats of bliss their pom]) display. 
Brighter than brightness this distinguished day; 
Less glorious when of old the eternal Son 
From realms of night returned with trophies won: 
Through Heaven's high gateswhen he triumphant 

rode. 
And shouting angels hailed the Victor-God. 
Horrors beneath, darkness in darkness, hell 
Of hell, where torments behind torments dwell; 
A furnace formidable, deep and wide, 
O'erboiling with a mad sulphureous tide, 
Expands its jaws, most dremlful to survey, 
Anil roars outrageous for the destined prey: 
The sons of light scarce unappalled look down. 
And nearer press Heaven's everlasting throne. 

Such is the scene, and one short moment's 
space 
Concludes the hopes, and fears of human race. 
Proceed who dares! — I trend)le as 1 write; 
The whole creation swims before my sight ■ 
I see, I see the Judge's frowning brow 
Say not 'tis distant; I behold it now; 
I faint, my tardy blixul forgets to flow, 
My roul recoils at the stujH>ndous wo; 
That wo, those pangs, which from the guilty 

breast 
In these, or words like these, shall be expressed : — 

' Who burst the barriers of n>y peaceful grave ? 
Ah ! cruel Death, that would no longer save, 
But grudged mo even that narrow dark abode. 
And cast me out into the wrath of God ; 
Where shrieks, the roaring flame, the rattling 

chain, 
And all the dreadful eloquence of pain, 
Our oidy song; black firt>'s malignant light. 
The sole refn^shment of the blasted sight. 

' Must all those powers Heaven gave me to sup- 
ply 
My soul with pleasure, and bring in my joy. 
Rise up in arms against me, join the foe, 
Sense, reason, memory, increase my wo? 
And shall my voice, ordained on hymns to dwell, 
Corrupt to groans, and blow the fires of hell ] 



THE LAST DAY. 



99 



Oh ! must I look witli terror oa my gain, 
Ami with oxistonce only measure paiul 
What! no reprieve, no least iiiiluli^enec given, 
No beam of hope, from any point of IleavenI 
Ah, Mercy! Mercy! art thou dead above"] 
Is love extinguished in tiie source of love"? 

' Bold that 1 am, did luiaven stooj) down to hell] 
The expiring Lord of life my ransom seal"! 
Have I not been industrious to provoke] 
From his embraces obstinately broke'? 
Pursued and panted for his mortal hate, 
Earned my destruction, laboured out my fate 7 
And dare 1 on extinguished love exelaiuj? 
Take, take full vengeance; rouse the slackening 

flame ; 
Just is my lot — but, oh, must it transcend 
The reacii of time, despair a distatit end '! 
"Where dreadful growth slioot forward, and arise 
Where I'liouglit can't follow, and bold Fancy dies. 

' Never! where falls the soul at that dread sound ? 
Down an abyss how dark, and how profound ! 
Down, down, (I still am falling — horrid pain!) 
Ten thousand thousand fathoms still remain ; 
My plunge but still begun — and tiiis for sial 
Could I ollend if I had never been. 
But still increased the senseless happy mass, 
Flowed in the stream, or sliivered in the grass. 

' Father of mercies I why from silent earth 
Didst thou awake, and curse me into birth 1 
Tear me from quiet, ravish me from night. 
And make a thankless present of thy light 1 
Push into being a reverse of thee, 
And animate a clod with misery! 

'The beasts are hapi)y; they como forth, and 
keep 
Short watch on earth, and then lie down to sleep: 
Pain is for man; and, oh, how vast a pain 
For crimes which made the Godliead bleed in vain? 
Annulled his groans, as far as in them lay, 
And flung his agonies and death away ] 
As our dire punishment for ever strong, 
Our constitution, too, for ever young, 
Cursed with returns of vigour, still the same. 
Powerful to bear, and satisfy the flame ; 
Still to be caught, and still to be pursued; 
To perish still, and still to be renewed. 

' And this my help, my God, at thy decree? 
Nature is change<l, and hell should succour mc. 
And canst thou tiien, look down from perfect bliss, 
And see me plunging in the dark abyss] 
Calling theo Father in a sea of fire ? 
Or pouring blasphemies at thy desire] 
Wilb mortals' anguish wilt thou raise thy name, 
And by my pangs Omnipotence proclaim ] 

' Thou who canst toss the planets to and fro. 
Contract not thy great vengeance to my wo ; 
Crush worlds; in hotter flames fallen angels lay; 
On me almighty wrath is cast away. 



Call back thy thunders. Lord : hold in thy rage, 
Nor with a sjieck of wn^tchedness engage; 
b'orget me quite, nor st()op a worm to blame, 
But lose me in the greatness of tiiy name. 
Thou art all love, all mercy, all divine. 
And shall I make those glories cease to shine 1 
Shall sinful man grow great by his olfence. 
And from its course turn back Oumipotenco? 

'Forbid it; and, oh grant, great God, at least 
This one, tiiis slender, almost no re(iuest ; 
Wiien 1 have wept a thou.sanil lives away. 
When Torment is grown weary of its prey, 
When I have raved ten thousand years in fire, 
Tin thousand thousands, let me then expire.' 

Deep anguish ! but too late : the hopeless soul, 
Boiuid to the bottom of the burning pool, 
'I'hough lotii, anil ever loud blaspheming, owns 
He's ju.stly doomed to pour eternal groans; 
Inclosed with horrors, and transfixed with pain. 
Rolling in vengeance, struggling with his chain; 
To talk to fiery tempests, to implore 
The raging flame to give its burnings o'er; 
To toss, to writhe, to pant beneath his load, 
And bear the weight of an ofiended God. 

The favoured of their Judge in trium[ih move 
To take possession of their thrones above, 
Satan's accursed desertion to 8U[)ply, 
And fill the vacant stations of the sky; 
Again to kindle long extinguished rays. 
And with new lights dilate the heavenly blaze j 
To crop the ro.ses of immortal youth. 
And drink the fountain-head of sacred truth 
To swim in seas of bliss, to strike the string. 
And lilt the voice to their Almighty King; 
To lose eternity in grateful lays 
And fill Heaven's wide circumference with praise. 

But I attempt the wondrous height in vain^ 
And leave unfinished the too lolly strain : 
What boldly 1 begin, let others end; 
My strength, exhausted, fainting I descend, 
And choose a less but no ignoble theme. 
Dissolving elements, and worlds in fiame. 

The fatal period, the great hour, is come. 
And Nature shrinks at her api)roaching doom; 
Loud peals of thunder give the sign, and all 
Heaven's terrors in array surround the ball; 
Sharp lightnings with the meteor's blaze conspire. 
And, darted downward, set the world on fire : 
Black rising clouds the thickened ether choke, 
And spiry flames dart tiirough the rolling smoke. 
With keen vibrations cut the sullen night. 
And strike the darkened sky with dreadful light; 
From Heaven's four regions, with immortal force. 
Angels drive on the wind's impetuous course, 
To enrage the fiame ; it 8{)reads, it soars on high, 
Swells in the storm, and billows through the sky: 
Here winding pyramids of fire ascend, 
Cities and deserts in one ruin blend ; 



100 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Hero l)ln/.iii<i volumos, wnJlctl, ovorwholm 
Tlio s|mci(>iis liiciMtfa fur (listimt rciiliii; 
Tlii'iv, uiuliTiimu'(l,(li)\vii nisli t-tcriinl hilla, 
Tho ncijililwuiin^ vales tho vnat (lostrucliuii fills. 
Ilonr'st tlioii tliiit (Inmdful crack, that houikI 
wliicli liroko 
Like |h'h1» of tliuiiilor, niul tho ccntn' slumk? 
Wliat woiult'rs must tliat pronii of Nature fell ! 
(Myni|iiis Ihfic, aiul niiu;|iti(<r Alius, t'l-ll, 
Which seemed, ahove tlie reacl» ot" Fate, to stand 
A toweriiiij mDiiumeiit of tiod's rii;ht-h«nd, 
Mow thist and smoke, wlio.se hrow, so lately, 

spread 
OVr shelli'ivd countries its dillusive slxtde. 
Show mo tiirtt celohratod s|H)t, where all 
The various rulers of the sevcnnl hall 
Have huuilily souj;ht wealth, honour, and redress, 
Tlittt land which lloavon 80i<nu>d diligent to 

hless. 
Once called Hrilannia; can her jrlorios end ? 
And can't surrounding seas licr realms defend ? 
Alas! in tlnmes hehold surroundiiis; seas! 
Like oil, their waters hut augment the hlaxo. 

yon\e angel say, where ran |iri>nd Asia's hound ( 
Or when' with fruits was fair lMiro|>a crowned ! 
Where stivtched waste l.yhia ! where did India's 

store 
Sparkle in diamonds, and her goKlen ore? 
Each lost in oadi, their mingling kingdoms glow, 
And all (lissolvetl, one tierv delu!:;e tlmv : 
'Thus i>arlh's contending numarchies are joined. 
And a full porivHl of nmhition find. 

And now whati-'er or swims, or walks, or flies, 
Inhahilants of sea, or earth, or skies; 
All on whom Adam'a wisdom fixed a name. 
All plunge, and perish in the comiuering llamo. 
This glohc alone would hut defravul the (ir»>, 
iSlarve its ilevouring rage; the flakes aspirt>, 
And catch tlio clouds, and make the heavens their 

prey; 
The sun, tho moon, tlio stars, all melt away ; 



All, all is lost; no nioninncnt, no sign, 

Where once so pidudly Mazed the gay machine. 

So liulihles on the foaming stream expire; 

So sparks that scatter from the kindling firo; 

The (h'vastations of one dreadful hour. 

The great Creator's six days' work devour: 

A mighty, mighty ruin ! yot one soul 

Has more to hoasf, and far outweighs l!ie whole; 

l''xalted in superior excellence, 

toasts down to notliing such a vast exiienso. 

Have ye not seen the eternal mountains nod. 

An earth dissolving, a descemling liod ? 

What strange snrpris(<s tlirougli all n:ilure rani 

h'or whom tiiese revolutions hut for man ! 

I'or him t^mnipoteneo new measures takes, 

I'\>r him thmngh all eternity awnkes; 

I'ours on him gills s\illieient to supply 

Heaven's loss, and with fresh glories till the sky. 

Think deeply then, (> Man ! how gri-at tliou art: 
Vny tiiyself homage with a trembling heart; 
What angels guard no longer daro neglect, 
Slighting ihvsell', aU'rout not (foil's n"specl. 
Muter tl\e sacred temple of thy hreast. 
And ga/.o and wander thero, a ravished guest; 
tta/.e on those hidden treasures thou shall find, 
WaiidiT li\rougli all the gUiries of thy mind : 
Of perfect knowledge, see, the dawning light 
l'"orelells a moon most exijuisitely hrigl\t ! 
1 lere springs of endless joy are luvaking forth: 
Tl\ere huds the promise of celestial wortli! 
Worth which must ripen in a hai>pier clina*, 
And brighter sun, beyond the boiuuls of time. 
Tliou, minor, canst not guess thy vast estate. 
What st(>res, on foreign coasts, tiiy landing wait; 
Lose not thy claim, lot virtue's paths be tnul. 
Thus glad all Heaven, and pleasi> that hountcoua 

(.uhI, 
Who, to light thee to pleasure.^ hung on higli 
Yon radiant orb, proud regent of the sky : 
That service done, its beams shall fade away, 
And God shine forth in one eternal day ! 



^Ut jfoiTc t>f ^.icUfiCon; 



on. 



VANQUISHED LOVE. 



A POl'.iM. 
IN TWO liOOKS. 



Urallor ot puldiro whIpim In coriwra virtus Virg. 



BOOK I. 

\il nvlum nnloiuln liimlna tell<Mir>, 

Luiiiinn ; irnui toaoras nri'<-li:inl vinciilu ixiliuiis.— Vir^. 



FKO^^ lolly themes, from thoughts that soaivd on 

high, 
And oiHMuxl wondrous scones above tho sky, 



l\Ty muse ! descend : indulge my fond desire : 
With sorter thoughts my melting soul in- 
spire, 
And siui>olh my numbers to a li'male's prai.se; 
A i>artial world will listen tv> n\y lays. 
While Anna ri'igns, and sets a female naiu« 
Unrivulled in the glorious lists of i'iune. 



THE FORCE OF RELIGION. 



101 



Hear, v" f"''' iliiufjlitc-rs o( lliin lift|)py land I 
WlioHfriuliiuiloycKlliovuiiiiuiHird World i-oiiiiiiaiid, 
Virtui' irt Iwiiuly : but when cliariiiH of mind 
With elegimco of outward Conn aro joined ; 
Wlieii yciilh nialioB audi bri<;lit objects etill more 

brii;lit, 
And i'ortuite srtit them in the Htron^eHt li<;ht, 
'Tis all of hoavcn tliat wo bf;low may view, 
i\iiil all but adoration in your (bio. 

l'\tnu'd female virtue did this inle adorn 
Ere Ormond, or luir jrloriouH quci'ii, waH born; 
When now Maria'n povverfid arms prevailed, 
Ami baufibty Dudley's l)old ambition faili^d, 
The beauleouH daui^hler of ^reat Su/follt'H race, 
In bloominjj youth, adorned with every frraco. 
Who jfaiiied a crown by treaHon not iier own, 
And innocently tilled another'a throne. 
Hurled from the Huniniit of imperial state. 
With e<jual mind HUHlained lliiiHtroke of fate. 

Hut bow will C]uilli)rd, her far dearer [lart. 
With manly reaHon fortify Ids heart! 
At once siie lonjjH, and ia afraid to know; 
IVovv swill nUr moves, and now advances hIow, 
To liiid her lord, and lindinjj, jtasses by. 
Silent wilii fear, nor dares siie meet his eye. 
Lest that, unasked, in speechless {^rief discloao 
The mournful secret of his inward woes. 
Thus, after sickness, doul)tful of her face. 
The melancholy virjjin shuns tiio i^lasa. 

At lenjfth, with troubled thou^jbt, but look Hcrenc, 
And sorrow soi'lcned by her luuivenly nii(^n, 
She clasps her lord, brave, beautiful, and young, 
While ti'uder ai'cents melt upon lu^r tonifuc; 
(Jenlle and sweet, as vernal zephyr blows, 
r'anning the lily, or the blooming rose. 

"(irieve not, my lord ; a crown, indeed, is lost; 
What I'ar outshines a crown we still may boast; 
A mind comiiosed, a mind that can disdain 
A fruitless sorrow li>r a loss so vain. 
IVothing is lost that virtue can improve 
I'o wealth eternal, and return above; 
Above where no distinction shall bo known 
'Twixt him whom storms have shaken from a 

throne. 
And iiim who, basking in the smiles of Fato, 
Shone forth in all tlic splendour of the great: 
Nor can I /ind tii(^ diirerencc; hen! below; 
1 lately was a (|ueen ; 1 still am so. 
While (luilford'rt wife, thee rather 1 obey, 
Than o'er nuinkind extend imperial sway. 
When we lie down on sonm obwure retreat, 
Incc^rised Maria may her rage forget ; 
And I to death my duty will improve, 
And what you miss in empire add in love. 
Your godlike soul is opiined in your look. 
And I have I'aintly your great meaning spoke. 
For thiti alone I'm pleased 1 wore the crown, 
To find with what content we lay it down. 



i leroes may win, but 'tis a heavenly race 
( -an (piit a throne with a becoming grace." 

Tims spoke the fairest of her sex, and cheered 
Her drooping lord, whoso boding bosom feared 
A darker cloud of ills would burst, and shed 
S(!verer vengc^ance on her guiltless bead. 
Too just, idas, the terrors which ho felt I 
l''or, lo ! a guard I — forgive him if he melt — 
I low sharp her pniigs, when si-veri'd from his side, 
The most sincerely loved, anil loving bride 
In sjiac.i! confined, the muses forbears to tell ; 
l)ee|> was her anguish, but she bore it well: 
I lis jiain was e(|ual, but bis virtue less; 
I \i' thought in grief thi're could be no J^xcess. 
I'ensive he sat, o'ercast with gliwmy care. 
And otVen fondly clasped his absent fair; 
Now, silent, wandered through his rooms of state. 
And sickened at their pomp, and taxed his fate. 
Which thus adorned, in all her shining store, 
A splendid wrelcii, magniru'enlly jioor. 
And on the bridal bed his eyes were cast, 
A rid anguish li'd on his enjoyments past; 
l'',a('li recollected pleasure maih^ liim smart. 
And every transport utalilx'd him to the heart. 

'i'luit hapjiy moon which sunnnoniid to delight. 
That moon wliich siion(!on his dear nu|)lial night. 
Which saw him li)!il her yet untast(!(l charms 
(Denied to princes) in his longing arms, 
Now BOCB the transient blessing fleet away, 
h'inpire of love ! the vision of a day. 

Thus in the Hrilish clime, a Nununer-storm 
Will oil the smiling face of heaven deform; 
Th<' winds with violence at once descend, 
Sw(M!p flowers aial fruits, and make tin; luroutbotid; 
A sudden winter, while the sun is near, 
D'ereoiiH^s the scwison, and inverts the year. 

Hut whither is the captivi! borne away, 
Till! beauteous (^a|itive! from tlm clK^erful day'f 
The scene is changed indeed : before her eyes 
Ill-boding locks and unknown horrors rise ; 
b'or pom|)-and sjilendour, fiir her guard and crown, 
A gloomy dungeon, and a keeper's frown: 
Hhudi thoughts each morn invade the lover's breast; 
l'",a<'h niglil a ruflian locks thc^ (jueen to rest. 

Ah,niournl'ulciiange|if juilged by vulgar minds! 
But Suflolk's daughter its advantage finds. 
Religion's forc(! divine is best displayed 
In (let^p desertion of all lunnan aiil : 
To succour in extn^num is her dc^light, 
And cheer tlie heart when ti^rror strikes the sight. 
We, dislx'litiving our own senses, gaze. 
And wonder what a mortal's heart can raise 
'I'o triumph o'er misliirtunes, smile in griefj 
And comfort those who come to bring relief: 
We gaze, and, as we gaze, Wf^alth, fame, decay, 
And all the world's vain glories fade away. 
Against her cares she raised a dauntless mind, 
And with an ardent heart, but moat resigned, 



102 



YOUNG'S WORKS- 



Deep in the dreadful gloom, with pious heat, 
Amid the silence of her dark retreat, 
Addressed her God — " Almighty Power Divine ! 
'Tis thine to raise, and to depress is thine ; 
With honour to light up the name unknown, 
Or to put out the lustre of a throne. 
In my short span both fortunes I have proved, 
And though with ill frail nature will be moved, 
I'll bear it well : (O strengthen me to bear!) 
And if my piety may claim thy care, 
If I remembered, in youth's giddy heat, 
And tumult of a court, a future state, 
O favour, when thy mercy I implore. 
For one who never guilty sceptre bote ! 
'Twas I received the crown ; my lord is free ; 
If it must fall, let vengeance fall on me ; 
Let him survive, his country's name to raise. 
And in a guilty land to speak thy praise ! 
O may th' indulgence of a father's love, 
Poured forth on me, be doubled from above ! 
If these are safe, I'll think my prayers succeed, 
And bless thy tender mercies whilst I bleed." 

'Twas now the mournful eve before that day 
In which the queen to her full wrath gave way ; 
Through rigid justice rushed into offence, 
And drank, in zeal, the blood of innocence. 
The sun went down in clouds, and seemed to 

mourn 
The sad necessity of his return ; 
The hollow wind, and melancholy rain, 
Or did, or was imagined to complain : 
The tapers cast an inauspicious light ; 
Stars there were none, and doubly dark the niglit. 

Sweet Innocence in chains can take her rest ; 
Soft slumber gently creeping through her breast, 
She sinks ; and in her sleep is re-enthroned, 
Mocked by a gaudy dream, and vainly crowned. 
She views her fleets and armies, seas and land, 
And stretches wide her shadow of command : 
With royal purple is her vision hung ; 
By phantom hosts are shouts of conquest rung ; 
Low at her feet the suppliant rival lies ; 
Our prisoner mourns her fate, and bids her rise. 

Now level beams upon the waters played. 
Glanced on the hills, and westward cast the shade; 
The busy trades in city had began 
To sound, and speak the painful life of man. 
In tyrant's breasts the thoughts of vengeance rouse. 
And the fond bridegroom turns him to his spouse. 
At this first birth of light, while morning breaks. 
Our spouseless bride, our widowed wife, awakes ; 
Awakes and smiles; nor night's imposture blames: 
Her real pomps were little more than dreams ; 
A short-lived blaze, a lightning quickly o'er. 
That died in birth, that shone and was no more ; 
She turns her side and soon resumes a state 
Of mind well suited to her altered fate, 
Serene, though serious, when dread tidings come 
(Ah wretched Guilford !) of her instant doom. 



Sun ! hide thy beams ; in clouds as black as night 
Thy face involve; be guiltless of the sight; 
Or haste more swiftly to the western main. 
Nor let her blood the conscious daylight stain. 

Oh ! how severe ! to fall so new a bride, 
Yet blushing from the priest, in youthful pride; 
When Time had just matured each perfect grace, 
And opened all the wonders of her face ! 
To leave her Guilford dead to all relief, 
Fond of his wo, and obstinate in grief. 
Unhappy fair ! whatever Fancy drew, 
(Vain promised blessings) vanish from her view; 
No train of cheerful days, endearing nights. 
No sweet domestic joys, and chaste delights; 
Pleasures that blossom e'en from doubts and fears. 
And bliss and rapture rising out of cares : 
No little Guilford, with paternal grace. 
Lulled on her knee, or smiling in her face ; 
Who, when her dearest father shall return, 
From pouring tears on her untimely urn, 
Might comfort to his silver hairs impart. 
And fill her place in his indulgent heart ; 
As where fruits fall, quick-rising blossoms smile, 
And the blessed Indian of his cares beguile. 

In vain these various reasons jointly press 
To blacken death, and heighten her distress ; 
She, through the' encircling terrors darts her sight 
To the blessed regions of eternal light. 
And fills her soul with peace : to weeping friends 
Her father and her lord she recommends, 
Unmoved herself: her foes her air survey. 
And rage to see their malice thrown away. 
She soars ; now nought on earth detains her care — 
But Guilford, who still struggles for kis share. 
Still will his form importunately rise, 
Clog and retard her transport to the skies. 
As trembling flames now take a feeble flight, 
Now catch the brand with a returning light, 
Thus her soul onward, from the seats above 
Falls fondly back, and kindles into love. 
At length she conquers in the doubtful field ; 
That heaven she seeks will be her Guilford's 

shield. 
Now death vs welcome : his approach is slow ; 
'Tis tedious longer to expect the blow. 

Oh, mortals! short of sight, who think the 
past, 
O'erblown misfortune still shall prove the last : 
Alas ! misfortunes travel in a train. 
And oft in life from one perpetual chain : 
Fear buries fear, and ills on ills attend. 
Till life and sorrow meet one common end. 

She thinks that she has nought but death to fear, 
And death is conquered. Worse than death is 

near: 
Her rigid trials are not yet complete; 
The news arrives of her great father's fate. 
She sees his hoary head, all white with age, 
A victim to the offended monarch's rage. 



THE force; of religion. 



103 



How great the mercy, had she breathed her last 
Ere tlie dire sentence on her father past ! 

A fonder parent Nature never knew, 
And, as his age increased, liis fondness grew. 
A parent's love ne'er better was bestowed ; 
The pious daughter in her heart o'erflowcd. 
And can she from all weakness still refrain 1 
And still the firmness of her soul maintain'? 
Impossible ! a sigh will force its way, 
One patient tear her mortal birth betray ; 
She sighs and weeps! but so she weeps and 

sighs. 
As silent dews descend, and vapours rise. 

Celestial Patience ! how dost thou defeat 
The foe's proud menace, and elude his hate 1 
"While Passion takes his part, betrays our peace. 
To death and torture swells each slight disgrace : 
By not opposing, thou dost ills destroy. 
And wear thy conquered sorrows into joy. 

Now she revolves within her anxious mind, 
What wo still lingers in reserve behind. 
Griefs rise on griefs, and she can see no bound, 
While nature lasts, and can receive a wound. 
The sword is drawn ; the Glueen to rage inclined, 
By mercy nor by piety confined. 
What mercy can the zealot's heart assuage, 
Whose piety itself converts to rage ? 
She thought, and sighed : and now the blood be- 
gan 
To leave her beauteous cheek all cold and wan : 
New sorrow dimmed the lustre of her eye. 
And on her cheek the fading roses die. 
Alas! should Guilford too — When now she's 

brought 
To that dire view, that precipice of thought. 
While there she trembling stands, nor dares look 

down 
Nor can recede, 'till Heaven's decrees are known. 
Cure of all ills, till now her lord appears — 
But not to cheer her heart, and dry her tears ! 
Not now, as usual, like the rising day. 
To chase the shadows and the damps away ; 
But, like a gloomy storm, at once to sweep 
And plunge her to the bottom of the deep. 
Black were his robes, dejected was his air, 
His voice was frozen by his cold despair ; 
Slow like a ghost, he moved with solemn pace ; 
A dying paleness sat upon his face. 
Back she recoiled, she smote her lovely breast, 
Her eyes the anguish of her heart confest ; 
Struck to the soul, she staggered with the wound. 
And sunk, a breathless image, to the ground. 

Thus the fair lily, when the sky's o'ercast. 
At first but shudders in the feeble blast ; 
But when the winds and weighty rains descend. 
The fair and upright stem is forced to bend, 
Till broke, at length, its snowy leaves are shed. 
And strew, with dying sweets, their native bed. 

3B 



BOOK II. 



Hie pietatis hono3? sic nos in sceptra rcpouisi — Virg. 

Her Guilford clasps her, beautiful in death, 
And with a kiss recalls her fleeting breath. 
To tapers thus, which by a blast expire, 
A lighted taper, touched, restores the fire : 
She reared her swimming eye, and saw the light, 
And Guilford too, or she had loathed the sight 
Her father's death she bore, despised her own. 
But now she must, she will have leave to groan. 
"Ah! Guilford!" she began, and would have 

spoke, 
But sobs rushed in, and every accent broke : 
Reason itself, as gusts of passion blew. 
Was ruffled in the tempest, and withdrew. 

So the youth lost his image in the well, 
When tears upon the yielding surface fell ; 
The scattered features slid into decay, 
And spreading circles drove his face away. 

To touch the soft aflTections, and control 
The manly temper of the bravest soul, 
What with afflicted beauty can compare. 
And drops of love distilling from the fairl 
It melts us down : our pains delight bestow, 
And we with fondness languish o'er our wo. 

This Guilford proved: and with excess of pain, 
And pleasure too, did to his bosom strain 
The weeping fair : sunk deep in soft desire. 
Indulged his love, and nursed the raging fire: 
Then tore himself away, and, standing wide, 
As fearing a relapse of fondness, cried. 
With ill dissembled grief, " My life ! forbear ; 
You wound your Guilford with each cruel tear : 
Did you not chide my grief? repress your own, 
Nor want compassion for yourself alone. 
Have you beheld how, from the distant main. 
The thronging waves roll on, a numerous train, 
And foam, and bellow, till they reach the shore, 
There burst their noisy pride, and are no more 1 
Thus the successive flows of human race. 
Chased by the coming, the preceding chase; 
They sound and swell, their haughty heads they 

rear, 
Then fall and flatten, break, and disappear. 
Life is a forfeit we must shortly pay, 
And Where's the mighty lucre of a day 1 
Why should you mourn my fate? 'tis most unkind; 
Your own you bore with an unshaken mind: 
And which, can you imagine, was the dart 
That drank most blood, sunk deepest in my hearf? 
I can not live without you ; and my doom 
I meet with joy, to share one common tomb. — 
And are again your tears profusely spilt ] 
Oh! then, my kindness blackens to my guilt; 
It foils itself if it recall your pain :— 
Life of my life! I beg you to refrain: 



104 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



The load which Fute imposes you increase, 
And hclji Maria to ilostrov my pcaco." 

Bui, oil! against liiiiiscif iiis hibour turned; 
The more ho comforted, tlic more she mourned. 
Compassion swells our grief; words sotVaiul kind 
But sooth our weakness, and dissolve tlu^ mind. 
Her sorrow (lowed in streams; nor her's alone; 
"While that he blamed, he yielded to his own. 
Where are the smiles slie wore, when she so late, 
Hailed him great partner of the regal state; 
When orient gems around her tenipli>s blazed, 
And bending nations on the glory gazed? 

'Tis now the Cluccn's command they both re- 
treat, 
To weep with dignity, and mourn in state: 
She forms the decent misery with joy. 
And loads with pomp the wretch she would de- 
stroy. 
A spacious hall is hung with black, all light 
Shut out, and noon-day tlarkencd intoniglit: 
From the dim roofnlamp depends on high, 
Like a dim crescent in a clouded sky; 
It sheds a(|uivering melancholy gloom. 
Which only shows tiie darkness of the room: 
A shining axe is on the table laid, 
A dreadful sight! and glitters through the shade. 

In this sad scene the lovers are confined, 
A scene of terrors to a guilty mind ! 
A scene that would have damped with rising 

cares. 
And quite extinguished every love hut theirs. 
What can theydol they fix their mournful eyes — 
Then Guilford thus abrujjtly; " I despise 
An empire lost; 1 tling away the crown; 
Numbers have laiil that bright delusion down; 
But Where's the Charles, or Diodesian where. 
Could quit tiie blooming, wedded, weeping fair? 
Oh! to dwell ever on thy lip! to stand 
In full ))osse.ssion of thy snowy hand! 
And, through tiie uueloudt-d crystal of thine eye, 
The hc.ivenly treasures of thy mind to spy! 
Till rapture reason happily destroys. 
And my soul wanders through innuortal joys! 
Give me the world, and ask me where's my bliss? 
I clasp thee to my breast, and answer. This. 
And shall the grave" — He groans, and can no 

more. 
But all her charms in silence traces o'er; 
Her lip, lier cheek, and eye, to wonder wrought. 
And, wondering, sees, in sad presaging thouglit, 
From that fair neck, that world of beauty, fall, 
And roll along the dust, a ghastly ball! 

Oh! let those tremble who are greatly blessed! 
For who but Guilford could be thus distressed? 
Come hitiier all you hajjpy! all you great! 
From tlowery meadows, and from rooms of state; 
Nor tliink I call your i)leasures to destroy, 
But to retinc, Jind to exalt, your joy: 



Weep not ; but smiling, fix your ardent care 
On nobler titles than the brave or fair. 

Was ever such a mournful, moving sight? 
See, if you can, by that dull, trembling, light: 
Now they embrace; and, mixed with bitti^r wo, 
Like Isis and her Thames, one stream they llow: 
Now they start wide; fixed in benumbing care, 
They stillen into statues of despair: 
Now, tenderly severe, and fiercely kind, 
They rusii at once; they fling their cares behind, 
And dasj), as if to death; new vows repeat, 
And quite wrapped up in love, forget their fate. 
A short delusion ! for the raging }>ain 
llcturns, anil their poor hearts nmst bleed again, 

Meantime the queen new cruelty decreed ; 
Rut ill content that they should only bleed, 
A priest is sent, who, with insitlious art, 
Instils his poison into Suffolk's hear|; 
And Guilford drank it, hanging on the breast, 
lie from bis ciiildbood was witli Rome possessed 
VViicn now the ministers of Death ilraw nigh. 
And in her dearest lord she first nnist die, 
Tiu' subtle jiriest, who long had watched to find 
The most unguarded passes of her mind, 
I'espoke herthus: "Grieve not; 'tis in your powci 
Your lord to rescue from this fatal hour." 
Her bosom pants; she draws her breath with painj 
A sudden horror thrills through every vein; 
Life seems suspended, on his words intent. 
And her soul trembles for tlu^ great event. 

The priest proceeds: "Embrace the faith of 
Rome, 
And ward your own, your lord's, and father's 

doom." 
Ye blessed Spirits ! now your charge sustain ; 
The past was ease ; now first she suffers ])ain: 
Must she pronounce her father's death? must she 
Bid Guilford bleed? — It nuist not, can not, be. 
It can not be! but 'tis the Christian praise, 
Above impossibilities to raise 
Till- weakness of our nature, and deride 
Of vain philosophy the boasted pride. 
What though our feeble sinews scarce impart 
A moment's swillness to the feathered dart; 
'i'hougii tainted air our vigorous youth can break, 
And a chill blast the hardy warrior shake? 
Yet are we strong : hear the loud tempest roar 
From east to west, and call us weak no more: 
The lightning's unresisted force proclaims 
Our might ; and thunders raise our humble names; 
"I'is our Jehovah fills the heavens; as long 
As he shall reign Almighty, we are strong: 
We, by devotion, borrow from his throne; 
Anil almost make Onuiipotenee our own: 
We force the gates of heaven, by fervent prayer j 
And call forth triumph out of man's despair. 
Our lovely mourner, kneeling, litis her eyes 
And bleeding heart, in silence, to the skies, 



THE FORCE OP RELIGION. 



105 



Devoutly sad — Then, briglitcning, like tlie day, 
When sudden winds sweej) scattered clouds away. 
Shining in niiijesty, till now unknown; 
And breathinsf life and H|iirit scarce her own; 

She, rising, s])eaks : " IC these the terms 7" 

Here Guilford, cruel Guilford, (barbarous man ! 
Is this thy love?) as svvift iis ligiitiiing ran; 
O'erwhelined her with tempestuous sorrow frauglit, 
And stifled, in its birth, the mighty thought ; 
Then bursting fresh into a flood of tears; 
Fierce, resolute, delirious witii his fears ; 
His fears for her alone: he beat his breast, 
And thus the fervour of his soul exprest: 
" Oh ! let thy thought o'er our past converse rove. 
And show one moment uninflatned with love! 
Oh! if thy kindness can no longer last. 
In pity to thyself, forget the past ! 
Else wilt thou never, void of shame and fear. 
Pronounce his doom whom tliou hast held so dear. 
Thou who hast took me to thy arms, and swore 
Empires were vile, and Fate could give no more ; 
That to continue was its utmost power, 
And make the future like the present hour ; 
Now call a ruffian, bids his cruel sword 
Lay wide the bosom of thy worthless lord ? 
Transfix his heart (since you its love disclaim) 
And stain his honour with a traitor's name. 
This might perhaps be borne without remorse, 
But sure a father's pangs will have their force! 
Shall his good age, so near its journey's end. 
Through cruel torment to the grave descend? 
His shallow blood all issue at a wound, 
Wash a slave's feet, and smoke upon the ground? 
But he to you has ever been severe; 
Then take your vengeance." — Suflolk now drew 

near, 
Bending beneath the burden of his care, 
His rotes neglected, and his head was bare : 
Decrepit Winter, in the yearly ring. 
Thus slowly creeps to meet the blooming spring : 
Downward he cast a melancholy look. 
Thrice turned to hide his grief, then faintly spoke. 
" Now deep in years, and forward in decay, 
That axe can only rob me of a day: 
For thee, my soul's desire ! I can't refrain ; 
And shall my tears, my last tears, flow in vain? 
When you shall know a mother's tender name, 
My heart's distress no longer will you blame." 
At this, afar his bursting groans were heard ; 
The tears ran trickling down his silver beard : 
He snatched her hand, which to his lips he pressed, 
And bid her plant a dagger in his breast; 
Then sinking, called her piety unjust, 
And Boiled his hoary temples in the dust. 

Hard-hearted men ! will you no mercy know^ 
Has the queen bribed you to distress her foe? 



weak deserters to Misfortune's part, 

By false affection thus to pierce her heart ! 
When she had soared, to let your arrows fly, 
And fetch her bleeding from the middle .sky. 
And can her virtue, s[)ringing from tiie ground, 
Her (light recover, and disdain tlie wound, 
When cleaving love, and human interest, bind 
The broken force of her aspiring mind! 
As round the generous eagle, which in vain 
Exerts her strength, the ser[ient wreathes liis train. 
Her struggling wings entangles, curling plies 
His i)oisonous tail and stings her as she flies. 

While yet the blow's first dreadful weight she 
feels, 
And with its force her resolution reels. 
Large doors, unfolding with a mournful sound, 
To view discover, weltering on the ground. 
Three headless trunks of those whose arms main- 
tained. 
And in her wars immortal glory gained : 
The lifted axe assured her ready doom. 
And silent mourners saddened all the room. 
Shall I proceed, or here break off my tale. 
Nor truths to stagger human faith reveal ? 

She met this utmost malice of her fate 
With Christian dignity and pious state; 
The beating storm's propitious rage she blessed, 
And all the martyr triumphed in her breast. 
Her lord, and father, for a moment's space, 
She strictly folded in her soft embrace ! 
Then thus she spoke, while angels heard on hi<»h, 
And sudden gladness smiled along the sky. 

"Your over-fondness has not moved my hate; 

1 am well pleased you make my death so great : 
I joy I can not save you ; and have given 
Two lives much dearer than my own to heaven, 
If so the queen decrees.*— But I have cause 
To hope my blood will satisfy the laws ; 

And there is mercy still for you in store: 
With me the bitterness of death is o'er ; 
He shot his sting in that farewell embrace, 
And all that is to come is joy and peace. 
Then let mistaken sorrow be supprest. 
Nor seem to envy my ap[)roaching rest." 
Then, turning to the ministers of fate, 
She, smiling, said, " My victory's complete; 
And tell your queen I thank her for the blow. 
And grieve my gratitude I can not show. 
A poor return I leave in England's crown 
For everlasting pleasure and renown : 
Her guilt alone allays this happy hour ; 
Her guilt, the only vengeance in her power." 
Not Rome, untouched with sorrow, heard her 
fate. 
And fierce Maria pityed her too late. 

' Here she embraces them. 



m 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



THE UNIVERSAL PASSION, 

IN SEVEN CHARACTERISTICAL SATIRES. 



Fulgente irahit conslrictos gloria curru 

Non minus ignotos gonerosis. — Hor. 



PREFACE. 

These Satires have been favourably received at 
home and abroad. I am not conscious of the least 
malevolence to any particular person throujfh all 
the characters, though some persons may be so 
selfish as to engross a general application to them- 
selves. A writer in polite letters should be con- 
tent with reputation, the private amusement he 
finds in his compositions, the good influence they 
have on his severer studies, that admission they 
give him to his superiors, and the possible good 
effect they may have on the public; or else he 
should join to his politeness some more lucrative 
qualification. 

But it is possible that satire may not do much 
good. Men may rise in their afl'ections to their 
follies, as they do to their friends, when they are 
abused by others. It is much to be feared that 
misconduct will never be chased out of the world 
by satire : all, tlicrefore, that is to be said for it is, 
that misconduct will certainly be never chased out 
of the world by satire, if no satires arc written. 
Nor is that term inapplicable to graver composi- 
tions; ethics, heathen and Christian, and the Scrijv 
tures themselves, are, in a great measure, a satire 
on the weakness and iniquity of men ; and some 
part of that satire is in verse too ; nay, in tiie first 
ages, philosophy and ])ootry were the same thing ; 
wisdom wore no other dress : so that, I hope, these 
Satires will be the more easily pardoned that mis- 
fortune by the severe. Nay, historians themselves 
may be considered as satirists, and satirists most 
severe ; since such are most human actions, that 
to relate is to expose them. 

No man can converse much in the world, but, 
at what he meets with, he must either be insensi- 
ble, or grieve, or be angry, or smile. Some passion 
(if we arc not impassive) must be moved ; for the 
general conduct of mankind is by no means a thing 
indiflerent to a reasonable and virtuous man. Now, 
to smile at it, and turn it into ridicule, 1 think most 
eligible, as it hurts ourselves least, and gives vice 
and folly the greatest oflcnce : and that for this 
reason, because what men aim at by them is, ge- 
nerally, public opinion ami esteem ; which truth is 
the subject of the following Satires ; and joins them 
together, as several branches from the same root : 



an unity of design which has not, I think, in a set 
of satires, been attempted before. 

Laughing at the misconduct of the world will, 
in a great measure, ease us of any more disagreea- 
ble passion about it. One passion is more effectu- 
ally driven out by another than by reason, what- 
ever some may teach ; for to reason we owe our 
passions. Had we not reason, we should not be 
oflended at what we find amiss: and the cause 
seems not to be the natural cure of any effect. 

Moreover, laughing satire bids the fairest for 
success. The world is too proud to be fond of a 
serious tutor ; and when an author is in a passion, 
the laugh, generally, as in conversation, turns 
against him. This kind of satire only has any 
delicacy in it. Of this delicacy Horace is the best 
master : he appears in good humour while he cen- 
sures; and, therefore, his censure has the more 
weight, as supposed to proceed from judgment, not 
from passion. Juvenal is ever in a passion: he 
has but little valuable but his eloquence and moral- 
ity ; the last of which I have had in my eye, but 
rather for emulation than imitation, through my 
whole work. 

But though I comparatively condemn Juvenal, 
in part of the Sixth Satire, (where the occasion 
most required it) 1 endeavoured to touch on his 
manner, but was forced to quit it soon, as disagreea- 
ble to the writer and reader too. Boileau has join- 
ed both the Roman satirists with great success, but 
has too much of Juvenal in his very serious ' Sa- 
tire on Woman,' which should have been the gay- 
est of all. An excellent critic of our own com- 
mends Boileau's closeness, or, as he calls it, press- 
7iess, particularly ; whereas, it appears to me, that 
repetition is Ills fault, if any fault should be im- 
puted to him. 

There are some prose satirists of the greatest 
delicacy and wit, the last of which can never, or 
should never succeed, without the former. An 
author without it betrays too great a contempt for 
mankind, and opinion of himself; which are bad 
advocates for reputation and success. What a dif- 
ference is there between the merit, if not the wit, 
of Cervantes and Rabelais ? the last has a parti- 
cular art of throwing a great deal of genius and 
learning into frolic and jest, but the genius and 
the scholar is all you can admire : you want the 



LOVE OF FAME. 



107 



gentleman to converse with in Iiim : he is Uke a 
criinituil who receives his life for some services; 
you coiiiineiid, but you pardon too. Indecency of- 
fends our pride, as men, and our unaficctod taste, 
as judges of composition : Nature has wisely form- 
ed us with an aversion to it, and he that succeeds 
in spite of it is aliena venia, quam sua providen- 
tia tulior* 

Such wits, like false oracles of old, (which were 
wits and cheats) should set up for reputation 
among the weak in some BcEotia, which was the 
land of oracles; for the wise will hold theni in con- 
tempt. Some wits, too, like oracles, deal in am- 
biguities, but not with equal success; for though 
ambiguities arc the first excellence of an impostor, 
they are the last of a wit. 

Some satirical wits and humourists, like their 
father Lucian, laugh at every thing indiscrimi- 
nately, which betrays such a poverty of wit as can 
not allbrd to j)art with any tiling, and such a want 
of virtue as to postpone it to a jest. Such writers 
encourage vice and folly, which they pretend to 
combat, by setting them on an equal foot with bet- 
ter things ; and while they labour to bring every 
thing into contempt, how can they expect their 
own parts should escape? Some French writers, 
particularly, are guilty of this in matters of the last 
consequence, and some of our own: they that are 
for lessening the true dignity of mankind, are not 
sure of being successful, but with regard to one 
individual in it. It is this conduct that justly 
makes a wit a term of reproach : which puts me in 
mind of Plato's fable of the birth of Love, one of 
the jirettiest fables of all antiquity; which will hold 
likewise with regard to modern jwetry. ' Love 
(says he) is the son of the goddess Poverty and 
the god of Riches: he has from his father his dar- 
ing genius, his elevation of thought, his building 
castles in the air, his prodigality, his neglect of 
things serious and useful, his vain opinion of his 
own merit, and his affectation of preference and 
distinction : from his mother he inherits his indi- 
gence, which makes him a constant beggar of fa- 
vours, that importunity with which he begs, his 
flattery, his servility, his fear of being despised, 
which is inseparable from him.' This addition 
may be made, viz. that Poetry, like Love, is a 
little subject to blindness, which makes her way to 
preferments and honours; that she has her satirical 
quiver ; and lastly, that she retains a dutiful ad- 
miration of her father's family, but divides her fa- 
vours, and generally lives with her mother's rela- 
tions. However, this is not necessity, but choice: 
were Wisdom her governess, she might have much 
more of the father than the mother; especially in 
such an age as this, which shows a due passion for 
her charms. 



SATIRE I. 



TO ins GRACE THE DUKE OF DORSET. 



Tanto major Faiiiaj sitis est, qimm 

Virtmis. JUV. Sat. 10. 



My verse is satire; Dorset! lend your car, 

And patronise a Muse you can not fear. 

To poets sacred is a Dorset's name. 

Their wonted passport tlirongh the gates of Fame; 

It bribes the partial reader into praise, 

And throws a glory round the sliellcr'd lays: 

The dazzled judgment fewer faults can see, 

And gives a{)plause to Rhickniore, or to me, 

But you decline the mistress we pursue ; 

Others are fond of Fame, but Fame of you. 

Instructive Satire! true to Virtue's cause I 
Thou shining supplement of public laws! 
When flattered crimes of a licentious age 
Reproach our silence, and demand our rage ; 
When purchased follies, from each distant land, 
Like arts, improve in Britain's skilful hand ; 
When the Law shows her teeth, but dares not 

bite, 
And South-Sea treasures are not brought to lightj 
When churchmen Scripture for the classics quit, 
Polite apostates from God's grace to wit:* 
When men grow great from their revenue spent, 
And fly from bailiUs into ])arliament ; 
When dying sinners, to blot out their score, 
Bequeath the Church the leavings of a whore; 
To chafe our spleen, when themes like these irv> 

crease. 
Shall panegyric reign and censure cease? 

Shall poesy, like law, turn wrong to right. 
And dedications wash an Ethiop white? 
Set up each senseless wretch for Nature's boast, 
On whom praise shines, as trophies on a post? 
Shall funeral Eloquence her colours sjiread. 
And scatter roses on the wealthy dead ? 
Shall authors smile on such illustrious days, 
And satirize with nothing — but their praise? 

Why slumbers Pope, who leads the tuneful train, 
Nor hears that virtue which he loves complain? 
Donne, Dorset, Dryden, Rochester, are dead, 
And guilt's chief foe in Addison is fled ; 
Congreve, who, crowned with laurels fairly won, 
Sits smiling at the goal while others run, 
He will not write ; and (more provoking still) 
Ye gods ! he will not write, and M.nevius will. 

Doubly distressed, what author shall we find 
Discreetly daring, and severely kind. 
The courtly Roman'st shining path to tread, 
And sharply smile prevailing folly dead ! 



•Val. Max. 



2 a* 



' Many of the Greek and Latin classics had been edited \>j 
English divines, 
t Horace. 



108 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Will no superior genius snatch the quill, 
And save nie, on the brink, from writing illl 
Though vain the strife, I'll strive my voice to raise: 
What will not men attempt for sacred praise 1 
The love of praise, howe'er concealed by art, 
Reigns, more or less, and glows in every heart ; 
The proud, to gain it, toils on toils endure; 
The modest shun it, but to make it sure. 
O'er globes and scejitres, now on thrones it swells, 
Now trans the midnight lamp in college cells: 
'Tis tory, whig ; it plots, prays, preaches, pleads, 
Harangues in senates, squeaks in masquerades. 
Here to Steele's humour makes a bold pretence, 
There, bolder, aims at Pulteney's* eloquence: 
It aids the dancer's heel, tlie writer's heud, 
And heaps the plain with mountains of the dead; 
Nor ends with life, but nods in sable plumes. 
Adorns our hearse, and flatters on our tombs. 

What is not proud? the pimp is proud to see 
So many like himself in high degree : 
The whore is i)roud her beauties are the dread 
Of peevish virtue and the marriage-bed ; 
And the bribed cuckold, like crowned victims borne 
To slaughter, glories in his gilded horn. 

Some go to church, proud humbly to repent. 
And come back much more guilty than they went. 
One way they look, another way they steer. 
Pray to the gods, but would have mortals hear; 
And when their sins they set sincerely down, 
They'll find that their religion has been one. 

Others with wishful eyes on glory look, 
When they have got their picture towards a book. 
Or pompous title, like a gaudy sign. 
Meant to betray dull sots to wretched wine. 
If at his title Trappt had dropped his quill, 
Trapp might have passed for a great genius still. 
But Trapp, alas! (excuse him if you can) 
Is now a scribbler, who was once a man. 
Imperious, some a classic fame demand. 
For heaping up, with a laborious hand, 
A wagon-load of meanings for one word, 
Wliile A's deposed, and B's with pomp restored. t 

Some, for renown, on scraps of learning dote, 
And think they grow immortal as they quote. 
To patch- work learned quotations are alUed; 
Botli strive to make our poverty our pride. 

On glass how witty is a noble peer! 
Did ever diamond cost a man so dear 1 

Polite diseases make some idiots vain, 
Which, if unfortunately well, they feign. 

Of folly, vice, disease, men proud we see; 
And (stranger still!) of blockheads' flattery. 
Whose praise defames ; as if a fool should mean. 
By spitting on your face to make it clean. 



• Aflerwarda Earl of Bath. 

1 Dr. Trapp had been Professor of poetry in the University 
of Oxford. 
t This alludes to Theobald's "Shakspeare Restored." 



Nor is't enough all hearts are swoln with Pride, 
Her power is mighty, as her realm is wide. 
What can she not perform ? the love of Fame 
Made bold Alphonsus his Creator blame ; 
Empedocles hurled down the burning steep; 
And (stronger still) made Alexander weep ; 
Nay, it holds Delia from a second bed, 
Thougli her loved lord has four half months been 
dead. 

This passion with a pimple have I seen 
Retard a cause, and give a judge the spleen. 
By this inspired (O ne'er to be forgot I) 
Some lords have learned to spell, and some to knot. 
It makes Globose a speaker in the House ; 
He hems, and is delivered of his mouse : 
It makes dear self on well-bred tongues prevail. 
And / the little hero of each tale. 

Sick with the love of Fame, what throngs pour in. 
Unpeople court, and leave the senate thin 1 
My growing subject s.oems but just begun. 
And, chariot-lilce, I kindle as I run. 

Aid me, great Homer ! with thy epic rules, 
To take a cat^gue of British fools. 
Satire ! had I thy Dorset's force divine, 
A knave or fool should perish in each line; 
Though for the first all Westminster should plead, 
And for the last all Gresham intercede. 

Begin. Who first the catalogue shall grace 1 
To quality belongs the highest place. 
My lord comes forward ; forward let him come ! 
Ye vulgar ! at your peril give him room : 
He stands for fame on his forefathers' feet. 
By heraldry proved valiant or discreet. 
With what a decent pride he throws his eyes 
Above the man by three descents less wisel 
If virtues at his noble hands you crave. 
You bid him raise his fathers from the grave. 
Men should press forward in Fame's glorious 

chase; 
Nobles look backward, and so lose the race. 

Let high birth triumph! what can be more 
great 7 
Nothing — but merit in a low estate. 
To Virtue's humblest son let none prefer 
Vice, though descended from the Conqueror. 
Shall men, hke figures, pass for high or base, 
Slight or important, only by their place? 
Titles are marks of honest men, and wise; 
The fool or knave that wears a title, lies. 

They that on glorious ancestors enlarge. 
Produce their debt instead of their discharge. 
Dorset ! let those who proudly boast their line. 
Like thee in worth hereditary shine. 

Vain as false greatness is, the muse must own 
We want not fools to buy that Bristol stone : 
Mean sons of Earth, who, on a South-Sea tide 
Of full success, swam into wealth and pride. 
Knock with a purse of gold at Anstis' gate, 
And beg to be descended from the great 



LOVE OF FAME. 



109 



Wlirn inon of infamy to grandeur soar, 
Thpy light a torch to show their shame the more 
Thdso governments, which curb not evils, cause; 
And a rich knave's a Hbel on our laws. 

Helus with solid glory will be crowned; 
lie buys no phantom, no vain empty sound ; 
Eut builds himself a name; and, to be great, 
Sinks in acjuarry an immense estate! 
In cost and grandeur Chandos he'll outdo; 
And, Burlington, thy taste is not so true. 
The pile is finished, every toil is passed, 
And full perfection is arrived at last; 
When, lo! my lord to some small corner runs, 
An<l leaves state-rooms to strangers and to duns. 

The man who builds, and wants wherewith to 

pay, 
Provides a home from which to run away. 
In Britain, what is many a lordly seat. 
But a discharge in full for an estate 7 

In smaller compass lies Pygmalion's fame; 
Not domes, but antique statues, arc his flame: 
Not Fountaine's self more Parian charms has 

known, 
Nor is good Pembroke* more in love with stone. 
Th(^ baiiilf's come (rude men, profanely bold!) 
And bid him turn his Venus into gold. 
' No, sirs,' he cries ; ' I'll sooner rot in gaol: 
Shall Grecian arts be trucked for English bail?' 
Such heads migiit make their very bustos laugh: 
His daughter starves; but Cleopatra's safe. t 

Men overloaded with a large estate. 
May sjiill their treasure in a nice conceit: 
Tlie rich may be polite; but oh! 'tis sad 
To say you're curious, when wo swear you're mad. 
By your revenue measure your cxpen.se, 
And to your funds and acres join your sense. 
No man is blessed by accident or guess; 
True wisdom is the price of happiness: 
Yet few without long discipline are sage, 
And our youth only lays up sighs for age. 
But how, my Muse! canst thou resist so long 
The bright temptation of the courtly throng. 
Thy most inviting theme? the court affords 
Much food for satire; — it abounds in lords. 
' What lords are those saluting with a grin?' 
One is ju.st out, and one as lately in. 
'How comes it, then, to pass, we see preside 
On lH7th their brows an equal share of pride?' 
Pride, that impartial passion, reigns through all, 
Attends our glory, nor deserts our fall. 
As in its home it triumphs in high place, 
And frowns, a haughty exile, in disgrace. 
Some lords it bids admire their wands so white. 
Which bloom, like Aaron's to their ravished sight: 



• Sir Anilrow Fountaine and the Earl of Pembroke were 
great adniiiers orantique statues, 
t A lainuus statue. 



Some lords it bids resign, and turn their wands, 
Like Moses', into serpents in their hands. 
These sink, as divers, for renown, and boast. 
With pride inverted, of their honours lost: 
But against reason sure 'tis equal sin, 
To boast of merely being out or in. 

What numbers here, through odd ambition, 
strive 
To seem the most transported tilings alive ? 
As if l)y joy desert was understood. 
And all the fortunate were wise and good : 
Hence aching bosoms wear a visage gay. 
And stifled groans frequent the ball and play : 
Completely dressed by MonteXiil* and grimace, 
They take their birth-day suit and public face: 
Their smiles are only part of what they wear, 
Put olfat night with Lady Bristol's hair: 
What bodily fatigue is half so bad ? 
With anxious ctire they labour to be glad. 

What numbers, here, would into fame advance, 
Conscious of merit in the coxcomb's dance ? 
The tavern, park, assembly, mask, and I'lay, 
Those dear destroyers of the tedious day; 
That wheel of fops; that saunter of the town: 
Call it diversion, and the pill goes down. 
Fools grin on tools, and stoic-like, supjwrt 
Without one sigh, the pleasures of a couiV. 
Courts can give nothing to the wise and good 
But scorn of pomj) and love of solitude. 
High stations tumult, but not bliss, create: 
None think the great unhapi)y but the great: 
Fools gaze, and envy; envy darts a sting. 
Which makes a swain as wretched as a king. 
I envy none their pageantry and show ; 
I envy none the gilding of their wo. 
Give me, indulgent gods! with mind serene 
And guiltless heart, to range the silvan scene. 
No splendid poverty, no smiling care, 
No well-bred hate, or servile grandeur there ; 
There pleasing objects useful thoughts suggest, 
The sense is ravished, and the soul is blessed ; 
On every thorn delightful wisdom grows, 
In every rill a sweet instruction flows : 
But some, untaught, o'erhear the whispering rill, 
In spite of sacred leisure blockheads still ; 
Nor shoots u[) Folly to a nobler bloom 
In her own native soil, the drawing-room. 

The squire is proud to see his coursers strain. 
Or well-breath'd beagles sweep along the plain. 
Say, dear Hippolitus! (vvhose drink is ale. 
Whose erudition is a Christmas-tale, 
Whose mistress is saluted with a smack. 
And friend received with thumps upon the back) 
When thy sleek gelding nimbly leaps the mound, 
And Ringwood opens on the tainted ground, 
Is that thy praise? let Ringwood's feme alone; 
Just Ringwood leaves each animal his own, 

' A famous tailor. 



110 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Nor envies when a gipsy you commit, 
And shake the clumsy bench with country wit ; 
When you the dullest of dull things have said, 
And then ask pardon for the jest you made. 

Here breathe, my Muse! and then thy task re- 
new; 
Ten thousand fools unsung are still in view. 
Fewer lay-atheists made by church debates. 
Fewer great beggars famed for large estates, 
Ladies, whose love is constant as the wind. 
Cits, who prefer a guinea to mankind; 
Fewer grave lords to Scroope* discreetly bend. 
And fewer shocks a statesman gives his friend. 

Is there a man of an eternal vein, 
Who lulls the town in winter with his strain, 
At Bath, in summer, chants the reigning lass, 
And sweetly whistles as the waters pass 1 
Is there a tongue like Delia's o'er her cup. 
That runs for ages without winding up 1 
Is there whom his tenth epic mounts to fame 1 
Such, and such only, might exhaust my theme; 
Nor would these heroes of the task be glad, 
For who can write so fast as men run mad ? 



SATIRE 11. 

My Muse! proceed, and reach thy destined end, 
Though toil and danger the bold task attend. 
Heroes and gods make other poems fine, 
Plain satire calls for sense in every line : 
Then to what swarms thy faults I dare expose 1 
All friends to vice and folly are thy foes. 
When such the foe, a war eternal wage, 
'Tis most ill nature to repress thy rage ; 
And if these strains some nobler muse excite, 
I'll glory in the verse I did not write. 

So weak are human kind by Nature made, 
Or to such weakness by their vice betrayed, 
Almighty Vanity ! to thee they owe 
Their zest of [ileasure, and their balm of wo. 
Thou, like the sun, all colours dost contain. 
Varying, like rays of light on drops of rain : 
For every soul finds reasons to be proud, 
Thougii hissed and hooted by the pointing crowd. 

Warm in pursuit of foxes and renown, 
Bippolitus demands the silvan crown :t 
But Florio's fame, the product of a shower, 
Grows in his garden, an illustrious flower! 
Why teems the earth? why melt the vernal skies'? 
Why shines the sun 7 to make Paul Diackt rise. 
From morn to night has Florio gazing stood. 
And wondered how the gods could be so good : 



* A great moneylemler. 

This refers to the First Satire. 
t The name of a tulip, and of a great stock-jobber, from 
whom tlie flower received it. 



What shape? what hue? was ever nymph so fairl 
He dotes! he dies! he, too, is rooted there. 
O solid bliss ! which nothing can destroy. 
Except a cat, bird, snail, or idle boy. 
In Fame's full bloom lies Florio down at night, 
And wakes next day a most inglorious wight • 
The tulip's dead ! See thy fair sister's fate. 
O C** ! and be kind ere 'tis too late. 

Nor are those enemies I mention'd all : 
Beware, O florist ! thy ambition's fall. 
A friend of mine indulged this noble flame, 
A quaker served him, Adam was his name; 
To one loved tulip oft the master went. 
Hung o'er it, and whole days in rapture spent; 
But came, and missed it one ill-fated hour: 
He raged! he roared, 'What demon cropt my 

flower '?' 
Serene, quoth Adam, ' Lo ! 'twas crushed by me ; 
Fallen is the Baal to which thou bowed'st thy 
knee.' 

But all men want amusement, and what crime 
In such a paradise to fool their time? 
None; hut why proud of this? to fame they soar; 
We'll grant they're idle if they'll ask no more. 

We smile at florists, we despise their joy, 
And think their hearts enamoured of a toy. 
But are those wiser whom we most admire, 
Survey with envy, and pursue with fire? 
What's he who sighs for wealth, or fame, or power ? 
Another Florio doting on a flower ; 
A short-lived flower, and which has often sprung 
From sordid arts, as Florio's out of dung. 

With what, O Codrus ! is thy fancy smit ? 
The flower of learning, and the bloom of wit. 
Thy gaudy shelves with crimson bindings glow, 
And Epictetus is a perfect beau. 
How fit for thee, bound up in crimson too, 
Gilt, and, like them, devoted to the view? 
Thy books are furniture. Methinks 'tis hard 
That science should be purchased by the yard ; 
And Tonson, turned upholsterer, send home 
The glided leather to fit up thy room.* 

If not to some peculiar end assigned. 
Study's the specious trifling of the mind, 
Or is, at best, a secondary aim, 
A chase for sport alone, and not for game. 
If so, sure they who the mere volume prize, 
But love the thicket where the quarry lies. 

On buying books Lorenzo long was bent. 
But found, at length, that it reduced his rent; 
His farms were flown : when, lo I a sale comes on, 
A choice collection ! what is to be done ? 
He sells his last, for he the whole will buy ; 
Sells e'en his house; nay, wants whereon to lie: 
So high the generous ardour of the man 
For Romans, Greeks, and Orientals ran. 



* Jacob Tonson fitted up many libraries of gilt books for 
South Sea coxcombs in 1?20. 



LOVE OF FAME. 



Ill 



When terms wore drawn, and brought him by the 

cUnk, 
Lorenzo signed the bargain — witli his mark. 
Unlearned men of books assume tlie care, 
As eunuchs are the guardians of the fair. 

Not in his authors' liveries alone 
IsCodrus' erudite ambition shown: 
Editions various, at high prices bought, 
Inform the world what Codrus would be thought; 
And to this cost another must succeed, 
To pay a sage who says that he can read ; 
Who titles knows, and indexes has seen, 
But leaves to Orrery* what lies between ; 
Of pompous books wlio shuns the proud expense, 
And humbly is contented with their sense. 

Orrery! whoso accomplishments make good 
The promise of a long-illustrious blood, 
In arts and manners eminently graced, 
The strictest honour! and the finest taste! 
Accept this verse, if satire can agree 
With so consummate an humanity. 
By your example would Hilario mend, 
How would it grace the talents of my friend, 
Who, with the charms of his own genius smit, 
Conceives all virtues are comprised in wit I 
But time his fervent petulance may cool, 
For, though he is a wit, he is no fool. 
In time he'll learn to use, not waste, his sense ; 
Nor make a frailty of an excellence. 
He spares nor friend nor foe, but calls to mind, 
Like doomsday, all the faults of all mankind. 

What though wit tickles, tickling is unsafe, 
If still 'tis painful while it makes us laugh. 
Who, for the poor renown of being smart. 
Would leave a sting within a brother's heart ? 

Parts may be praised, good-nature is adored; 
Then draw your wit as seldom as your sword, 
And never on the weak ; or you'll appear 
As there no hero, no great genius here. 
As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, 
So wit is by politeness sharpest set : 
Their want of edge from their oftcnce is seen; 
Both pain us least when exquisitely keen. 
The fame men gives is for the joy they find ; 
Dull is the jester when the joke's unkind. 

Since Marcus, doubtless, thinks himself a wit. 
To pay my compliment what place so fif? 
His most facetious Letters* came to hand. 
Which my First Satire sweetly reprimand : 
If that a just oflTence to Marcus gave. 
Say, Marcus! which art thou, a fool or knave? 
For all but such with caution I forbore ; 
That thou wast either I ne'er knew before : 
I know thee now, both what thou art and who; 
No Mask so good but Marcus must shine through ; 

• Charles Eavl or Orrery, 
t Letters sent to tlie Author, signed Marcus. 
21 



False names are vain, thy lines tiieir author tell; 
Thy best concealment had been writing well: 
But thou a brave neglect of fame hast shown, 
Of others' fame, great genius ! and thy own. 
Write on unheeded, and this maxim know, 
The man who pardons, disappoints his foe. 

In malice to proud wits, some proudly lull 
Their peevish reason, vain of being dull: 
When some home-joke has stung their solemn 

souls. 
In vengeance they determine — to be fools ; 
Through s[ileen, that little Nature gave make less, 
Cluite zealous in the ways of heaviness; 
To lumps inanimate a fondness take. 
And disinherit sons that are awake. 
These, when their utmost venom they would spit, 
Most barbarously tell you — ' He's a wit.' 
Poor negroes thus, to show their burning spite 
To cacodcmons, say — they're devilish white. 

Lampridius, from the bottom of his breast, 
Sighs o'er one child, but triumphs in the rest. 
How just his grief? one carries in his head 
A less proportion of the father's lead. 
And is in danger, without special grace, 
To rise above a justice of the peace. 
The dunghill-breed of men a diamond scorn, 
And feel a passion for a grain of corn ; 
Some stupid, plodding, money-loving wight, 
Who wins their hearts by knowing black from 

white, 
Who with much pains, exerting all his sense, 
Can range aright his shillings, pounds, and pence. 

The booby father craves a booby soTi, 
And, by Heaven's blessing, thinks himself undone. 

Wants of all kinds are made to Fame a plea, 
One learns to lisp, another not to see : 
Miss Duncomb, tottering, catches at your hand ; 
Was ever thing so pretty born to stand 7 
Whilst these what Nature gave disown, through 

pride. 
Others affect what Nature has denied ; 
What Nature has denied, fools will pursue, 
As apes iire ever walking upon two. 

Crassus, a grateful sage, our awe and sport! 
Supports grave forms, for forms the sage support: 
He hems, and cries, with an important air, 
' If yonder clouds withdraw, it will be fair:' 
Then quotes the Stagirite to ])rove it true. 
And adds, ' The learned delight in something 

new.' 
Is't not enough the blockhead scarce can read, 
But must he wisely look, and gravely plead? 
As far a formalist from wisdom sits. 
In judging eyes, as libertines from wits. 

These subtle wights (so blind are mortal men. 
Though Satire touch them with her keenest pen) 
For ever will hang out a solemn face. 
To put off nonsense with a better grace ; 



112 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Ab pcdlnrs with some hero's head make bold, 

Illiistnmis mnrk ! wliore pins arc to be sold. 

Wbiit 's till' bfiit brow, or lU'cli in thought reclined 1 

The body's wisdom to conceal the mind. 

A man of sense can artifice disdain, 

As nien oCvveallli may venture to i;o plaia: 

And be this truth eternal ne'er I'orgot, 

Solemnity 's a cover for a sot. 

I lind the fool when I behold the skreen, 

For 'tis the wise man's interest to bo seen. 

Hence, Doddintfton, tluit openness of heart, 
And just disdain for tiiat jioor mimic Art; 
Ilenet- (manly praise !) that manner, nobly free. 
Which all admire, and 1 commend, i,n thee. 

With generous scorn how oil hast thou surveyed 
Of courl and town the noontide masquerade 
Where swarms of knaves the vi/.or quite disgrace, 
And hide secure- behind a naked face ; 
Where Nature's end of language is dechned, 
And men talk only to conceal the mind ; 
Where generous hearts the greatest hazard run, 
And ho wlio trusts a brother is undone'? 

These all tiicir care expend on outward show 
For wealth and fame ; for fame alone the beau. 
Of late at Wiiite's was young Florello seen; 
How blank his look ! how di.scomposed his mien? 
So hard it prwves in grief sincere to feign! 
Sunk were his spirits, for his coat was plain. 
Next day his breast regained its wonted peace ; 
His health was mended with a silver lace. 
A curious artist long inured to toils 
Of gentler sort, witii combs, and fragrant oils, 
Whether by chance or by some god inspired, 
So toucheil his curls, his mighty soul was lired. 
The well-6woln ties an equal homage claim. 
And either shoulder has its share of fame; 
His sumptuous watehease, though concealed it lies, 
Like a good conscience, solid joy supplies. 
He only thinks himself (so far from vain!) 
Stanhope* in wit, in breeding Deloraine.t 
Whene'er by seeming chance, he throws his eye 
On mirrors liiat rellect his Tyrian dye. 
With how sublime a transport leaps his heart 1 
But Fate ordains that dearest friends nmst part: 
In active measures, brought from France, he wheels, 
And triuniphs conscious of iiis learned heels. 
So have I seen, on some bright summer's day, 
A calf of genius, debonair and gay, 
Danco on the bank, as if inspired by Fame, 
Fond of the pretty fellow in the stream. 

Morose is sunk with shame whene'er surprised 
In linen dean, or peruke undisguised ; 
No sublunary chance his vestments fear, 
Valued, like leopards, as their spots appear. 
A famed surtout he wears, which once was blue, 
And his foot swims in a capacious shoe : 
One day his wife (for wlio can wives reclaim?) 
Levelled her barbarous needle at Iiis fame; 



• EmI Chosici-fleld. 



t Lojil Deloralne. 



But open force was vain ; by night she went. 
And, while he sle])t, surprised tlie darling rent; 
Where yawned tiie frieze is now become a doubt, 
'And gloi'y, at one entrance, quite simt out.'* 

He scorns Florello, and Florello him; 
This hates the filtliy creature, that the i)rim : 
Thus, in vach other, both those fools despi.se 
Their own dear selves, with undiscerning eyes; 
Their methods various, but alike their aim ; 
The sloven and the fopling are the same. 

Ye Whigs and Tories! thus it fares with you, 
When party-rage too warmly you pursue ; 
Then both club nonsense, and im])etuous pride 
And folly join whom sentiments divide. 
You vent your spleen, as monkeys, when they pass. 
Scratch at the mimic monkey in the glass, 
While both are one ; and henceforth lie it known, 
Fools of both sides shall stand for fools alone. 

'But who art thouT methinks Florello cries; 
' (~)f all thy species art thou only wise V 
Since smallest things can give our sins a twitch, 
As crossing straws retard a passing witch, 
Florello! thou my monitor shall hv, 
I'll conjure thus some profit out of thee. 
O thou niyself ! abroad our counsels roam, 
And, like ill husbands, take no care at homo 
Thou, too, art wounded with the common dart, 
And Love of Fame lies throbbing at thy heart ; 
And what wise means to gain it hast thou chose'? 
Know, Fame and Fortune both are made of prose. 
Is thy ombition sweating for a rhyme, 
Thou unajubitious fool ! at tliis late timel 
While I a moment name, a moment's past; 
I'm nearer death in this verso than the last: 
What then is to be done'? bo wise with speed: 
A fool at forty is a fool indeed ! 

And what so foolish as the chase of fame "? 
How vain the prize ! how impotent our aim ! 
For what are men who gras|) at jiraise sublime, 
But bubbles on the rapid strcan) of time. 
That ri.<e and fall, that swell and are no more. 
Born and forgot, ten thousand in an hour ? 



SATIRE III. 

TO THR ni«HT HON. MU. iioniNG'ro>f. 

Long, Dodington ! in debt, 1 long have sought 
To ease the burden of my grateful thought; 
And now a poet's gratitude you see. 
Grant him two favours, and he'll ask for throe: 
For whose the present glory or the gain ? 
You give protection, 1 a worthless strain. 
You love and feel the poet's sacreil Hame, 
And know the basis of a solid fame; 
Though prone to like, yet cautious to commend. 
You read with all the malice of a friend; 

* Milton's I'ai-adiso Lost. 



LOVE OP FAME. 



113 



Kor favour my attempts that way alone, 
But more to raise my verse, conceal your own. 

An ill-timed modesty! turn ages o'er, 
When wanted Britain bright examples morel 
Her learning, and her genius too, decays. 
And dark and cold are her declining days; 
As if men now were of another cast, 
They meanly live on alms of ages past. 
Men still are men ; and they who boldly dare, 
Shall triumph o'er the sons of cold Despair; 
Or if they tail, they justly still take place 
Of such who run in debt for their disgrace; 
Who borrow much, then fairly make it known, 
And damn it with improvements of their own. 
We bring some new materials, and what's old 
New cast with care, and in no borrowed mould : 
Late times the verse may read, if these refuse, 
And from sour critics vindicate the muse. 

' Your work is long; the critics cry. 'Tis true, 
An<l lengthens still, to take in fools like you: 
Shorten my labour, if its length you blame : 
For grow but wise, you rob me of my game; 
As hunted bags, who, while the dogs pursue, 
Renounce their four legs, and start up on two. 

Like the bold bird upon the banks of Nile, 
That picks the teeth of the dire crocodile. 
Will 1 enjoy (dread feast!) tlu; critic's rage, 
And with the fell destroyer feed my page: 
For what ambitious fools are more to blame, 
Tiian those who thunder in the critic's name'? 
(Jood autliors damned have their revenge in this, 
To see what wretches gain the praise they miss. 

Balbutius, mufiled in his sable cloak, 
Like an old druid from his hollow oak, 
As ravens solemn, and as boding, cries, 
' Ten thousand worlds for the three unities!' 
Ye doctors sage! who through Parnassus teach, 
Or quit tlie tub, or practise what you preach. 

One judges as the weather dictates ; right 
The poem is at noon, and wrong at night: 
Another judges by a surer gage, 
An author's j)rinciples or parentage: 
Since his great ancestors in Flanders fell. 
The poem, doubtless, m\ist be written well. 
Another judges by the writer's look; 
Another judges, for he bought the book : 
Some judge, their knack of judging wrong to 

kec]); 
Some judge, because it is too soon to sleep. 

Thus all will judge, and with one single aim, 
To gain themselves, not give the writer, fame; 
The very best ambitiously advise. 
Half to serve you, and half to pass for wise. 

Critics on verse, as squibs on triumphs wait, 
Proclaim the glory, and augment the state: 
Hot, envious, noisy, proud, the scribbling fry 
Burn, hiss, and bounce, waste paper, stink, and 
die. 



Rail on, my friends ! wliat more my verso can crown 
Than Compton's* smih-, and your obliging frownl 

Not all on books their criticism waste ; 
The genius of a dish some justly taste. 
And eat their way to fame. With anxious thought 
The salmon is refused, the turbot bought. 
Impatient Art rebukes the sun's delay, 
And bids December yield the fruits of May: 
Their various cares in one great point combine 
The business of their lives, that is — to dine ! 
Half of their precious day tiicy give the feast, 
And to a kind digestion s])aro the rest : 
Abicius, here, the taster of the town. 
Feeds twice a week to settle their renown. 

These worthies of the palate guard with care 
The sacred annals of their bills of fare ; 
In those choice books their panegyrics read, 
And scorn the creatures that for hunger feed. 
If man by feeding well connnences great, 
Much more the worm to whom that man is meat. 

To glory some advance a lying claim, 
Thieves of renown, and pilfi^rersof fame : 
Their front supplies what their ambition lacks; 
They know a thousand lords behind their backs. 
Cottil is apt to wink upon a peer, 
When turned away, with a f.i miliar leer ; 
And llervey's* eyes, unmerciliilly k(^en, 
Have murdered fops, by whom sh<! ne'er wa(» seen. 
Niger adopts stray libels, wisely prono 
To covet shame still greater than his own. 
Bathyllus, in the winter of threescore, 
Belies his innocence, and keeps a whore. 
Absence of mind Brabantio turns to fame, 
Learns to mistake, nor knows his brother's name; 
Has words and thoughts in nice disorder set, 
And takes a memorandum to forget. 
Thus vain, not knowing what adorns or blots, 
Men forge the patents that create them sots. 

As love of pleasure into pain betrays. 
So most grow infamous through love of praise. 
But whence for praise can such an ardour rise, 
When those who bring that inccmsc wc despise 1 
For such the vanity of great and small, 
Contempt goes routiil, and all men l.itigh at all. 
Nor can e'en satire blame them; for 'tis true 
They have most ample cause for what they do. 
O fruitful Britain I doubtless thou wast meant 
A nurse of fools to stock the continent. 
Though Phoebus and the Nino for ever mow, 
Rank folly underneath the scythe will grow: 
The plenteous harvest calls me forward still, 
Till I surpass in length my lawyer's bill, 
A Welch descent, whi(;h well-paid lieralds damn; 
Or, longer still, a Dutchman's e|)igram. 
When, cloy'd, in fury I throw down my pen, 
In comes a coxcomb, and 1 write again. 



' Sir Spencer Compton. 



t Lady Harvey. 



114 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



See Tityrus, with merriment possessed, 
Is burst with laughter ere he hears the jest: 
What need he stay? for when the joke is o'er, 
His teeth will be no whiter than before. 
Is there of these, ye fair! so great a dearth, 
That you need purchase monkeys for your mirth? 

Some, vain of paintings, bid the world admire; 
Of houses some; nay, houses that they hire: 
Some (perfect wisdom !) of a beauteous wife. 
And boast, like Cordehers, a scourge for life. 

Sometimes, through pride, the sexes change 
their airs. 
My lord has vapours, and my lady swears; 
Then, (stranger still !) on turning of the wind. 
My lord wears breeches, and my lady's kind. 

To show the strength and infamy of pride, 
By all 'tis followed, and by all denied. 
What numbers are there which at once pursue 
Praise, and the glory to contemn it too? 
Vincenna knows self-praise betrays to shame, 
And therefore lays a stratagem for fame; 
Makes his approach in Modesty's disguise. 
To win applause, and takes it by surprise. 

' To err,' says he, ' in small things, is my fate.' 
You know your answer, ' He's exact in great.' 
' My style,' says he, ' is rude and full of faults,' — 
"But, oh! what sense! what energy of thoughts!' 
That 'he wants algebra he must confess; — 
But not a soul to give our arms success.' 
(Ah! that's a hit indeed.) Vincenna cries; 
' But who in heat of blood was ever wise? 
I own 'twas wrong when thousands called me back. 
To make that hopeless, ill-advised attack ; 
All say 'twas madness, nor dare I deny: 
Sure never fool so well deserved to die.' 
Could this deceive in others, to be free, 
It ne'er, Vincenna ! could deceive in thee. 
Whose conduct is a comment to thy tongue. 
So clear, the dullest can not take thee wrong : 
Thou on one sleeve wilt thy revenue wear. 
And haunt the court, without a prospect there. 
Are these expedients for renown? confess 
Thy little self, that I may scorn thee less. 

Be wise, Vincenna, and the court forsake ; 
Our fortunes there nor thou, nor I, shall make. 
E'en men of merit, ere their point they gain, 
In hardy service make a long campaign ; 
Most manfully besiege their patron's gate. 
And oft repulsed, as oft attack the great 
With painful art, and application warm, 
And take, at last, some little place by storm ; 
Enough to keep two shoes on Sunday clean, 
And starve upon discreetly in Sheer Lane. 
Already this thy fortune can aflbrd. 
Then starve without the favour of my lord. 
'Tis true great fortunes some great men confer, 
But often, e'en in doing right, they err: 
From caprice, not from choice, their favours come; 
They give, but think it toil to know to whom: 



The man that's nearest, yawning, they advance: 
'Tis inhumanity to bless by chance. 
If Merit sues, and Greatness is so loth 
To break its downy trance, I pity both. 

I grant at court Philander, at his need, 
(Thanks to his lovely wife) finds friends indeed: 
Of every charm and virtue she's possessed: 
Philander! thou art exquisitely blessed ; 
The public envy ! Now, then, 'tis allowed 
The man is found who may be justly proud: 
But, see! how sickly is Ambition's taste? 
Ambition feeds on trash, and loaths a feast; 
For, lo ! Philander, of reproach afraid. 
In secret loves his wife, but keeps her maid. 

Some nymphs sell reputation, others buy. 
And love a market where the rates run high. 
Italian music's sweet, because 'tis dear; 
Their vanity is tickled, not their ear : 
Their tastes would lessen if the prices fell. 
And Shakspeare's wretched stuff do quite as well : 
Away the disinchanted fair would throng. 
And own that English is their mother-tongue. 

To show how much our northern tastes refine, 
Imported nymphs our peeresses outshine : 
While tradesmen starve, these Philomels are gay ; 
For generous lords had rather give than pay. 

Behold the masquerade's fantastic scene ! 
The Legislature joined with Drury Lane! 
When Briton calls, the embroidered patriots run, 
And serve their country — if the dance is done. 

' Are we not then allowed to be polite?' — 
Yes, doubtless; but first set your notions right. 
Worth of politeness is the needful ground ; 
Where that is wanting, this can ne'er be found. 
Triflers not e'en in trifles can excel ; 
'Tis solid bodies only polish well. 

Great, chosen prophet! for these latter days, 
To turn a willing world from righteous ways ! 
Well, Heidegger,* dost thou thy master serve; 
Well has he seen his servant should not starve; 
Thou to his name hast splendid temples raised, 
In various forms of worship seen him praised; 
Gaudy devotion, hke a Roman, shown, 
And sung sweet anthems in a tongue unknown. 
Inferior offerings to thy god of Vice 
Are duly paid in fiddles, cards, and dice ; 
Thy sacrifice supreme, an hundred maids; 
That solemn rite of mid night masquerades! 
If maids the quite exhausted town denies, 
A hundred head of cuckolds may suffice. 
Thou smil'st, well pleased with the converted land, 
To see the fifty churchest at a stand. 

And that thy minister may never fail, 
But what thy hand has planted still prevail. 



• Director of ihe masquerades. 

t Fifty new churches, in and about London and Westmin- 
ster, were voted by the House of Commons to be built in 17 IV 
on a recommendation of Queen Anne. 



LOVE OF FAME. 



115 



Of minor prophets, a succession sure, 
The propagation of thy zeal secure. 

See Commons, Peers, and Ministers of State, 
In solemn council met, and deep debate ! 
What godlike enterprise is taking birth? 
What wonder opens on the expecting earth 7 
'Tis done ! with loud applause the council rings! 
Fixed is the fate of whores and fiddle-strings I 

Though bold these truths, thou, Muse! with 
truths like these 
Wilt none offend whom 'tis a praise to please: 
Let others flatter to be flattered, thou, 
Like just tribunals, bend an awful brow. 
How terrible it were to common sense 
To write a satire which gave none offence? 
And since from life I take the draughts you see. 
If men dislike them, do they censure me? 
The fool and knave 'tis glorious to offend. 
And godlike an attempt the world to mend; 
The world, where lucky throws to blockheads fall, 
Knaves know the game, and honest men pay all. 

How hard for real worth to gain its price? 
A man shall make his fortune in a trice, 
If blessed with pliant, though but slender sense. 
Feigned modesty, and real impudence, 
A supple knee, smooth tongue, an easy grace, 
A curse within, a smile upoH his face. 
A beauteous sister, or convenient wife. 
Are prizes in the lottery of life ; 
Genius and virtue they will soon defeat, 
And lodge you in the bosom of the great. 
To merit is but to provide a pain, 
From men's refusing what you ought to gain. 

May, Dodington ! this maxim fail in you. 
Whom my presaging thoughts already view. 
By Walpole's conduct fired, and friendship graced, 
Still higher in your prince's favour placed. 
And lending, here, those awful councils aid. 
Which you, abroad, with such success obeyed ; 
Bear this from one who holds your friendship dear; 
What most we wish, with ease we fancy near. 



SATIRE IV. 

TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR SPENCER COMPTON.* 

Round some fair tree the ambitious woodbine 
grows. 
And breathes her sweets on the supporting boughs: 
So sweet the verse, the ambitious verse, should be, 
(O! pardon mine) that hopes support from thee; 
Thee, Compton ! born o'er senates to preside, 
Their dignity to raise, their councils guide ; 
Deep to discern, and widely to survey, 
And kingdoms' fates, without ambition weigh ; 



Speaker of ihe House of Commors; afterwards created 
Viscount Peveney, and Earl of Wilmington. 

20 



Of distant virtues nice extremes to blend, 
The crown's assertor, and the people's friend 
Nor dost thou scorn, amidst sublimer views,. 
To listen to the labours of the Muse; 
Thy smiles protect her, while thy talents fire, 
And 'tis but half thy glory to inspire. 

Vexed at a public fame so justly won. 
The jealous Chremes is with spleen undone ; 
Chromes, for airy pensions of renown. 
Devotes his service to the state and crown : 
All schemes he knows, and, knowing, all im- 
proves ; 
Though Britain's thankless, still this patriot loves: 
But patriots differ; some may shed their blood. 
He drinks his coft'ee, for the public good ; 
Consults the sacred steam, and there foresees 
What storms or sunshine Providence decrees; 
Knows for each day the weather of our fate: 
A quidnunc is an almanack of state. 

You smile, and think this statesman void of use; 
Why may not time his secret worth produce ? 
Since apes can roast the choice Castanian nut 
Since steeds of genius are expert at putt, 
Since half the senate Not Content can say, 
Geese nations save, and puppies plots betray. 

What makes him model realms and counsel 
kings? — 
An incapacity for smaller things. 
Poor Chremes can't conduct his own estate, 
And thence has undertaken Europe's fate. 

Gehenno leaves the realms to Chremes' skill, 
And boldly claims a province higher^till : 
To raise a name, the ambitious boy has got 
At once, a Bible, and a shoulder-knot : 
Deep in the secret, he looks through the whole. 
And pities the dull rogue that saves his soul : 
To talk with reverence you must take good heed, 
Nor shock his tender reason with the creed: 
Howe'er well-bred, in public he compUes, 
Obliging friends alone with blasphemies. 

Peerage is poison ; good estates are bad 
For this disease ; poor rogues run seldom mad. 
Have not attainders brought unhoped relief. 
And falling stocks quite cured an unbelief? 
While the sun shines, Blunt talks with wondrous 
force ; / 

But thunder mars small beer and weak discourse: 
Such useful instruments the weather show. 
Just as their mercury is high or low. 
Health chiefly keeps an atheist in the dark, 
A fever argues better than a Clarke: 
Let but the logic in his pulse decay. 
The Grecian he'll renounce, and learn to pray: 
While Collins* mourns, with an unfeigned zeal, 
The apostate youth who reasoned once so well. 
Collins, who makes so merry with the creed. 
He almost thinks he disbeheves indeed ; 



' Anthony Collins, founder of the sect of Free-thinkera. 



116 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



But only thinks so : to give both their due, 
Satan and he bcHeve, and tremble too. 
Of some for glory such the boundless rage, 
That they're the blackest scandal of their age. 

Narcissus the Tartarian club disclaims ; 
Nay, a free-mason with some terror nanies ; 
Omits no duty ; nor can Envy say 
He missed, these many years, the church or play : 
He makes no noise in parliament, 'tis true, 
But pays his debts, and visit, when 'tis due; 
His character and gloves are ever clean, 
And then he can outbow the bowing Dean: 
A smile eternal on his lip he wears. 
Which equally the wise and worthless shares. 
In gay fatigues, this most undaunted chief. 
Patient of idleness beyond belief, 
Most charitably lends the town his face, 
For ornament in every public place: 
As sure as cards he to the assembly comes. 
And is the furniture of drawing-rooms : 
When ombre calls, his hand and heart are free. 
And, joined to two, he fails not — to make three. 
Narcissus is the glory of his race. 
For who docs nothing with a better grace! 

To deck my list by Nature were designed 
Such shining expletives of human kind. 
Who want, while through blank life they dream 

along. 
Sense to be right, and passion to be wrong. 

To counterpoise this hero of the mode, 
Some for renown are singular and odd ; 
What other men dislike is sure to please. 
Of all mankind, these dear antipodes: 
Through pride, not malice, they run counter still. 
And birth-days are their days of dressing ill. 
Arbutlmot is a fool, and Foe a sage, 
Sedley will fright you, Etherege engage : 
By Nature streams run backward, flame descends, 
Stones mount, and Sussex is the vs'orst of friends. 
They take their rest by day, and wake by night. 
And blush if you surprise them in the right 
If they by chance blurt out, ere well aware 
A swan is white, or GLucensberry* is fair. 

Nothing exceeds in ridicule, no doubt, 
A fool in fashion, but a fool that's out; 
His passion for absurdity's so strong, 
He can not bear a rival in the wrong. 
Though wrong the mode, comply : more sense is 

shown 
In wearing others' follies than your own. 
If what is out of fashion most you prize, 
Methinks you should endeavour to be wise. 
But what in oddness can be more sublime 
Than Sloane,t the foremost toyman of his time'? 
His nice ambition lies in curious fancies. 
His daughter's portion a rich shell enhances, 



' The Dutchoss of Queensberry, a celebratoil ioas(. 

t Sir R-uis Sluano, wlioso collections enrich our Museum. 



And Ashmole's baby-house* is, in his view, 
Britannia's golden mine, a rich Peru I 
How his eyes languish ! how his thoughts adore 
That painted coat which Joseph never wore! 
He shows, on holidays, a sacred pin 
That touched the rulV that touched Clueen Bess's 
chin. 

' Since that great dearth our chronicles de- 
plore. 
Since the great plague that swept as many more, 
Was ever year unblessed as tliis V he'll cry 
' It has riot brought us one new butterfly !' 
In times that sufler such learned men as these, 
Unhappy Jersey ! how came you to please 1 

Not gaudy butterflies are Lico's game. 
But in eflect his chase is much the same : 
Warm in pursuit, he levees all the great, 
Staunch to the foot of title and estate : 
Where'er their lordships go, they never find 
Or Lico, or their shadows, lag behind ; 
He sets them sure, where'er their lordships run. 
Close at their elbows, as a morning-dun ; 
As if their grandeur by contagion wrought, 
And fame was, like a fever, to be caught : 
And after seven years' dance from place to place, 
The Danet is more familiar with his Grace. 

Who'd be a crutch to prop a rotten peer. 
Or living pendent dangling at his ear. 
For ever whispering secrets, which were blown 
For months before, by trumpets, through the 

Town 7 
Who'd be a glass, with flattering grimace, 
Still to reflect the temper of his facel 
Or happy pin to stick upon his sleeve. 
When my lord's gracious, and vouchsafes it leave? 
Or cushion, when his heaviness shall please 
To loll or thump it, for liis better easel 
Or a vile butt, for noon or night bespoke, 
When the peer rashly swears he'll club his jokel 
Who'd shake with laughter, though he could not 

find 
His lordship's jest, or, if his nose broke wind, 
For blessing to the gods profoundly bow 7 
That can cry chimney-sweep, or drive a plough? 
With terms like these how mean the tribe that 

close 1 
Scarce meaner they who terms like these im- 
pose. 

But what's the tribe most likely to comply 1 
The men of ink, or ancient authors, lie; 
The writing tribe, who, shameless auctions hold 
Of praise, by inch of candle to be sold ; 
All men they flatter, but themselves the most, 
With deathless fame their everlasting boast: 
For Fame no cully makes so much her jest, 
As her old constant spark, the bard professed. 



• The Asliniolean Museum at Oxford. 

1 A Danish dog belonging to the Duke of Ai^ylfi, 



THE LOVE OF FAME. 



117 



Boyle* sliines in council, Mordauntt in the fight, 
Pclham'st magnificent, but I can write ; 
And whiit to my great soul like glory dear "? 
Till some god whispers in his tingling ear, 
That fame's unwholesome taken without meat, 
And life is best sustained by what is eat: 
Grown lean and wise, he curses what he writ, 
And wishes all his wants were in his wit. 

Ah! what avails it, when his dinner's lost 
That his triumphant name adorns a postl 
Or that his shining page (provoking fate) 
Defends surloins, which sons of Dulness eati 

What foe to verse without compassion hears. 
What cruel prose-man can refrain from tears. 
When the poor Muse, for less than half a crown, 
A prostitute on every bulk in town, 
With other whores undone, though not in print. 
Clubs credit for geneva in the Minf? 

Ye bards! why will you sing, though unin- 
spired ? 
Ye bards I why will you starve to be admired ? 
Defunct by Phoebus' laws, beyond redress, 
Why will your spectres haunt the frighted press ? 
Bad metre, that excrescence of the head, 
Like hair, will sprout, although the poet's dead. 

All otlier trades demand, verse-makers beg: 
A dedication is a wooden leg ; 
A barren Labeo, the true mumper's fashion. 
Exposes borrowed brats to move compassion. 
Though such myself, vile bards I discommend ; 
Nay more, though gentle Damon is my friend. 
' Is't then a crime to write T — If talent rare 
Proclaim the god, the crime is to forbear : 
For some, though few, there are, large-minded men. 
Who watch unseen the labours of the pen ; 
Who know the Muse's worth, and therefore court, 
Their deeds her theme, their bounty her support ; 
Who serve, unasked, the least pretence to wit. 
My sole excuse, alas I for having writ. 
Argyle true wit is studious to restore, 
And Dorset smiles, if Phoebus smiled before; 
Pembroke in years the long-loved arts admires, 
And Henrietta! like a Muse inspires. 

But, ah ! not inspiration can obtain 
That fame which poets languish for in vain. 
How mad their aim who thirst for glory, strive 
To grasp what no man can possess alive 1 
Fame's a reversion, in which men take place 
(O late reversion!) at their own decease: 
This truth sagacious Lintot knows so well. 
He starves his authors that their works may sell. 

That fame is wealth, fantastic poets cry; 
That wealth is fame, another can reply. 
Who knows no guilt, no scandal but in rags, 
And swell in just proportion to their bags. 

' Earl of Orrery. t Earl of Petersborough. 

} Duke of Newcastle. 

' I^ady Henrietta Cavendish Holies Harley. 



Nor only the low-born, deformed and old. 
Think glory nothing but the beams of gold : 
The first young lord which in the Mall you meet, 
Shall match the veriest hunks in Lombard street, 
From rescued candles' ends who raised a sum, 
And starves, to join a penny to a plum. 
A beardless miser I 'tis a guilt unknown 
To former times, a scandal all our own. 

Of ardent lovers, the true modern band 
Will mortgage Celia to redeem their land. 
For love, young, noble, rich Castalio dies; 
Name but the fair, love swells into his eyes. 
Divine Monimia, thy fond fears lay down, 
No rival can prevail, — but half a crown. 
He glories to late times to be conveyed, 
Not for the poor he has relieved, but made : 
Not such ambition his great fathers fired. 
When Harry conquered, and half France expired: 
He'd be a slave, a pimp, a dog, for gain ; 
Nay, a dull sheriff for his golden chain. 

' Who'd be a slave 1' the gallant colonel cries, 
While love of glory sparkles from his eyes : 
To deathless fame he loudly pleads his right, — 
Just is his title, — for he will not fight. 
All soldiers valour, all divines have grace, 
As maids of honour beauty, — by their place : 
But when, indulging on the last campaign, 
His lofty terms climb o'er the hills of slain, 
He gives the foes he slew, at each vain word, 
A sweet revenge, and half absolves his sword. 

Of boasting more than of a bomb afraid, 
A soldier should be modest as a maid. 
Fame is a bubble the reserved enjoy ; 
Who strive to grasp it, as they touch, destroy : 
'Tis the world's debt to deeds of high degree, 
But if you pay yourself, the world is free. 

Were there no tongue to speak them but his 
own, 
Augustus'* deeds in arms had ne'er been known; 
Augustus' deeds, if that ambiguous name 
Confounds my reader, and misguides his aim, 
Such is the prince's worth of whom I speak. 
The Roman would not blush at the mistake. 



SATIRE V. 

ON WOMEN. 



O fairest of creation ! last and best 
Of all God's works! creature in whom excelled 
Wliatever can to sight or thought be formed 
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet, 
How art thou lost f Milton. 



Nor reigns ambition in bold man alone ; 
Soft female hearts the rude invader own : 
But there, indeed, it deals in nicer things 
Than routing armies and dethroning kings. 



* Applied to Gxirge the First. 



118 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Attend, and you discern it in the fair 
Conduct a finger, or reclaim a hair, 
Or roll the lucid orbit of an eye, 
Or in full joy elaborate a sigh. 

The sex we honour, though their faults we 
blame, 
Nay, thank their faults for such a fruitful theme : 
A theme fair ♦*** ! doubly kind to me. 
Since satirizing those is praising thee ; 
Who would'st not bear, too modestly refined, 
A panegyric of a grosser kind. 

Britannia's daughters, much more fair than nice, 
Too fond of admiration, lose their price ; 
Worn in the public eye, give cheap delight 
To throngs, and tarnish to the sated sight : 
As unreserved and beauteous as the sun, 
Through every sign of vanity they run ; 
Assemblies, parks, course feasts in city-halls, 
Lectures and trials, plays, committees, balls ; 
Wells, bedlams, executions, Smithfield scenes, 
And fortune-tellers' caves and lions' dens ; 
Taverns, exchanges, bridewells, drawing-rooms, 
Instalments, pillories, coronations, tombs. 
Tumblers and funeral, puppet-shows, reviews. 
Sales, races, rabbets, (and, still stranger!) pews. 

Clarinda's bosom burns, but burns for fame, 
And love lies vanquished in a nobler flame ; 
Warm gleams of hope she now dispenses; then. 
Like April suns, dives into clouds again: 
Witli all her lustre now her lover warms. 
Then, out of ostentation, hides her charms. 
'Tis next her pleasure sweetly to complain, 
And to be taken with a sudden pain ; 
Then she starts up, all ecstacy and bliss. 
And is, sweet soul! just as sincere in this: 
O how she rolls her charming eyes, in spite ! 
And looks delightfully, with all her might ! 
But, like our heroes, much more brave than wise. 
She conquers for the triumph, not the prize. 

Zara resembles iEtna crowned with snows. 
Without she freezes, and within she glows : 
Twice ere the sun descends, with zeal inspired, 
From the vain converse of the world retired. 
She reads the psalms and chapters for the day, 

In Cleopatra, or the last new play. 

Thus gloomy Zara, with a solemn grace, 
Deceives mankind, and hides behind her face. 

Nor far beneath her in renown is she 
Who, through good-breeding, is ill company; 
Whose manners will not let her larum cease, 
Who thinks you are unhappy when at peace ; 
To find you news who racks her subtle head, 
And vows — that her great-grandfather is dead. 

A dearth of words a woman need not fear. 
But 'tis a task indeed to learn — to hear; 
In that the skill of conversation lies; 
That shows, and makes, you both polite and wise. 

Xantippe cries, ' Let nymphs who nought can say 
Be lost in silence, and resign the day; 



And let the guilty wife her guilt confess 

By tame behaviour, and a soft address.' 

Through virtue, she refuses to comply 

With all the dictates of humanity ; 

Through wisdom, she refuses to submit 

To wisdom's rules, and raves to prove her wit ; 

Then, her unblemished honour to maintain, 

Rejects her husband's kindness with disdain; 

But if, by chance, an ill-adapted word 

Drops from the lip of her unwary lord, 

Her darling china, in a whirlwind sent. 

Just intimates the lady's discontent. 

Wine may indeed excite the meekest dame. 

But keen Zantippe, scorning borrowed flame, 

Can vent her thunders, and her lightning play. 

O'er cooling gruel, and composing tea; 

Nor rests by night, but more sincere than nice, 

She shakes the curtains with her kind advice : 

Doubly, like echo, sound is her delight. 

And the last word is her eternal right. 

Is 't not enough plagues, wars, and famines, rise 

To lash our crimes, — but must our wives be wise? 

Famine, plague, war, and an unnumbered throng 
Of guilt-avenging ills, to man belong. 
What black, what ceaseless cares besiege our state 1 
What strokes we feel from Fancy and from Fate "? 
If Fate forbears us. Fancy strikes the blow ; 
We make misfortune ; suicides in wo. 
Superfluous aid ! unnecessary skill 1 
Is Nature backward to torment or kill ! 
How oil the noon, how oft the midnight bell, 
(That iron tongue of Death!) with solemn knell, 
On Folly's errands, as we vainly roam. 
Knocks at our hearts, and finds our thoughts from 

home! 
Men drop so fast, ere hfe's mid stage we tread, 
Few know so many friends alive as dead ; 
Yet, as immortal, m our up-hill chase 
We prc-es coy Fortune with unslackened pace ; 
Our ardent labours for the toys we seek, 
.Toin night to day, and Sunday to the week: 
Our very joys are anxious, and expire 
Between satiety and fierce desire. 
Now what reward for all this grief and toil? 
But one; a female friend's endearing smile; 
A tender smile, our sorrows' only balm. 
And in life's tempest the sad sailor's calm. 

How have I seen a gentle nymph draw nigh, 
Peace in her air, persuasion in her eye ; 
Victorious tenderness ! it all o'ercame. 
Husbands looked mild, and savages grew tame. 

The sylvan race our active nymphs pursue, 
Man is not all the game they have in view ; 
In woods and fields their glory they complete 
There Master Betty leaps a five barred gate; 
While fair Miss Charles to toilettes is confined. 
Nor rashly tempts the barbarous sun and wind. 
Some nymphs afleet a more heroic breed, 
And vault from hunters to the managed steed; 



THE LOVE OF FAME. 



119 



Command his prancings with a martial air, 
And Fobcrt* has the forming of the fair. 

More than one steed must DeUa's empire feel, 
Who sits triumphant o'er the flying wheel. 
And as she guides it through the admiring throng, 
With what an air she smacks the silken thong? 
Graceful as John, she moderates the reins, 
And whistles sweet her diuretic strains : 
Sesostris-like, such charioteers as these 
May drive six harnessed monarchs if they please: 
They drive, row, run, with love of glory smit. 
Leap, swim, shoot flying, and pronounce on wit. 

O'er the bollc-lcttrcs lovely Daphne reigns; 
Again the god Apollo wears her chains; 
With legs tossed high, on her sophcc she sits, 
Vouchsafing audience to contending wits : 
Of each performance she 's the final test ; 
One act read o'er, she prophecies the rest ; 
And then, pronouncing with decisive air, 
Fully convinces all the town — she 's fair. 
Had lovely Daphne Hecatessa's face. 
How would her elegance of taste decrease ! 
Some ladies' judgment in their features lies, 
And all their genius sparkles from their eyes. 

' But hold,' she cries, ' lampooner ! have a care ; 
Must I want common sense because I'm fair^' 
O no ; see Stella ; her eyes shine as bright 
As if her tongue was never in the right ; 
And yet what real learning, judgment, fire ! 
She seems inspired, and can herself inspire : 
How then (if malice ruled not all the fair) 
Could Daphne publish, and could she forbear 1 
We grant that beauty is no bar to sense, 
Nor is 't a sanction for impertinence. 

Sempronia liked her man, and well she might ; 
The youth in person and in parts was bright : 
Possessed of every virtue, grace, and art. 
That claims just empire o'er the female heart : 
He met her passion, all her sighs returned, 
And in full rage of youthful ardour burned : 
Large his possessions, and beyond her own. 
Their bliss the theme and envy of the town : 
The day was fixed, when, with one acre more. 
In stepped deformed, debauched, diseased Three- 
score ! 
The fatal sequel I, through shame, forbear. 
Of pride and avarice who can cure the fairl 

Man's rich with little, were his judgment true ; 
Nature is frugal, and her wants are few ; 
Those few wants answered, bring sincere delights. 
But fools create themselves new appetites. 
Fancy and pride seek things at vast expense, 
Which relish not to reason, nor to sense. 
When surfeit or unthankfulness destroys. 
In Nature's narrow sphere, our solid joys. 
In Fancy's airy land of noise and show. 
Where nought but dreams, no real pleasures grow, 

" A celebrated riding-master. 
2 c* 



Like cats in air-pumps, to sub.sist we strive 
On joys too thin to keep the soul alive. 

Lemira's sick ; make haste; the doctor call; 
He comes: but where's his patient? at the ball. 
The doctor stares ; her woman curtsies low, 
And cries, ' My lady, sir, is always so: 
Diversions put her maladies to flight; 
True, she can't stand, but she can dance all night; 
I've known my lady (for she loves a tunc) 
For fevers take an opera in June: 
And though, perhaps, you'll think the practice 

bold, 
A midnight park is sovereign for a cold : 
With cholics breakfasts of green fruit agice, 
With indigestions supper just at three.' 
' A strange alternative,' replies Sir Hans;* 
Must women have a doctor or a dance? 
Though sick to death, abroad they safely roam, 
But droop and die, in perfect health, at home. 
For want — but not of health, are ladies ill. 
And tickets cure beyond the doctor's bill.' 

Alas, my heart ! how languishingly fair 
Yon lady lolls ! with what a tender air 1 
Pale as a young dramatic author, when 
O'er darling lines fell Gibber waves his pen. 
Is her lord angry, or has Venyt chid? 
Dead is her father, or the mask forbid 1 
Late sitting up has turned her roses white. 
Why went she not to bed 1 ' Because 'twas night.' 
Did she then dance or play? ' Nor this nor that.' 
Well, niglit soon steals away in pleasing chat. 
' No, all alone her prayers she rather chose. 
Than be that wretch to sleep till morning rose.' 
Then lady Cynthia, mistress of the shade, 
Goes with the fashionable owls to bed : 
This her pride covets, this her health denies; 
Her soul is silly, but her body's wise. 

Others, with curious art, dim charms revive, 
And triumph in the bloom of fifty-five. 
You, in the morning, a fair nymph invite. 
To keep her word, a brown one comes at night; 
Next day she shines in glossy black, and then 
Revolves into her native red again : 
Like a dove's neck she shifts her transient charms, 
And is her own dear rival in your arms. 

But one admirer has the painted lass, 
Nor finds that one but in her looking-glass; 
Yet Laura's beautiful to such excess, 
That all her arts scarce makes her please us less^ 
To deck the female cheek he only knows 
Who paints less fair the lily and the rose. 

How gay they smile? Such blessings Nature 
pours, 
O'erstocked mankind enjoy but half her stores : 
In distant wilds, by human eyes unseen, 
She rears her flowers, and spreads her velvet green; 



• Sir Hatis Sloane, M. D. 



1 Iler lapdog. 



120 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Puro finr^liiij; rills tlic lonely ilcscrt fracp, 
And wiistc tlu'ir music on llic snviiiro race. 
Is Nature tiicn a iiijr;far(l of her Itiiss? 
Repine we jjiiillless in a worKI liiie tliis? 
lUit our i<'\vil tastes iieriavvrul eiianns refusp, 
Ami iminleii Arts (le|)rave(l alluretiients choose. 
Suei\ l''uivia's jiassion for tiic town: ireslj air 
(An 0(1(1 edect!) ijives vapotn-s to the fair; .•? 
(ireen fu'lds, and shady "proves, and crystal springs, 
And larks, and nifihtiniiales, are odious tiiiufis; 
But smoke, and du.st, and noise, and crowds delijjht, 
And to he pressed to death transports lier (|uite. 
"Where silver rivulets [liay through flowery meads, 
And woodbines give their sweets, and limes tiieir 

shades, ^ 

Black kennels' absent odours she regrets, 
And stops her nose at beds of violets. 

Is stormy life preferred to tlie serene: 
Or isth(> public to tiie private scene '! 
Retired, we tread a smooth and oi)en way, 
Through briars and brambles in the world wo stray; 
f^lill" opposition, and perplexed dcliale. 
And thorny care, and rank and slinging hato, 
Which choke our passage, our career control, 
And wound the firmest temper of our soul, 
() sacred Solitude! divine retreat I 
Choice of the prudent: envy of the great: 
By thy pure stream, or in thy waving shade. 
We coiu'l fair Wisdom, that celestial maid ; 
The g("Miiino olVspring of her loved end>race, 
(Strangers on earth !) are Innoci-nce and Peace : 
There from the ways of men laid safe ashore, 
We smile to hear th(> distant tempest roar; 
There blessed with health, with business unper- 

plexed, 
This life we relish, and insure the next: 
There too the Muses sport: these numbers free, 
Pierian Eastbury! i owe to thee. 

There sport the muses, but not there alone; 
Their sacred tiiree Anu-lia feels in town. 
Nought but a genius can a genius lit; 
A wit herself, Amelia weds a wit : 
Both wits ; though miracles are said to cease. 
Three days, three wondrous days! they lived in 

peace ; 
With the fourth sun a warm dispute arose 
On Hurley's poesy, and Bmiyan's prose: 
The learn(xl war both wage with e(iual force, 
And the flflh morn concluded the divorce. 

Plurbe, thouixh she possesses nothinij less. 
Is proud of being rich in happiness; 
Laboriously pursues delusive toys, 
Content with pains, since they're reputed joys. 
With wdiat well-acted transport will she say, 
' Well, sure we were so happy yesterday 1 
And then that charming party for to-morrow !' 
Though well sheknows 'twill languish into sorrow: 
But she dares never boast the present hour; 
So gross that cheat, it is beyond lier ^wwer: 



For such is or o\ir weakness or our curse. 
Or rather such our crime, which slill is worse. 
The present moment, like a wife, we shun. 
And ne'er enjoy, because it is our own. 

Pleasures are few, atid fewer we enjoy; 
Pleasure, like (juicksilver, is bright and coy; 
We strive to grasp it with our utmost skill, 
Still it eludes us, and it glitters still ; 
If seized at last, compute your mighty gains; 
What is it but rank poison in your veins'! 

As Flavia in her gl.ass an angel spies, 
Pride whispers in her ear pernicious li(>s; 
Tells her, while sh(> surveys a face so fhie. 
There's no satiety of charms divine : 
I leiice, if her lover yawns, all eluuiged appears 
Her temi)er, and she melts (sweet soul!) in tears: 
She, fond and young, last week her wish enjoyed. 
In soil anuisement all the night emjjloyed ; 
The morning came, when St rephon, waking, found 
(Surprising sight !) his bride in sorrow drowned; 
' What miracle, 'says St rephon, 'makestheew(^ep'?' 
' Ah, barbarous man,' she cries, ' how could you — 
sleep V 

Men love a mistress as they love a feast ; 
How grateful one to touch, and one to taste 1 
Yet sure there is a certain time of day 
We wish our mistress and our meat away: 
Hut soon the sated appetites return, 
Again our stomachs crave, our bosoms burn: 
Kternal love let man, then, never swear! 
Let women never triumph nor despair; 
Nor praise nor blame, too much, the warm or chill: 
Hunger and love are foreign to the will. 

There is, indeed, a passion niort> reiined. 
For those few nymphs whose charms are of the 

mind ; 
But not of that unfashionable set 
Is Phyllis ; Phyllis and her Damon met. 
Eternal love exactly hits her taste; 
Phyllis (U niands eternal love at least. 
Embracing Phyllis with soil smiling eyes, 
' Eternal love I vow,' the swain replies ; 
' But say, my all, my mistress, and my friend! 
What day next week the eternity shall endT 

Some nymphs prefer astronomy to love, 
Elo()e from mortal man, and range above. 
The fair philosopher to Rowley* flies. 
Where, in a box, the whole creation lies: 
She s(>es the planets in their turns advance. 
And sc(^rns, Poiticr! thy sublunary dance: 
Of Desaguliers she bespeaks fri>sh air, 
And Whiston has engagements with the fair. 
What vain exi>erinients So[)hronia tries! 
'Tis not in air-pumps the gay col'nel di(>s. 
But though to-day this rage of science reigns, 
(O fickle sex !) soon end her learned pains. 



An eminent maihemaiicol Instrument-maker. 



LOVE OF FAME. 



131 



Lo! png firoin Jupiter hor hoart hns fjot, 
Tnrim out the st.'irs, hikI Newton in ii Hot. 

•j'o • ♦ ♦ » turn; hIic never took the height 
Of Saturn, yet in ever in tlic ri^lit: 
She Htrikes each ])oint with native force of mind, 
Willie pii/./.led learning lihin(ler>< far behind. 
(Jracol'ui to HJi^ht, and elegant to thought, 
The great are vancpiished, and the wiHo arc taught. 
ITer hreeding finished, and iier lenijier swc^et, 
Wiieti scriouH easy, and when gay diwereet ; 
In glittt-ring scenes, o'er her own heart severe, 
In erowds collected, and in courts Hini'cre; 
Sincen! and warm, with zeal well nndi^rstood, 
Slie takes a noliU; ])ri(le in doing g(K)d; 
Yet not superior to her sex's cares. 
The mode she (ixes hy the gown she wears; 
Of silks an<I china she's th(^ last appeal: 
In these great points she leads the c.oninionwcal ; 
And if disputes of empire rise br^tween 
Mechlin the queen of lace, and Colberteen, 
'Tis doubt! 'tis darkness! till suspended Fate 
Assumes her nod, to close the grand dcibate. 
When such her min<l, why will the fair express 
Their emulation only in their dress'} 

But, oh! the nymph that mounts ahove the skies, 
And, /fra<t», clears religious mysteries, 
Resolved the church's welfare! to insure. 
And make her family a sinecure; 
Tiie tlicine divitK! at cards she'll not forget, 
I'.nt talks in texts of Scripture at piccpiet; 
In those licentious meetings acts the prude. 
And thanks her Maker that her cards arc good. 
What antjels woidd these be. who thus excel 
In theologies, couM they sew as well! 
"Vet why should not the; fair her text pursue! 
Can she more decently the doctor wooT 
'Tis hard, too, she who makes no use but chat 
Of her religion, should bi; barred in that. 

Isaac, a brother of the canting strain. 
When he has knocked at his own skidl in vain. 
To beauteous Marcia often will re|)air 
With a dark text, to light it at the fair, 
O how his [lions soul exults to find 
Such Iov(! for holy men in womankind 1 
Charmed with her learning, with what rapture he 
ITaiigs on her l)loom, like an industrious bee; 
IJums round about her, and with idl his power 
Extracts sweet wisdom from so fair a flower'? 

T\u' young and gay declining, Ajipia flies 
At nobler game, the mighty and tht; wise: 
By Nature more an eagle than a dove. 
She imjiiously pnsfers the world to love. 

Can wealth give happiness 1 look round and see 
What gay distress! what «[)lendid misery I 
Whatever Fortiim? lavishly can pour. 
The mind annihilates, and calls for more. 
Wealth is a cheat; believe not what it says; 
Like any lord it promises — and pays. 



TTow will the miser startle to be told 
< )l'sucli a wonder as insolvent gold '! 
What Nature wants has an intrinsic weight, 
All more is but the fashion of the |)late. 
Which for one moment charms the tickle viewj 
It charnis us now, anon we cast a new. 
To some fresh birth of fancy more inclined; 
Then wed not acres, but a noble mind. 

Mistaken lovers, who make worth their care, 
And think accomplishments will win the fair; 
The fair, 'tis true, by genius should be won, 
As (lowers unfold their beiiuties to the sun ; 
And yet in temale scales a fop outwriirjis. 
And wit must wear tlu^ willow and the bays. 
Nout;ht shines so briLTlit in vain Tiiberia's eyo 
As riot, imiiuilence, and perlidy : 
Th(! yfiutb of tire, that has ilrind< deep, and played, 
And killed his man, and triumphed o'er his maid, 
For him as yet unhanged, she spreads her charms, 
Sruitclies tlu' dear deslroycT lo her arms. 
And amply gives, (though treat<'d long amiss 
The man of merit his revenge in this. 
If you resent, and wish a woman ill; 
Hut turn her o'er one; moment to her will. 

The languid lady next appears in state, 
Who was not born to carry her own weight; 
She lolls, reels, staggers, till some foreign aid 
To her own stature lifts the feeble maid ; 
Then, if ordained to so severe a doom. 
She, by just staifes, journeys round the room; 
I'nt, knowing her own weakness, she despairs 
To scali! the Alps — that is, ascend tlu^ stairs. 
' My fiinl' let others say, who lau[;h at foil ; 
' I'^an ! hood! glove! scarf!' is her laconic style. 
And that is spoke with such a dying fall. 
That Betty rather sees than hears th(!call I 
"^i'he motion of her lips, and meaning i^ye, 
Piece out th(! idea her faint words d«'ny. 
O listen with attention most profound ! 
Tier voice is but the shadow of a sound. 
And help! oh, help! her spirits arc so dead. 
One hand scarce lifts the other to her head; 
If there a stubborn pin it trium|ihs o'er, 
She pants! she sinks away ! and is no moro. 
Let the robust, and the gigantic, carve, 
Life is not worth so much ; she'd rather starve: 
Hut chew she must herself: ah, cruel fatol 
That Rosalinda cant by proxy eat. 

An antidote in fcimale caprice lies 
(Kind llt-aven! against the poison of their cyea. 

Thalestris triumphs in a maidy mien; 
Loud is her accent, and her phrase; obscene. 
In fair and open dealing where 's the shamel 
What NatuH! dares to give, she dares to name. 
This honest fellow is sincere and jihiin, 
A nd justly gives the jealous husband pain 
(Vain is tli<! task to petticoats assigned, 
If wanton language shows a naked mind,) 



IM 



Y(.)UNa'S WORKS. 



•*^.i 



Aiitl iKiw Mini llini, to firaco hor ('l(>(|\ioiu'o, 

All onlli siipiilii'M tll<> VUdinii'icrt ()^!^(•ll^^l>. 

llnikl (lie Mlirill notes lriiiis|)i(Mri' (he yit'l'lin!? nil", 

Ami (ciu'li llio lU'i^liluuiiiiii; eclioN lu)\v to Hvvi'iir. 

' Ky Jovt<,' iH I'liiiit., luul lor (lii^ Hiiii|ilc Hwaiii j 

Slif, oil llic ( 'liristiiiii Nvsloiii is in'oliine : 

lint lliou;;li (lie volley nittlex in \oiir eiir, 

Holievo luT (IroMH, hIki 's not ii jtrenudier. 

It' tlinniler V n\vl"iil, how mueh iiiort> onr ilroail, 

AVhen Jove (le|iiiteH a liidy in her Hleiull 

A liicly I )iiinloii my inislnken pen; 

A HlinmelesH woiniin isllu" worst of men. 

l''ew to yooil lireeilin^ nmke a junt |ii'eteii('C ; 
Ciooil-lire(>(liiijij in l!\o MosHom oljjood stMiHe; 
'I'lie last resnlt ot" an Meeomiilisheil inititi, 
With ontwiiril y;raee, the lunlv's virtne, joined. 
A violated deeeney now reij^iiH, 
And iiym|ihs tin- (MilinjjH take iieeiiliar jiains. 
"With (^liinese |iaintei'H modern toasts ajjreo, 
'riu> iKiiiit they aim at is del\>riiiity ; 
'JMiey throw their perMoim with a hoyden air, 
Across tho room, and Joss into tho ehair, 
80 till' their eomiiieree with manUiiid is ;;one, 
They lor our manners have exehanjied their own. 
The inodoMl Kwk, tho eastiji;atiHl jfraeo, 
'J'lie ecntli" inovtMiient, and slow measured paee. 
For whieh her lovers died, her parents prayt'd, 
An> indeeonmis wiili liie modern niivid. 
Still" forms Hit" had ; but lit not worse intnulo, 
Wor eoiujiu'r art and nature to he rndo. 
Modern jfood-hreedinij earry to its heiijht, 
And Lady U — 's* self will he polite. 

\'e risinu I'air! ye hloom of llritain's isio I 
\Vhen hi>jfh horn Anna, with a st>tlened smile, 
l.euds on your train, an<l sparkles at your hetui, 
What seems most hani is not to ho well-hretl ; 
Her hrin;ht exumpli" with success purnuo, 
And all hut adoration is your du(<. 

' But udorution I jjivo \\w soinethinjj i\um\' — 
Cries l,yei\on the horders of threescore. 
ISou>;ht treads 80 silent as tho foot of I'ime ; 
llcncp we mistiikiMiur antnmn for our priino. 
'Tis in'catly wise to know, hel'ore W(< 're told, 
'I'lie melancholy news that we o;i\>w old. 
Autumnal LiVCO currieHiu her fuco 
Mfint'tito mori to each imhlic place. 
(> how your heatiujj hrcast a mist re.ss warms, 
W ho looks lhrou!;h spectach-s to see your chunnsl 
While rival niuK-rtakers hover round. 
And with his spade Iho sexton marks the jjround ; 
Intent not on her own, hut others' doom, 
(She plans new con((uests, and di^lVauds the tomh, 
III vniii tho ciH'k has suimnoned sprites awnv, 
She walks at noon, and hiasts the hloom ot'dav; 
(Jay rainbow silks her mellow cliarms int'old, 
And noujiht of Lyw hut herself is old : 



* IVisIiwixhI or Uymirt BiipiHwwl 



Mer j{ri/./.led locks assume a smirkinif i.jrace, 
And art hat* levelled her deep rurn>we<l race; 
I Icr stranjje deinnnd no mortal can approve; 
We'll ask her hlessiuij, hut can't ask her love: 
Siu' fj;raiits, indce<l, a lady may decline 
(All Indies but hcrsell") at ninety nine. 

( ) how unlike her wus the sacrt-d atje 
Of prudent Portia! her jjray hairs en^a>;o ; 
Whose thoiiijiits an' suited to her life's decline; 
Viilucs 's the paint that can make wrinkles shiiio: 
That, and that only, can old ajjt* sustain, 
Wiiich yet all wish, nor know thev wish for pain. 
Not numerous ai'i< our joys wdien lit'e is new, Ji^ 

And yearly Home are fallinif of the few ; "TV 

I'lit when weeoiupicr life's meridian sta^e, 
.And downward lend into the vale ol'a<;e, 
They drop apace; by iiatuiv some decay, 
.A lid some the hiasts of fortune sweep away ; 
Till naked quite of lia|ipiness, aloud 
We cidl for death, and shelter in a shroud. 

Where's I'ortia now! — Mul I'ortia lell heliind 
Two lov«>Iy co|)ies of her form ami mind. 
Wli.'il heart nnlonched tiieir ciirly j^riefcan view, 
Like blushinj; rose buds dippeil in mornini; dew 1 
Who into shelter takes their lender hluoin. 
Anil forms their minds to lice from ills to come 7 
Tht> iiiiiiil, when turned adrill, no rules to <juidp, 
Ih'ives at the iiicivy of the wind and tido ; 
b'ancy and passion toss it to aii<l fro, 
A whilt- torment, and then ((uil(< sink in wo. 
Ye beauteous orphans I miico in silent dust 
Your best (>xample lies, my precepts trust, 
1 .it'e swarms with ills; the holdesi are afraid; 
Where then is safety for a tender maid } 
I'lillt li>rconllict, round beset with woes, 
And man, whom K>asl she fears, her worst of foes I 
When kind, most cruel; when ohli^jcd the most, 
The least oblisin.il ; and by liivonrs lost: 
Cruel by iiutiiro, they for kindness iiate, 
.Anil scorn you for lhost> ills themselves creato. 
If on your fame our si>x a blot has liirown, 
'Twill over stick, throuj;h malice of your own. 
Mo.st hard! in plcasinji your chief o;lory lies. 
And yet from plcasimj your chief daiiijcrs ri.se; 
Then please the In'st; ami know, for men of sense 
Your slronj;t>st charms are native iniu>cenco. 
Arts on the mind, like paint njion the face, 
Frijjhts him that s worth your lovo from your em- 
brace. 
In simple manners all the .secret lies ; 
He kind and virtuous, yon 'II hi> blest and wise. 
Yain show and noise intoxicate the brain, 
Hcfjin with giddiness, aiul end in pain. 
.Alfcct not empty fame and idle praise, 
Which all tlu>se wretches I ilcscribe betrays. 
Your sex's jjlory 'tis to shine unknown; 
(M'all api)lans(< be foiulcst of your own. 
licware the fever of the mind; that thirst 
With which the ajjc is oiiiinently cursi>d: 



LOVK OF FAMi:. 



123 



To drink of pIciiHuro tiul infliiiiii.'a doiirc, 
Anil nlmliii('iii'(! uIdmo cmii i|iiriicli (Ik^ (li'o ; 
'I'ltld' pulii Iroiii lil'r, uikI Iriror iVuai llu^ luiiili, 
Ciiv<< pciicci in liund, anil proniiMO bliHM to cuini). 



SAT I UK VI. 

ON WOMKN. 
InKcrUtcd tn the 

UU.UV IIDN. TMIO I.ADY ICMXAIIKTII (iKIIMAlN. 

Iiilinliiiii liiiinin rl lullil I'liiiiinlla vnci'iii. — /l(jr, 

1 Hitiiiinr II pMliiinrHH, liul, Hnii;^lil in viiiii; 
A|Mill(i vvliin|irii'il ill my cur -•' ( icniiiiiii.' - 
I kiiiiw liiT Mill — ' V'our ri'iiKon'MMoiiKwIiiil oilil; 
WlioUiHiWN liin imlran nowT ri'pliril llm ijikI. 
' Men vviilf to nir, lunl lo llin witrlil, iiiiIuidwii, 
I'liiui hIi'ii! gToat niiMK'H In hIuiM iIm'iii I'roni liio 

town. 
Dctcctrd worth, likobcmuty diHiirraycd, 

'I'd riivcrt (lii'H, iiI'lirMirtr ilHi'ir nlVliiil, 

SSIioulil itho rc'liiHr ti) |)utn)iii/.r your liiyn, 
In vcn^oancii writi; a voluino in licr pruiNd: 
Nor tiiink i,. linnl Mo^niit ii lcnt;(li (o run; 
Wlicn Miirli till' Ihi'iiiii, '(will oiiMily lin iloiii'.' 

Yc (air! (o druw your rxcolicncr ut lcii;r|li, 
Kxcrr'ilH tlii^ niirriiw IiouiuIh oriiiiiiiiui Hlrr,ii;d,li: 
You licrr, ill iniiii.ilurr, your )iiclurrM wo, 
]Nor lioiMtfroni '/inckc. nuirn jiiHlicii Ihnn from rnc: 
IVIy |)or(riiilH (jriicc your mind, ;ih Ium your widr; 
1 JiH porlniilH will iiilliiiiic, iiiiiii^ i|iii'n<'li your jiridi?: 
IIc'h di'iir, yon ('rn^id; idiooMc my (;li(!ii|)iT lay, 
And li(i your n-rorination all my pay. 

Laviniii '\n politr, lint not profimc, 
To clinri-li iiM ('oiiHl:iiil iiH lo l)riiry Imic; 
Hlir (liTciilly, in form, payH I li'avcii its due, 
And inakcmi civil viwit (olirr pi'W. 
1 Irr lil'li'd fun, (o |j;ivi' n hoIi'iiiii air, 
(Joiu'i'idM lirr face, wliidi |)iihhih lor a prayirr; 
CurtdicH to curlHicH, tlicn, willi fjiu-v. niuxced; 
No( oni^ tile fair omiln, lilil a(. tlirrrcrd: 
f )t if hIic jdiii'H the wrvici^, 'liw to npi'iik ; 
'I'liron<rli dri-adfnl xilcniM; tin; pnil lii^art nii{[r|it 

lirc.'ik : 
Untanfjiit lo Imar it, womi'n talk away 
ToUod liimin'if, iiiidfoiiiliy lliink lliry pray: 
But Hwcrttlicir accent, and llicir air nrriiird; 
For llicy'rc lirforr. tlirir Alakcr — and mankind. 
Wlicn ladicH oiKti! ari! proud of praying' wril, 
Batan liiiiiHi'lf will loll tin; |iitriHli lirll. 

Acijiiainlcd witli tlni world, and ijuitis well-bred, 
Driwa rcri'ivrrt lirr viHila.nln in iii'd ; 
JUll, cliaHtc UH ice, tliin Vertta, lo defy 
TIk! very blacikent ton({uc of calumny, 
Wlicn from tin" HJnTtx lirr lovely form hIic liOM, 
Blie iiegH you jiirtt would turn you wliili; HlicMJiillK. 



'I'lioce (duirniM aru ^realeHl wliicli decline Iho 

Hi;;li(, 
'I'liiil iiinld'H (lie liaiiipiel poi^iiiiiil and jiolile, 
Tlicle iH no woiiiiill where lliere'H no renerve; 
And 'Uh oil plenty your poor loverH tdiirvc. 

Itul Willi a. iiioilern liiir, meridian iiii'iit 
1h a tierce lliinjr tliey call a nymph of Hpirit. 
Mark well the rolliii^JH other llaiilillH eye, 
A ml trend oil tiptoe, if you dare draw ni;^!! : 
' ( )r if you take a lion liy tiie beard. 
Or dure di'fy the li'll 1 lyrtwinian pard, 
( )r armed rliinoceroH, or roii;di It uHHiiin bear, * 
I'irHl make your will, and llieii coiiverHU with 

her. 
TluH lady glorii'H in profuHe expeime, 
And llilnkH diHiiiielion \h iiia|;iiilieeiice: 
To liei^miir her ;nili:inl Ih Home deli^iit; 
To he mure liiUil Hlill Ih exipiiHile. 
I lad ever iiyiiiph hucIi reiiNon lo he ^r!ad7 
In duel li'll two loverH; one run mail, 
I ler foeH their honcHt exe<:rMtionH pour; 
I ler loverH only Klionid delentjier more. 

flavin. Ih eoiiHlaiil lo her old ({allaiil. 
And i^enerouHly HUpporU him in bin want: 
Hntiiiarria(re in a fetter, Ik iiHiiare, 
A hidl no lady ho polite can IxMir, 
SIic'h failliful, hIic'h oliHcTvanl; and with |iaiii|i 
1 ler ali^M'l brood of biiHlanlH HJie iiiainlaiiiH; 
Nor leanl advantu(;e liaM the liiir to jdead, 
I'nt thai of {{uill, above the miirria|;e bed. 

AiiinKJa lialeH a prude, ami neoriiH reHlrainl; 
Whnle'er hIm^ in, hIii^'II not a|)|iear u Hiiint: 
1 ler Hoiil Hiijierior tlicH Dinintlily : 
So jr.iy her nir, her eoiiilucl in ho free, 
Some niii.;lit HUHjiecl the nymph not over ({ood— 
Nor would they be mintaken if they Hhonld. 

Uniiiarried A bra puln on formal airn; 
Her cuHliion'H thread-bare wilii her coiiHlunt 

Itrayern; 
1 ler only ({rief in, tiiat hIic emi not he 
A I once eiiyntjed in prnyer and charily. 
And lliiH, to do her jUHliee, iiiuhI be Hnid, 
' Willi would not think that Abra wax a maid'I' 

Some ladieH are loo beailleoiiti lo be ived, 
Ii'or when^'n the man IIuiI'h woilliy of llieir beiil 
If no dineane reduce her pride liellire, 
l.avinia will \m: raviabed .it tlirecHeore: 
Then hIic HiibinilH lo venture in the. dark. 
And nolliin|4 now in wantiii)^, but her Mpark. 

liiieia IhiiikH liappineHH coiiHinlH in Mlate; 
She wedH an idiot; bill hIic eatnin jilale. 
The ({ooiIh of l>'orlnne which her houI pommchh. 
Are lint the ground of unmade liajipiiieHM; 
The rude nialerlal: windom addn lo tluH, 
WiHilom, ihe Hole ailili<'er of bliHH; 
She. from lierHelf, if ho e.om|)elled by need, 
Of thin conlenl can draw the Hubtle thread; 



* CtlmkMiiouro'i llumtul, 



124 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



But (iiotlftriictu)ii to lior sacred skill) 
If she can work in gold'tis better still. 

If Tullia had boon ble.ssod witii half her sense, 
None could too much a<lnurc her excelli'ncc; 
But ninceshecan make error shine so bright, 
She thinks it vuljjar to defend the right. 
With uiiderstandinif she is quite o'cr-run 
And by too great accoin|ilisliiiientrt uiwlonc: 
With skill she vibrates her eternal tongue. 
For ever most divinely in the wrong. 

Naked in nothing should a woman be, 
But veil her very wit with modesty : 
Let man discover, let not her disphiy, 
But yield her chnrmsof mind with swoet delay. 

For [ileasmv I'ormed, perversely some believe, 
To make themselves important, men must grieve. 
Lesbia the fair, to fh'e her jealous lord, 
Pretends the fop she laughs at is adored. 
In vain she's proud of secret iimocence: 
The fact six- feigns were scarce a worse rtflenco. 

Mira, endowed witli every charm to bless. 
Has no design but on her husband's peace: 
He loved her much, and greatly was he moved 
At small in(piietudes in her he loved. 
' How charming tliis!' — The pleasure lasted long; 
Now every day tlie fits come tliick and strong: 
At lust ho found the charmer only feigned, 
And was diverted when he slundd be |)ained. 
What greater vengeances have tlie gods in store? 
How tedious life, now she can plague no more 1 
She tries a thousand arts, but none succeed ; 
She's forced a lever to [irocure indeed : 
Thus strictly proved this virtuous, loving wife 
Her husband's pain was dearer than her life. 

Anxious Melania rises to my view. 
Who never thinks her lover pays his due: 
Visit, ])reseut, treat, (latter, and adore. 
Her majesty, to-morrow, calls for more. 
His wounded ears comi)laiut.s eternal fill, 
As unoiled hinges, (jueridously shrill. 
'You went last night with Cejia to the ball.' 
Yon provi' it false, ' Not go? tliat's worst of all' 
Nothing can please her, nothing not inflame, 
And arrant contradictious are the same. 
Her lover must be sad to please her spleen ; 
His mirth is an inexpiable sin; 
For of all rivals that can ])ain her breast, 
There's one that wounds far deeper than the rest; 
To wreck her ipiiet, the most dreadful shelf 
Is, if her lover dares enjoy himself 
An<l this, because she's exquisitely fair: 
Should 1 dispute her beauty; how she'd staro 1 
How would Melania be surprised to hear 
She's (juite deformed! and yet the case is clear. 
What's female beauty but an air divine, 
Through which the mind's all gentle graces shmc? 
They, like the sun, irradiate all tn'tween; 
The body charms, because the soul is seen : 



Hence men are often captives of a face, 
They know not why, of no peculiar grace. 
Some forms, though bright, no mortal man can 

bear. 
Some none resist, though not e.vceeding fair. 

Aspasia's highly born, and nicely bred, 
Of taste refined, in life and manners read; 
Y<'t rea[)S no fruit from her su|)erior sense, 
tJut to be teasi'd by her own excellence. 
' Folks are so awkward ! things so unpolite !' 
She's elegantly ])ained from morn till night 
I !er delicacy's shocked wiiere'er she goes: 
Kach creature's imperfections are her woes. 
Heaven by its favour has the fair distressed, 
Aiul poured such blessings — that slie can't be 
blessed. 

Ah! why so vain, though blooming in tiiy sprmg. 
Thou shining, frail, adcu'ed, and wretched llimg '? 
Old age will come; disease may come before i 
l''ilteeu is full as mortal as threescore. 
Thy fortune and tliy charms may soon deiay; 
Rut grant these fugitives prolong their st.ty, 
Tiieir basis totters, their foundation shakes. 
Life, that supports them, in a moment breaks; 
TluMi wrouglit into the soul let virtue shine; 
The ground eternal, as the work divinc. 

Julia's a manager, she's born for rule, 
And knows her wiser husband is n fool ; 
Ass(>mb!ies holds, and s|)ins the siilitle thread, 
That guides the lover to his fair-one's bed ; 
For dillicult amours can smooth the way, 
And tender letters dictate or convey; 
Hut if de])rived of such important cares, 
Her wisdom condescends to less atl'airs. 
For lier own breakfast she'll project a scheme, 
Nor take her tea without a stratagem ; 
Presides o'er trilles with a serious t\icv, 
lmp(>rtant by the virtue of grimace. 

Ladies supreme among amusements reign, 
By nature born to sooth and entert:iiu : 
Their ])rudenc.c in a share of folly lies: 
Why will th(\v be so weak as to be wisel . 

Syrena is for ever in extremes, " 

And with a vengeance she commends or blames; 
Conscious of her discernment, which is good, 
Slie strains too much to make it understood. 
Her judgment just, her sentence is too strong: 
Heeause she's riglit, she's ever in the wrong. 

Brnnetta's wise in actions great and rare. 
But scorns on trilles to bestow her care; 
I'hus every hour Prunetta is to blame, 
Because tlie occasion is beneath her aim. 
Think nouglit a tritle, though it small apjiear; 
Small sands the mountain, moments make the year, 
And trilles life: your care to trifies give. 
Or you may die before you truly live. 

Go breakfast with Alicea, there you'll see 
Simplex munditiis to the last degree : 



LOVE OP FAME. 



1^ 



Unlaced her stays, her nightgown is untied, 
And wiiat she has of head-dross is aside : 
Siic drawls her words and waddles in her pace, 
Unwashed her hands, and niuchhesnufled her face: 
A nail uncut, and head uncombed, she loves, 
And would draw jack-boots on as soon as gloves; 
Gloves by queen Bess's maidens might be missed, 
Her blessed eyes ne'er saw a female fist. 
Lovers ! beware, to wound how can she fail, 
With scarlet finger and long jetty nail 1 
For Hervey* the first wit she can not be, 
Nor, cruel Richmond !t the first toast for thee. 
Since full each other station of renown. 
Who would not bo the greatest trapes in town 1 
Women were made to give our eyes delight : 
A female-sloven is an odious sight. 

Fair Isabella is so fond of fame. 
That her dear self ie her eternal tlicme : 
Through hopes of contradiction oft she'll say, 
' Methinks I look so wretchedly to-day 1' 
When most the world applauds you, most beware; 
'Tis often less a blessing than a snare. 
Distrust mankind ; with your own heart confer, 
And dread even there to find a flatterer. 
The breath of others raises our renown; 
Our own as surely blows the pageant down. 
Take up no more than you by worth can claim, 
Lest soon you prove a bankrupt in your fame. 

But own I must, in this perverted age, 
Who most deserve can't always most engage. 
So far is worth from making glory sure, 
It often hinders what it should procure. 
Whom praise we mostl the virtuous, brave, and 

wise? 
No ; wretches whom, in secjet, we despise. 
And who so blind as not to see the causel 
No rivals raised by such discreet applause ; 
And yet of credit it lays in a store. 
By which our spleen may wound true worth the 
more. 

Ladies there are who think one crime is all : 
Can women, then, no way but backward fall "? 
So sweet is that one crime they don't pursue, 
To pay its loss they think all others few. 
VVlio hold that crime so dear, must never claim 
Of injured modesty the sacred name. 

But Clio thus, ' What ! railing without end? 
Mean task! how much more generous to com- 
mend! 
Yes, to commend as you are wont to do. 
My kind instructor, and example too. 
' Daphnis,' says Clio, ' has a charming eye; 
What pity 'tis her shoulder is awry ! 
Aspasia's shape, indeed — but then her air — 
The man has parts who finds destruction there. 
Almeria's wit has something that's divine ; 
i* And wit's enough — how few in all things sliine ! 



• Lord Hervey. 



t Duke of Richmond. 



Selina serves her friends, relieves the poor — 
Who was it said Selina's near threescorel 
At Lucia's match I from my soul rejoice, 
The world congratulates so wise a choice : 
His lordship's rent-roll is exceeding great — 
But mortgages will sap the best estate. 
In Shirley's* form might cherubims appear, 
But then — she has a freckle on her ear.' 
Without a but, Hortensia she commends. 
The first of women, and the best of friends ; 
Owns her in person, wit, fame, virtue, bright ; 
But how comes this to pass? — she died last night 

Thus nymphs commend, who yet at satire rail: 
Indeed that's needless, if sucli praise prevail. 
And whence such praise 7 our virulence is thrown 
On others' fame, through fondness for our own. 

Of rank and riches proud, Cleora frowns, 
For are not coronets akin to crowns'? 
Her greedy eye, and her sublime address. 
The height of avarice and pride confess. 
You seek perfections worthy of her rank ; 
Go, seek for her perfections at the Bank. 
By wealth unquenched, by reason uncontrolled, 
For ever burns her sacred tliirst for gold : 
As fond of five pence as the veriest cit. 
And quite as much detested as a wit. 

Can gold calm passion, or make reason shine 1 
Can we dig peace or wisdom from the mine 7 
Wisdom to gold pn^fer, for 'tis much less 
To make our fortune than our hap[)iness : 
That hapj)iness which great ones often see. 
With rage and wonder, in a low degree, 
Themselves unblessed. The poor are only poor; 
But what are they who droop amid their store 1 
Nothing is meaner than a wretch of state. 
The happy only are the truly great. 
Peasants enjoy like appetites with kings, 
And those best satisfied with cheapest things. 
Could both our Indies buy but one new sense. 
Our envy would be due to large expense : 
Since not, those pomps which to the great belong 
Are but poor arts to mark them from the throng. 
See how thoy beg an alms of Flattery : 
They languish! oh, support them with a lie ! 
A decent competence we fully taste ; 
It strikes our sense, and gives a constant feast *, 
More we perceive by dint of thought alone : 
The rich must labour to possess their own, 
To feel their great abundance, and request 
Their humble friends to help them to be blest; 
To see their treasures, hear their glory told, 
And aid the wretched impotence of gold. 

But some, great souls! and touched with warmth 
divine. 
Give gold a price, and teach its beams to shine. 



' Probably Lady Frances Sliirley. 



12S 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



All honrdoJ treasures they repute a load, 
Nor think their wealth their own, till well be- 
stowed : 
Gnmd reservoirs of public happiness, 
Through secret streams diflusively they bless, 
And while their bounties glide, concealed from 

view. 
Relieve our wants, and spare our blushes too. 
But satire is my task, and these destroy 
Her gloomy provinco and malignant joy. 
Help me, yc misers! help me to coniplain. 
And blast our common enemy, Germain :* 
But our invectives must despair success. 
For next to praise she values nothing less. 

What picture's yonder, loosened from its frame? 
C'r is't Asturia ? that alfected dame. 
The brightest forms, through affectation, fade 
To strange new things, which Nature never made. 
Frown not, yc fair ! so much your sex we prize, 
We hate those arts that take you from our eyes. 
In Albuciuda's native grace is seen 
What you, who labour at perfection, mean. 
Short is the rule, and to be learned with case. 
Retain your gentle selves, and you must ])lease. 
Here might 1 sing of Memmia's mincing mien, 
And all the movements of the soft machine ; 
How two red lips aflirtcd zephyrs blow. 
To cool the boliea, and inllamc the beau ; 
While one white finger and a thumb conspire 
To lift the cup, and make the world admire. 

Tea! how 1 tremble at (by fatal stream! 
As Lethe dreadfid to the Love of Fame. 
What devastations on thy banks are seen ! 
What shades of mighty names which once have 

been ! 
An hecatomb of characters supplies 
Thy painted altars' daily sacrifice. 
Hervey, Poarce, Blount, aspersed by thee, decay. 
As grains of finest sugar melt away, 
And recommend thee more to mortal taste : 
Scandal's the sweet'ner of a female feast. 

But this inhuman triumph shall decline, 
And thy revolting naiads call for wine ; 
Spirits no longer shall serve under thee. 
But reign in thy own cup, exfiUnled tea ! 
Citronia's nose declares thy ruin nigh. 
And who dares give Citronia's nose the lie ?t 

The ladies long at men of drink exclaimed, 
And what impaired both health and virtue blamed : 
At length to rescue man, the generous lass 
Stole from her consort the pernicious glass : 
As glorious as the British queen renowned. 
Who sucked the poison from her husband's wound. 

Nor to the glass alone are nymphs inclined. 
But every bolder vice of bold mankind. 



• Lady Hotty Gcrmnin, a coiTcspondont of Swift 

f Sttleni quis dicere folsiim 

Audeot I Virgil. 



O Juvenal I for thy severer rage I 
To lash the ranker follies of our age. 

Arc there, among the females of our isle. 
Such faults at which it is a fault to smile ? 
There are: Vice once by modest Nature chained, 
And legal tics, expatiates unrestrained ; 
Without thin decency held up to view, 
Naked she stalks o'er law and gospel too. 
Our matrons lead such exemplary lives. 
Men sigh in vain for none, but for their wives j 
Who marry to l)c free, to range the more. 
And wed one man, to wanton with a score. 
Abroad too kind, at home 'tis steadfast hate. 
And one eternal tempest of debate. 
What foul eruptions from a look most meek ! 
What thunders bursting from a dimpled cheek I 
Their passions bear it with a lofty hand ! 
But then their reason is at duo conunand. 
Is there whom you detest, and seek his life 1 
Trust no soul with the secret — but his wife. 
Wives wonder that their conduct I condenui, 
And ask what kindred is a spouse to them? 

What swarms of amorous grandmothers I sec 
And misses, ancient in iniquity ! 
What blasting whispers, and what loud declaim- 

i"g! 
What lying, drinking, bawding, swearing, ganv 

ing! 
Friendship so cold, such warm incontinence, 
Such griping avarice, such i)rofusc expense, 
Such dead devotion, such a zeal for crimes, 
Such licensed ill, such masquerading times, 
Such venal faiths, such niisa]>plied applause, 
Such llattered guilt, and such inverted laws, 
Such dissolution through the whole I lind ; 
'Tis not a world, but chaos of mankind. 
Since Sundays have no balls, the well-dressed 

belle 
Shines in the pew, but smiles to hear of hell, 
And casts an eye of sweet disdain on all 
Who listens less to Collins than St. Paul. 
Atheists have been but rare: since Nature's 

birth, 
Till now, she-atheists ne'er appeared on earth. 
Ye men of deep researches ! say, whence springs 
This daring character in timorous things? 
Who start at feathers, from an insect fly, 
A match for nothing — but the Deity. 

But, not to wrong the fair, the Muse must own, 
In this pursuit they court not fame alone. 
But join to that a more substantial view, 
' Fron\ thinking free, to be free agents too.' 

They strive with their own hearts, and keep 

them down. 
In complaisance to all the fools in town. 
O, how they tremble at the name of prude ! 
And die with shame at thought of being good ! 
For what will Artimia, the rich and gay. 
What will the wits, that is, the coxcombs, say "i 



LOVE OF FAME. 



127 



They Heaven defy, to eartli's vile drcga a sltivc, 
Throufjii cowardice, most execrably brave. 
With our own judfjnicnta durst wo to comply, 
In virtue should wo live, in ijlory die. 
Rise tlien, my Muse! in honest fury rise; 
They dre.id a satire who defy the skies. 

Atlx'iHts are few : most nymphs aCiodiiead own, 

And nothing; but his attril)utes dethrone. 

From atheist, far, they stedfastly belicvo 

God is, and is almii^hty — to forgive. 

His other excellence they'll not dispute: 

But mercy, sure, is his chief attribute. 

Shall pleasures of a short duration chain 

A lady's soul in everlasting pain 1 

Will the great Author us poor worms destroy, 

For now and then a sip of transient joy 1 

No, he's for ever in a smiling mood ; 

He's like themselves, or how could he he good 1 

And they blaspheme who blacker schemes sup- 
pose — 

Devoutly, thus, Jehovah they depose, 

The pure ! the ju.st ! and set up in his stead, 

A deity that's perfectly well-bred. 

' Dear Tillotson ! he sure the best of men ; 

Nor thought he more than thought great Origen. 

Though once upon a time ho misbehaved 

Poor Satan! doubtless hci'll at length be saved. 

Let priests do something for their one in ten; 

It is their trade: so far they're honest men. 

Let them cant on, since they have got the knack, 

And dress their notions, like themselves, in black ; 

Fright us with terrors of a world unknown. 

From joys of this, to keep them all their own. 

Of earth's fair fruits, indeed, they claim a fee; 

But then they leave our untythed virtue free. 

Virtue's a pretty thing to make a show ; 

Did ever mortal write like llochefoucault V 

Thus pleads the devil's fair apologist. 

And, pleading, safely enters on his list. 
Let angel-forms angelic truths maintain. 

Nature disjoins the beauteous and profane. 

For what's true beauty but fair Virtue's face'} 

Virtue made visible in outward grace 1 

She, then, that's haunted with an imiiious mind? 

The more she charms, the more she shocks man- 
kind. 
But charms decline: the fair long vigils keep: 

They sleep no more : Ciuadrille* has murdered 
Sleep. 

'Poor Kempl't cries Livia; 'I have not been 
there 

These two nights : the poor creature will despair. 

I hate a crowd — but to do good, you know — 

And [)eople of condition should bestow.' 

Convinced, o'crcome, to Kemp's grave matrons run. 

Now set a daughter, and now stake a son ; 



* Shakspeare. 



22 



t Keeper of an assembly. 
2D 



Let health, fame, temper, beauty, fortune, fly, 
And beggar half their race — through charity. 

Immortal were W(^, or else inortal (|uite, 
I less should blame this criminal delight; 
But since the gay assembly's gayest room 
Is but an upper story to the tomb, 
Methirdis we need not our sliort beings shun, 
And, thought to (ly, contend to be unddnc : 
We need not buy our ruin with our crime, 
And give eternity to nnirder time. 

The love of gaming is the worst of ills ; 
With ceaseless storms the blackened soul it fdls; 
Inveighs at Heaven, neglects the ties of blood, 
D("stroys the will and power of doing good; 
Kills health, pawns honour, ])lunge8 in disgrace, 
And, what is still more dreadful — spoils your face. 

See yonder set of thieves tluit live on sjioil, 
The scanilal and the ruin of our isle! 
And sec, (strange sight!) amid that rufHan band, 
A form divine, high wavt; her snowy hand. 
That rattles loud a sm.'dl enchanted box, 
Which, loud as thunder, on the board slie knocks: 
And as fierce storms, which earth's foundation 

shook. 
From .bolus's cave impetuous broke : 
From this small cavern a mixed tempest (lies, 
Fear, rage, convulsions, tears, oaths, blasphemies! 
For men, I mean, — th(! fair discharges none : 
She (guiltless creature!) swears to Heaven alone. 

See her (708 start I cheeks glow ! and nmscles 
swell! 
Like the mad maid in tlie Cumean cell. 
Thus that divine-one her soft nights employs! 
Thus tunes her soul to tender nu[)tial joys! 
And when the cruel morning calls to bed. 
And on her pillow lays her aching head. 
With the dear images her dreams are crowned, 
The die s|)ins lovely, or the cards go round; 
Imaginary ruins charm her still ; 
Her happy lord 's cuckolded by Spadille ; 
And if she's brought to bed, 'tis ten to one 
He marks the forehead of her darling son. 

O scene of horror and of wild despair ! 
Why is the rich Atrides' splendid heir 
Constrained to quit his anciiwit lordly scat. 
And hide his glories in a mean retreatl 
Why that drawn sword 1 and whence that dismal 

cry"? 
Why pale distraction through the family'? 
Sec! my lord threaten, and my lady wc('[), 
And trembling servants from the tempest creep. 
Why that gay son to distant r(!gions sent? 
What fiends that daughter's destined match pr«" 

vent? 
Why the whole house in sudden ruin laidf 
O nothing, but last night — my lady [ilayed. 

But wanders not my Satire from her theme 1 
Is this, too, owing to the Love of Fame'? 



128 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Though, now, your hearts on lucre are bestowed, 
Twas fust a vain devotion to the mode : 
Nor cease we here, since 'tis a vice so strong, 
The torrent svvecjjs all womankind along. 
This may be said, in honour of our times, 
That none now stand distinguished by their crimes. 

If sin you mlist, take Nature for your guide; 
Love has some soil excuse to soothe your pride. 
Ye fair apostates from Love's ancient power ! 
Can nothing ravish but a golden showcrl 
Can cards alone your glowing fancy seize 1 
Must Cupid learn to punt, ere he can please? 
When you're enamoured of a lift or cast, 
What can the jjrcacher more to make us chaste 1 
Why must strong youths unmarried pine awayl 
They find no woman disengaged — from play. 
Why pine tlie married'?— O severer fate ! 
They find from play no disengaged — estate. 
Flavia, at lovers false, untouched and hard, 
Turns pale, and trembles at a cruel card. 
Nor Arria's Bible can secure her age ; 
Her threescore years are shulHing with her page, 
While Death stands by but till the game is done, 
To sweep that stake, in justice long his own : 
Like old cards, tinged with sulphur, she takes fire ; 
Or, like snufls sunk in sockets, blazes higher. 
Yc gods ! with new deliglits inspire the fair, 
Or give us sons, and save us from despair. 

Sons, brothers, fathers, husbands, tradesmen, 
close 
In my complaint, and brand your sins in prose : 
Yet I believe, as firmly as my creed, 
In spite of all our wisdom, you'll proceed. 
Our pride so great, our passion is so strong, 
Advice to right confirms us in the wrono-. 
I hear you cry, ' This fellow's very odd,' 
When you chastise, who would not kiss the rod? 
But I've a charm your anger shall control, 
And turn your eyes with coldness on the vole. 

The charm begins ! To yonder tlood of light. 
That bursts o'er gloomy Britain, turn your sight. 
What guardian power o'crwhelms your souls with 

awe? 
Her deeds are precepts, her example law ; 
Midst empire's charms how Carolina's* heart 



SATIRE VII. 

TO THE RIGHT HON. BIR ROBERT WALPOLE. 

Carmina turn melius, cum veneiit Ipse, canemiia.— Virff. 



G lows with the love of virtue and of art ! 
Her favour is diffused to that degree, 
Excess of goodness ! it has dawned on me. 
When in my page, to balance numerous faults. 
Or godlike deeds were shown, or generous thoughts. 
She smiled, industrious to be pleased, nor knew 
From whom my pen the borrowed lustre drew. 

Thus the majestic mother of mankind t 
To her own charms most amiably blind. 
On the green margin innocently stood. 
And gazed indulgent on the crystal flood; 
Surveyed the stranger in the painted wave, 
-And, smiling,' praised the beauties which she gave. 



" Queen Caroline. 



t Milton. 



On this last labour, this my closing strain. 
Smile, Walpole ! or the Nine inspire in vain. 
To thee 'tis duo ; that verse how justly thine. 
Where Brunswick's glory crowns the whole de- 
sign? 
That glory which thy counsels make so bright ; 
That glory which on thee reflects a light. 
Illustrious commerce, and but rarely known ! 
To give, and take, a lustre from the throne. 

Nor think that thou art foreign to my theme; 
The fountain is not foreign to the stream. 
How all mankind will be surprised to see 
This flood of British folly charged on thee! 
Say, Britain ! whence this caprice of thy sons. 
Which through their various ranks with fury runs? 
The cause is plain, a cause which we must bless, 
For Caprice is the daughter of Success, 
(A bad ellect, but from a pleasing cause !) 
And gives our rulers undesigned applause. 
Tells how their conduct bids our wealth increase, 
And lulls us in the downy lap of Peace. 

While I survey the blessings of our isle, 
Her arts triumphant in the royal smile, 
Her public wounds bound up, her credit high 
Her commerce spreading sails in every sky. 
The pleasing scene recalls my theme again, 
And shows the madness of ambitious men. 
Who, fond of bloodshed, draw the murdering sword, 
And burn to give mankind a single lord. 
The follies past arc of a private kind ; 
Their sphere is small, their mischief is confined; 
But daring men there are (awake, my Muse ! 
And raise thy verse) who bolder frenzy choose ; 
Who, stung by glory, rave, and bound away. 
The world their field, and humankind their prey. 

The Grecian chief, th' enthusiast of his pride, 
With Rage and Terror stalking by his side. 
Raves round the globe ; he soars into a god ! 
Stand fast, Olympus ! and sustain his nod. 
The pest divine in horrid grandeur reigns. 
And thrives on mankind's miseries and pains. 
What slaughtered hosts ! what cities in a blaze I 
What wasted countries ! and what crimson seas ! 
With orphans' tears his impious bowl o'erflows. 
And cries of kingdoms lull him to repose. 

And can not thrice ten hundred years unpraise 
The boisterous boy, and blast his guilty bays? 
Why want we, then, encomiums on the storm, 
Or famine or volcano? they perform 
Their mighty deeds; they, hero-like, can slay, 
And spread their amjjle deserts in a day. 
O great alHance ! O divine renown ! 
With dearth and pestilence to share the crown. 



LOVE OF FAME. 



129 



When men extol a wild destroyer's name, 
Earth's Builder and Preserver they l)liisj)hcmc. 

One to destroy is murder hy the law, 
And gibhcts keep the lifted hand in awe ; 
To murder thousands takes a speeious name, 
War's glorious art, and irives immortal fame. 

When after battle I the field have seen 
Spread o'er with ghastly shapes which once were 

men, 
A nation crushed, a nation of the brave! 
A realm of death! and on this side the grave! 
' Are there,' said I, ' who from this sad survey, 
This human chaos, carry smiles away V 
How did my heart with indignation rise! 
How honest Nature swelled into my eyes ! 
How was I shocked to tliiuk the hero's trade 
Of such materials, fame and triumph, made ! 

How guilty these 1 yet not less guilty they 
Who reach false glory by a smootiier way; 
Who wrap destruction up in gentle words, 
And bows and smiles, more ftital than their swords; 
Whostidc nature, and subsist on art; 
Who coin the face, and petrify the heart; 
All real kindness for the show discard. 
As marble polished, and as marble hard ; 
Who do for gold what Christians do through grace, 
' With open arms their enemies embrace;' 
Who give a nod when broken hearts rei)ine, 
' The thinnest food on which a wretch can dine:' 
Or if they serve you, serve you disinclined. 
And in their height of kindness are unkind. 
Such courtiers were, and such again may be, 
Walpole! when men forget to copy thee. 

Here cease, my Muse! the catalogue is writ, 
IN or one more candidate for fame admit; 
Though disappointed thousands justly blame 
Thy partial pen, and boast an equal claim: 
Bp this their comfort, fools, omitted here, 
May furnish laughter for another year. 
Then let Crispino, who was ne'er refused 
The justice yet of being well abused. 
With patience wait, and be content to reign 
The pink of puppies in some future strain : 
Some future strain, in which the Muse shall tell 
How science dwindles, and how volumes swell. 
How commentators each dark passage shun, 
And hold their farthing candle to the sun. 
How tortured texts to speak our sense are made, 
And every vice is to the Scripture laid. 
How misers squeeze a young voluptuous peer, 
His sins to Lucifer not half so dear. 
How Verres is less qualified to steal 
With sword and pistol, than with wax and seal. 
How lawyers' fees to such excess are run. 
That clients are redressed till they're un<lonc. 
How one man's anguish is another's sport, 
And e'en denials cost us dear at court. 
How man eternally false judgments makes, 
And all his joys and sorrows arc mistakes. 



This swarm of themes that sdtles on my pen, 
Which I, like sunnner-llies, shake oil' again, 
Let others sing ; to whom my weak essay 
But sounds a prelude, and points out their prey: 
That duty done, I hasten to complete 
My own design; for Tonson's at the gate. 

The Love of Fame in its effects surveyed, 
The Muse has sung; be now the cause displayed: 
Since so dill'usive, and so wide its sway, 
What is this power whom all mankind obcyl 

Shot from above, by Heaven's indulgence, came 
This generous ardour, this uncoiKpiered fiame. 
To warm, to raise, to deify mankind, 
Still burning brightest in the noblest mind. 
By large-souled men, for thirst of fame renowned. 
Wise laws were framed, and sacred arts were 

found ; 
Desire of praise first broke the patriot's rest, 
And made a bulwark of the warrior's breast; 
It bids Argyle in fields and senatc-s siiine: 
What more can prove its origin divine 1 

But, oh I this passion plantcul in tliesoul. 
On eagle's wings to mount her to the pole. 
The flaming minister of virtue meant, 
Set up ftdse gods, and wronged her high descent. 

Ambition, hence, ex(!rts a double force. 
Of blots and beauties an alternate source; 
Hence Gildon rails, that raven of the pit. 
Who thrives upon the carcasses of Wit ; 
And in art-loving Scarborougli is seen 
How kind a patron Pollio might have been. 
Pursuit of fame with pedants fills our schools, 
And into coxcombs burnishes our fools; 
Pursuit of fame makes solid learning bright, 
And Newton lifts above a mortal height: 
That key of Nature, l>y whose wit she clears 
Her long, long secrets of five tiiousand years. 

Would you then, fully, comprehend the whole, 
Why, and in what degrees. Pride sways the soul '? 
(For though in all, not equally, siic reigns) 
Awake to knowledge, and attend my strains. 

Ye doctors! hear the doctrine I disclose. 
As true as if 'twere writ in dulh^st j)rosc ; 
As if a lettered dunce had said, ' 'Tis right;' 
And imprimalur ushered it to light. 

Ambition, in the truly noble mind. 
With sister Virtue is for ever joined ; 
As in famed Lucreco, who, with equal dread, 
From guilt and shame by her last conduct fled: 
Her virtue long rebelled in firm disdain. 
And the sword junnted at her heart in vain; 
But when the slave was threatened to be laid 
Dead by her side, her Love of Fame obeyed. 

In meaner minds Ambition works alone, 
But with such art puts Virtue's aspect on, 
That not more like in feature and in mien, 
The god* and mortal in the comic scene, 

• Amphitryon. 



130 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



False Julius, ainbuslipil in Ihis fair ilisijuise, 
Soon made the Roman libntios his prize. 

No mask in basest niiiuls Ambition wears, 
But in lull liijlit jirii-ks up her ass's cars; 
All 1 have sung are instances of this, 
And prove my theme unlokled not amiss. 

Ye vain! desist from your erroneous strife; 
Be wise, and quit llie false sublime of litb. 
The true ambition there alono resides, 
Where justice vindicates, and wisdom guides; 
Where inward diijuity joins outward state, 
Our purpose good, as our achievement great; 
Where public blessings public praise attend ; 
Where glory is our motive, not our einl. 
Would'st thou be famed! have those high deeds 

in view: 
Brave men would net.thougli scandal sliould ensue. 

Behold a prince! whom no swoln thoughts in- 
flame. 
No jiride of thrones, no fever afler tame; 
But when the welfare of mankind inspires, 
And death in view to dear-lxnight glory fires. 
Proud conquests then, then regal pomps delight; 
Then crowns, then triumphs, sparkle in his sight ; 
Tumult and noise are dear, which with them bring 
His people's blessing to their anient king; 
But when those great heroic motives cease, 
His swelling soul subsides to native peace ; 
From tedious Grandeur's tailed charms withdraws, 
A sudden fov to splendour and applause ; 
Greatly deferring his arrears of fame, 
Till men and angels jointly shout his name, 
O pride celestial ! which can priile disdain ; 
O blessed ambition ! which can ne'er be vain. 

From one famed Alpine hill, which props the sky, 
In whose deep womb unfathomed waters lie, 



Here burst the Rhone and sounding Po; thero 

shine, 
Fn infant rills, the Danube and the Rhine; 
From the rich store one fruitful urn supplies, 
Wiiole kingdoms smile, a thousand harvests rise. 

In Brunswick such a source tlie Muse adores. 
Which public blessings through half Euro|>e jHJurs. 
When his heart burns with such a godlike aim. 
Angels and George are rivals for the fame: 
George ! who in foes can soft affections raise, 
And charm envenomed satire into praise. 

Nor human rage alone his power perceiveg. 
But the mad winds, and the tumultuous waves.* 
E'en storms (Death's fiercest ministers!) forbear, 
And in their own wild enii)ire learn to spare. 
Thus Nature's self, supporting man's decree. 
Styles Britain's sovereign, Sovereign of the sea! 

While sea and air, great Brunswick ! shook our 
state. 
And s[Kirted with a king's and kingdom's fate, 
Deprived of what she loved, and pressed with fear 
Of ever losing what she held most dear, 
How did Britannia, like Achilles,t weep, 
And tell her sorrows to the kindred deepl 
Hang o'er the floods, and, in devotion warm, 
Strive for thee with the surge, and f'lght the storm 1 

What felt thy Walpole, pilot of the realm 1 
Our Palinurust slept not at the helm ; 
His eye ne'er closed, long since enured to wake. 
And outwatch every star, for Brunswick's sake: 
By thwarting passions lossetl, by cares oppressed. 
He found the tempest pictured in his breast : 
But now what joys that gloom of heart disix-I, 
No jwwers of language — but his own, can tell ; 
His own, which Nature and the Graces form. 
At will to raise or hush the civil storm. 



JSpiioitlro. 



EPISTLES TO MR. POPE, 
CONCERNING THE AUTHORS OF THE AGE. 



EPISTLE I. 

Wnir.sT you at Twick'nham plan the futurewood, 
Or turn the volumes of the wise and good, 
Our senate meets; at parties parties bawl. 
And pamphlets stun the streets and loail the stall: 
So rusiiiiig tides bring tilings obscene to light. 
Foul wrecks emerge, and dead dogs swim in sight; 
The civil torrent foams, the tumult reigns. 
And Codrus' prose works up, and Lico's strains, 
Lo ! what t'rom cellars rise, what rush from high. 
Where Sinvulation roosted near the sky ; 
Letters, essays, sock, buskin, satire, song, 
And all tlie garret thunders on the throng ! 



O Pope ! I burst ; nor can, nor will refrain ; 
I 'II write, let others in their turn complain. 
Truce, truce, ye Vandals ! my tormented ear 
Less dreads a pillory than pamphleteer: 
I've heard myself to death ; and, plagued each hour, 
Sha'n't 1 return the vengeance in my powerl 
For who can write the true absunl like me? — 
Thy pardon, Codrus ! who, I mean, but thee? 

Pope ! if like mine or Codrus' were thy style. 
The bliXKl of vipers had not stained thy file; 
Merit Iws solid, less despite had bred; 
Thev had not bit, and then they had not bled. 
Fame is a public mistress, none enjoys, 
But, more or less, his rival's peace destroys ; 



• The King in danger by sea. t Honi. H. lib. i. 

} Ecce Ueiis ramum Letliteo tote madenieni, A-c, 

VVr^-. lib. 11 



EPISTLES. 



m 



With funip, in just proportion, envy jrrowa ; 
Tiie niiin that rnakcs a cliiiractor, imikcs foes : 
Slii,^lit |it'(!viHli iiiMoc'trt round a (^cniuH rise, 
As a bright day awakt-H th(' worlil ol' Hit's; 
With hearty niahce, hut witli feebio wing, 
(Towliow tliey live) tliey (hitl<'r, and they sling; 
liut.as hy depredaliiins wasps proi'hiini 
'I'he I'aireHt Iruit, ho these tho fairest fame. 

Sliall we not eensiire all tlie niolley train, 
Wh<'ther widi ale irrifjuous or clianipai<rn ; 
Wlielher they tread the vah" of prose, or chinb, 
And whet tlieir appetites on elills of rliynie ; 
The eollesre sloven, or enihroidt^red spark ! 
The purple prelate, or the jiarish-elerk ; 
The quiet (|uidnunc, or tleniaiidiiiK l>rig! 
The plaintilf Tory, or defendant Whig; 
Rich, poor, male, female, young, old, gay, or sad; 
Whetiier extremely witty, or quite mad : 
Profoundly dull, or ithallowly polite; 
Men that read well, or men that only write 7 
Whether peers, j)orters, tailorrf, (une the reeds, 
And measuring words, to measuring shapes suo 

eeeds ; 
For bankrupts write wiicn ruined shops are shut. 
As maggots eravvl from out a perished nut : 
His hammer this, and that his trowel quits, 
And wanting sense for tradesmen, serve for wits. 
By thriving men subsists each other trade; 
Of every broken eratl a writer 's made : 
Thus his material, paper, takes its birth 
From tattered rags of all the stulf on earth. 

I lail, fruitful Isle ! to thee alone belong 
Millions of wits, and brokers in old song ; 
Thee well a Land of Liberty we name. 
Where all an; i'lvu to scandal and to shame; 
Thy sons, by print, may set their hearts at ea.se, 
And be mankin(i'seontem|)t whene'er they please; 
Like trodden fillh, their vile and abject sense 
Is unperccived, l)ut when it gives ollence : 
Their heavy prose our injured reason tires; 
Their verse innnoral kindles loose desires : 
Our age they puz/.k), and corrupt our prime, 
Our sport and pity, punishm<-nt and crime. 

What glorious motives urge our authors on 
Thus to undo, and thus to bo undone 1 
One loses his estate, and down he sits, 
To show (in vain) ho still retains his wits : 
Another marries, and his dear proves keen : 
He writes, as an hyphnotic li)r tlu! R[)le.en: 
Some write, confincul by physic; some, by debt ; 
Some, for 'tis Sunday ; some, because 'tis wet : 
Through jirivate pi(jue some do the public right, 
And love their king and country out of spite: 
Another writes because his father writ, 
And proves himself a bastard by his wit. 

Has Lyco learning, humour, thouglit jirofound? 
Neither: why write thcin 1 he wants twenty pound : 
His belly, not his brains, tlie impulse give; 
Ho '11 grow immortal, for he can not live: 



He rubs his awful front, and takes his ream, 

With no provision made, but of this themo: 

Perhaps a lilie has his fancy suiit, 

( >r a (juaint motto, which he tliiiilvs has wit: 

He writes, in inspiration puts his trust. 

Though wrong his thoughts, the gods will mal(fl 

tiiem ju::it : 
Cicnius directly from the gods tli^scends. 
And who by laboiu' would dJHtrust his friends'? 
Thus having n'asoned with coTisununati! skill, 
In immortality he dips his (juil! ; 
And, since blank ]iaper is denied the press, 
I le mingles the whole al[ihabet by guess ; 
In various sets, whicii various words compose, 
( )f wlii(^li he hopes mankind th(! meaning knows. 

So sounds spontaneous from the Sybil broke, 
Dark to herself tlie wonders whicli siie spoke; 
Th(^ priests l()uiid out liie meaning if tlit^ could, 
And nations stared at what none understood. 

( !lodio dn^Hsed, (lanced, drank, visited, (the whole 
And great concern of an iimiiortal soul !) 
( )ll liav<^ 1 said, "awake! <!xistl and strive 
For birth! nor think to loiter is to live!" 
As oil, I overheard the demon say. 
Who daily met the loiterer in his way, 
"I'll meet thee, Youtli ! at White's." Thcyoulh 

replies, 
" I 'II meet thee tli(-re," and falls his sacrifice; 
I lis fortniK! stjuandcred, leaves his virtue hare 
To every bribe, ajid blind to every snare. 
Clodio for bread his indoIitni;e must (juit, 
Or turn a soldier, or commenee a wit. 
Such heroes have we! all but life tiitiy stake; 
How must S|)!Lin tremble, and the German shako 1 
Such writers have we! all but sense tlu^y print; 
Even Cieorge's praise is dated from the Mnit. 
In arms eontemptilile, in arts profane. 
Such swords, sucli pens, disgrace a monarch's 

reign, 
ilcform your lives before yon thus afipiro. 
And steal (for you can steal) celestial firo. 

() the just contrast! O the beauteous strife I 
'Twixt tlnur cool writings and Pindaric life: 
They write with [ihlegm, but then they live with fire; 
They cheat the h-ndi-r, and tln^ir works the buyer. 

I reverence misfortune, not deride; 
I jiity poverty, but laugh at pride: 
For who so sad btit must some mirth confesu 
At gay (jastruchio's niis(;ellaneous dress'} 
Though there's but one oflbedull works hewrotc^, 
There's t<!n editions of his old laci;d coat. 

These, Nature's commoners, who want a home, 
C;iaiin the wide world for their majestic dome ; 
They mak<! a private study of the street, 
And, looking full on every rnan they meet, 
Run souse against his chaps, who stands amozixl 
They find tliey di<l not see, but only gazed. 
How must these banls bo rajit into the skieal 
You n(«'.d not read, you feel their ecstacics. 



n" 



133 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Will llit>v luM'HiMt? 'tis madiu'ri.^. I.intot, run, 
S«'(' lliciii i-iiii('mi-(l. — "(>, llml's alroiidy tli>iu>.'' 
Most, nM l>y Ii>»w8, by tlu' works (licy |iriiit, 
Ilftvo l(M>k, for life, posucssion (il'tlic Mint. 
If vou inistiikc, iitiil |)ily ll^t's(^ jioor im-ii, 
Hnt ritiliris, IIk'V cry, mill write iitjiiiii. 

Sucli wilH llit'ir miisaiico iimiil'ully fxpoHP, 
7\ii<i IIhmi i>roiio\iiico just jiuljft'H loiiriiiiijj's foos. 

friiil fiiiii'liisiim! the icvcrs(< is true; 

If toes to leiiruin^, tlieyMI'e friends loyou; 
Trout tiiem, ye jutlijes! vvilli iiu honest Broni, 
And wet"d llie eiH-Ule IVoni the i^enerous eoru : 
'riiere's tru(>j;ood Uiiture in your tlisrespeet ; 
In jiistico to tl\o ji'^od, (lie l)ud nejjioet : 
For iuuMorlaiity if hnrdsliips |)!ei>d, -» 
It is not llieirs wlio wrili\ luit ours wlu) rend. 

lUit, (•! wind wisdom can eonvinee a fix)l 
Hut (hat 'tis dulnessto coneeive hiui dull I 
"I'lssnd expt>riei\ee tidces the censor's part, 
Ooiuietion not from reason, hut tVom smart. 

A virij[in uutlior, recent from tlie press, 
Tlio HJieetH y«'t wet, applauds his jfreat success: 
Surveys them, reads them, takes their cluirnis to 

bed, 
Thoso in his hand, and ijlory in liis lieixd; 
'Tis joy too >j[re«t ; a fever of deliijht ! 
His heart beats thick, nor close his t>yes all nifjUt; 
But risiui; the next morn to clasp his tame, 

1 lo fmds that with-iul sleepinj; he could dream. 
So sparks, tiiey say, take omldesses ti> bi>d, 
And (ind n(>xt day the devil in their steixil. 

In vain advertisements the town o'ersjirend; 
They're epitapiis, and say tl«> work is ilead. 
Who press for fame but small recruits will raise; 
'Tis volunteers alone can ijivt\ llu< bays. 

A famous author visits n s;reat ninn, 
Of his imn\i>rt;d work displays the plan, 
And says, '" Sir, I'm your friend; all fears dismiss, 
Your jjlory tuul my own shall livo by this; 
Your power is llxe<l, your Itimo throuj»li liniocou- 

v«>yed. 
And Hritain F.un>po'» «jupou — if I am imiil." 
A statesman lias his answ(>r in a trice; 
"Sir, such a ijcniusis beyond all price; 
What man can ()ay for this I" — Away ho turns, 
His work ist'olded, and his bosom burns: 
Mis patron he will patroni/.e no n\ore. 
Hut rusiieslike a tem|iest out of door. 
Lost is the patriot, nudi-iitinct his name! 
Out comes the piece, nnother, auil the same; 
For A, bis mai.^ic pen evokes an O, 
Anil turns the tide o( lOmvpe on the foe: 
Ilo rnms his quill with Hcandal und with soot)', 
]?\il 'tis so very foul it won't i;o oil': 
Prcadt'ul his thunders, while uuprinted, roar. 
But whpnoneoi>ublished they are heart! no moro. 
Thus distant bu>j;bears fri!»ht, but nearer draw, 
Tho block's a bKn-k, and turns to mirth your awe. 



(^an these obliirr whoso heads and hearts »r« 
such / 
No; every party's tainted by tlieir touch. 
Infected pt<rsons tly each public place, 
And none, or enemi(^s alone, i<mbraco; 
To the foul (lend their every passion's sold ; 
They love and hale, <>xtempore, for f^old. 
What iniaijo of their fury can we f<>rm7 
nidncssand rai;e, a puddle in a storm. 
Kest they in jM-ace ! If they are pleased to luiy, 
To swell your sails, like l.aplnnd winds they (ly. 
Write they with rajjfe ! the tempest quickty ll«{is; 
A state Ulysses lames 'em with ids ba»s; 
Let him be what ho will, Turk, Pajjau, Jew, 
l''or (Christian ministers of state (ire few. 

ttchind the curiam Im'ks the foinitain heatl 
That pours his politics throUi;h pipes of load, 
Which far and near ejaculatt" and spout, 
O'lir tea and colVeo, poison to the rout; 
I'ut when they havt> bespattcri-d ail tiiey may, 
Tlu> statesman throws his lillhy sipiirts away I 

Willi };olden tl>rceps these another takes, 
And slate elixirs of the vipiM's makes. 

'I'he richest statesman wants enou;;h lo pay 
A servile eycophaut, if well they wcijjh 
Ilow much it costs the wretch to b<> so base; 
N»>r can the ifrcatesl powers enouf^h disjjrace, 
l''noui;h chastise, such prostitute applause. 
It' well llu-y weiijli lu>w much it stains their cause. 

r>ut are our writers ever in the wronij; ! 
IWa virtu(> ne'er seduce the v<<nal tonjjuo7 
Y(>s; if well-bribed, lor virtue's self they t't'^ht, 
Still in the wroni;, though cham|iions lor tho 

rifjht: 
Whoe'er their crimes lor interest only t|uit, 
Sin on in virtue, and >rood det<ds commit. 

INoUijht lull inconstancy Uritamiia nurts, 
And bniken faith in their abandoned sheets. 
Fnim the same hand how varioxis is tho |>aj»e! 
What civil war their bmther pamphlets wajjel 
Tracts battle tracts, self contradictions sjlaro : 
Say, is this lunacy f — I wish it wore. 
If such i>ur writers, startled at thesi<jhl. 
Felons may bless their stars they can not write! 

How justly Proteus' transmiitral ions (it 
The monstrous chnnijes of a modern wit! 
JNow such a m'nih" stream of cKupience, 
As seldom rises lot he verjje of sense ; 
Now, by mad rajje, transformed into a tlamo, 
Which yet lit eu^jines, well applied can taiue; 
Now, on immodest tr;ish, the swine obscene 
Invites the town to sup at Drury lane! 
A dreadful lion, now he roars at power. 
Which sends him to his brothers at the Tower; 
He's now a serpent, and his double tt>iii;ue 
Salutes, nay, licks the feet of U»ose ho stunjj. 
What note can bind him, his evasion such ? 
(.)ne knot he well deserves which mij^ht i\o much. 



EPISTLES. 



1.13 



The flood, (Inmo, nwinc, tlie lion, atid the fliiakc, 
TlioHit livcroM iiioiiMU-rH, iiioilfrii iiiitliorH iniikiv 
'rill' simkcrci^iiH must ; HiiiikcH, I 'liny Hiiy«, iiro lired 
When tlio liriiin'H ixTinhcd in it lunnaii hciid. 
Yi'f,'riiv«'llini;,troddt'n, wlii|>t,Htii|)t, turncoat tliinfjH, 
Miuic u\> of venom, VdlunicM, Htiiinn, and Htini^n I 
'I'lirown iVom tJKr fr<'t'ol'knowKMl;^(!,likoyon,curH'd 
ToHcrilililu in tho duHt, was snaku the firHt. 

What if llio fiirnro slionid in fuct prove true! 
It (lid in I'likcnidi, why not in yon't 
I'oor lOlkiuiaii, all other chanjjoH j)ast, 
l''or iircad in Sniilldlcld druf^otiH hinHcd at lawt, 
.S|)il strcaniH of (ire to makci the hntchcrH fj;a-l"\ 
And li)niid hin nianncrn Muiti'd to InH Hhapo. 
Such irt th<^ liit(^ of taltMitii niiHa|i|)li(<<l ; 
So lived your prololyix!, and ho ho dioil. 

'I'lu- ahnndonrd nianniTM of our writinij train 
IVIay tenijit mankind to thiid( rcli^riou vain; 
lUit in tluir fate, thi-ir habit, and their mien, 
Tlial f^ddw (iuTo aro is fminciilly scon : 
1 leaven stands alisolv(^d by ven^rcanco on their pen, 
And markrt the murderers of fame from nuMi : 
Tlironi;limcat;re jaws they draw their venal hreath. 
As ghastly as their brothers in Macbilh : 
Their ftu-t throu^ii faithless leather meet the dirt, 
And ollcner c.lian<^cd their principles than shirt: 
The transient vestments of thesi! fru;fal men 
Hasten to iiaper for our mirth airain : 
'i'oo soon ((J merry melancholy fate !) 
Tiiey bej; in rhyme, and warble through a grate: 
'I'he man lampooned forgets it at the sij^ht; 
'I'he friend ihroui^h pity gives, the foe through spite ; 
And though full conscious of his injured |)urHe, 
I^intot relents, nor ('uril can wish them worse. 
So far<' the men who writers dare conuncnco 
Without llieir patent, probity, and sens(!. 

From tiiesc their politics our quitlnuncfl seek, 
And Saturday's tlu! Unirning of the week: 
These lab'ring wits, like paviors, inond our ways, 
With heavy, hug(\ repeated, flat, essays; 
llani tiieir coarse nonsense down, tiiough ne'er so 

dull, 
And hem at every thump upon your scull; 
Thi'se staunch-bred writing hounds begin the cry, 
And honest l''olly etdioes to the lie. 
() how I laugh when 1 ii blockhead tteo 
Thanking a villain for his proiiity: 
Who stretches out a most res|)ectful ear. 
With snares for woodcocks in his holy leer : 
It tickles through my soul to hear tho cock's 
Sincere encomium on his friend the fox, 
Sole patron of his lil)crties and rights! 
While graceless lleynard listens — till ho bites. 

As when the trumpet sounds, theo'erloaded state 
Discharges all her poor and profligates, 
(, 'rimes of all kinds dishonoured weapons wield, 
And |)risons |io\ir tiieir tilth into the field ; 
Tiuis Nature's refuse, and the dregs of men, 
CumiM>BO tho black niililiu of the pen. 



ElMS'PLIO II. 

I'HOM OXl-Oftp. 

Ai.r, write at London; shall the rage abato 

1 lere, where it most should slniK^, l\w MuHc^H'fieat 1 

Where, nairtal, or inunortal, as liicy please, 

'J'he learned may choose eternity or ease"! 

lias not a royal patron* wisely strovi; 

'I'o woo the Muse in her Athi^nian grovfil 

A<!ded new strings (o iier harmonious sIk^II, 

A nd given IK' w tongues tt) I hose who spoke so well? 

Let these inslruct, with trulli's illustrious ray. 

Awake the world, and scare our owls away. 

Meanwhile, () l''ri<'nd ! indulge me, if I give 
Some needful preci'iits how to wriliiand live; 
Serious should be an author's final views: 
Who write, tor pure amusement, ni^'er amuse. 

An Author! 'tis a v(Mierabl(! nanus! 
How tv.w d('Merv(s it, and what numbers cinim! 
Unblessed with sense, ;ii)ove their peers relined, 
Who shall stand up dictators to mankind'} 
Nay, who dare shine, if not in virlu(s's cause 7 
That soles proprietor of just applause. 

Yo restless men ! wiio pant i()r lettered praise. 
With whom would you consult to gain tins bays? 
With tliosis great authors vvhoKis lamed works you 

read ■{ 
'Tis well ; go, then, consult the laurel<«l sliado. 
What aiiswfsr will tlus lanrehsd shadts return '{ 
Hear it and tremhhs! he comiiiands you burn 
The noblest works his envyed genius writ. 
That boasts of nought more excelhsnt than wit. 
If this be tnus, as 'tis a truth most dread. 
Wo to the page which has not that to plead I 
Fontaine and Chaucer, dying, wished unwroto 
Tlu! sprigiillii'st efforts of (heir wanton thought; 
Sidncsy and Waller, brightest sons of fame, 
Condemned tho charm of ages to the flame. 
And in oiks point is all true wisiloin cast'} 
To think that early, w(t must think at last. 

Immortal wits, <s'en dead, bnsak nature's laws, 
Injurious still to virtue's sacred cause; 
And their guilt growing, as their bodies rot, 
(ll(svers(sd ambition !) pant to Iks forgot. 

Thus ends your courted fame: does lucre then, 
The sacred thirst of gold, betray your |)en'} 
In |)rose 'tis blameable, in verses 'tis worses, 
I'rovokess tlus Muses, extorts Afwllo's curse : 
His sacred influence never should bo sold ; 
'Tis arrant simony te) sing for ge)ld : 
''I'is immortality sheinlel fires yeiur mind : 
Scorn a less paymaster than all mankind. 

If bribessyeiu se'ck, know this, yo writing tribe! 
Wlu) wrile's le)r virtues has the large'st bribe : 
All's on the party of the virtuous man ; 
The goe)d will surely servo him if they can; 



' ilia lato MuJuuty'B bencfaclion for mcxlern lunguagoa, 



134 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



The bad, when interest or ambition guide, 
And 'tis at once their interest and their pride ; 
But shouUl both fail to take him to their care, 
He boasts a greater friend, and both may spare. 

Letters to man uncommon Ught dispense, 
And what is virtue but superior sense 1 
In parts and learning you who place your pride; 
Your faults arc crimes, your crimes are double- 
dyed. 
What is a scandal of the first renown, 
But lettered knaves, and atheists in a gownl 

'Tis harder far to please than give oU'ence ; 
The least misconduct damns the brightest sense : 
Each shallow pate, that can not read your name, 
Can read your life, and will be proud-to blame. 
Flagitious manners make impression deep 
On those that o'er a page of Milton sleep : 
Nor in their dulncss think to save your shame ; 
True, these are fools; but wise men say tlie same. 

Wits arc a despicable race of men, 
If they confine their talents to the pen; 
When the man shocks us, while the writer shines. 
Our scorn in life, our envy in his lines. 
Yet, proud of parts, with j)rudence some dispense. 
And play the fool, because they're men of sense. 
What instances bleed recent in each thought, 
Of men to ruin by their genius brought 7 
Against their wills what ruin shun. 
Purely through want of wit to be undone? 
Nature has slwvvn, by making it so rare. 
That wit's a jewel which wo need not wear: 
Of plain sound sense life's current coin is made; 
With that we drive the most substantial trade. 

Prudcnoc protects and guiiles us ; wit betrays, 
A splendid source of ill ten thousand ways; 
A certain snare to miseries immense, 
A gay prerogative from common sense ; 
Unless strong judgment that wild thing can tame, 
And break to paths of virtue and of fame. 

But grant your judgment equal to the l)est. 
Sense fills your head, and genius fires your breast; 
Yet still forbear : your wit (consider well) 
'Tis great to show, but greater to conceal ; 
As it is great to seize tlie golden prize 
Of place or power, but greater to despise. 

If still you languish for an author's name, 
Think private merit less than public fame, 
And fancy not to write is not to live ; 
Deserve, and take the great prerogative ; 
But ponder what it is, how dear 'twill cost 
To write one page which you may justly boast. 

Sense may be good, yet not deserve the press; 
Who write, an awful character profess ; 
The world as pupil of their wisdom chum, 
And for their stipend an immortal fame. 
Nothing but what is solid or refined 
Should dare ask public audience of mankind. 

Severely weigh your learning and your wit ; 
Keep down your pride by what is nobly writ : 



No writer, famed in your own way, pass o'er ; 
Much trust example, but reflection more ; 
More had the ancients writ, they more had taught ; 
Which shows some work is left for modern thought. 

This weighed, perfection know, and known, 
adore. 
Toil, burn for that, but do not aim at more: 
Above, beneath it, the just limits fix, 
And zealously prefer four lines to six. 

Write, and re-write, blot out, and write again. 
And for its swiftness ne'er applaud your pen ; 
Leave to the jockeys that Newmarket praise; 
Slow runs the Pegasus that wins the bays. 
Much time for immortahty to pay 
Is just and wise : for less is thrown away. 
Time only can mature the labouring brain; 
Time is the father, and the midwife Pain : 
The same good sense that makes a man excel, 
Still makes him doubt he ne'er has written well. 
Downright impossibilities they seek ; 
What man can be immortal in a week 1 

Excuse no fault, though beautiful, 'twill harm; 
One fault shocks more than twenty beauties charm 
Our age demands correctness; Addison 
And you this commendable hurt have done. 
Now writers find, as once Achilles found. 
The whole is mortal, if a part's unsound. 

He that strikes out, and strikes not out the best, 
Pours lustre in, and dignifies the rest : 
Give e'er so little, if what's right be there, 
We praise for what you burn, and what you spare: 
The part you burn smells sweet before the shrine, 
And is an incense to the part divine. 

Not frequent write, though you can do it well ; 
Men may too oft, though not too much excel. 
A few good works gain fame; more sink their 

price ; 
Mankind are fickle, and hate paying twice : 
They granted you writ well : what can they more, 
Unless you let them praise for giving o'er 7 

Do boldly what you do, and let your page 
Smile, if it smiles, and if it rages, rage. 
So faintly Lucius censures and commends, 
That Lucius has no foes except his friends. 

Let satire less engage you tlian applause ; 
It shows a generous mind to wink at fiaws. 
Is genius yours 7 be your's a glorious end, 
Be your king's, country's, truth's, religion's friend. 
The public glory by your own beget ; 
Run nations, run posterity, in debt ; 
And since the famed alone make others live. 
First have that glory you presume to give. 

If satire charms, strike faults, but spare the 
man; 
'Tis dull to be as witty as you can. 
Satire recoils whenever charged too high ; 
Round your own fate the fatal splinters fly. 
As the soft plume gives swiftness to the dart. 
Good-breeding sends the satire to the heart. 



EPISTLES. 



135 



Painters nnil flurfjooiiH may Iho. Htructurc scan, 
CciiiiiK nnd inonilK hv. with you tin; iriaii : 
Drl'aultH ill tlioHC alont! mIiouM irivu otlence; 
Who Hlriki'S tlic person [)lea(lH hin innocence. 
My nurrow-riiiii(lc(l Hiitirc ciiii't cxtciid 
To ( 'odrus' t'oriii; I'm not ko much )ii« friend: 
HimHcIf'sIiould publish that (the world agree) 
H<'ll)r(! liis workc, or in llie iiillory. 
Let him \h'. hlaek, fair, tall, short, thin, or fat, 
Dirty or clean, I find no theme in that. 
Is that called humour'! it l)an this pn^tence, 
'I'is neither virtue, hreedinif, wit, nor Henw;. 
TJnlcKH you l)oaKt the (reniuH of a Swill, 
Bcwarcof humour, the didl rojruci'H iant shifl. 

Can others writi; like you ? your task give o'er, 
'Tin |iriiiliti;r what was |>uhlislied lonir bclore. 
Jl noui,'ht peculiar throuj^h your labours run, 
They're duplicates, and twenty are l)ut one. 
Think fre(|ueiitly, think cloKf-, read Nature, turn 
Men's manner o'er, and half your volumes burn. 
To nurse with quick reflection bo your strife, 

Thoujjhts horn from present objects warm from 
life ; 

When most unsought, such ins|)irations rise, 

Slightc^d by fools, anil clwirislied l)y the wise : 

I')xc('pt peculiar fam<^ from these alone; 

M'hese make an author, these are all your own. 
Like, like their Hil)les, coolly men turn o'er; 

Ilenc.tr unexperienced children of threescore. 

True, all men tliink of course, as all men dream, 

And if they slif;htly think 'tis much the'samo. 
Letters admit not of a half renown ; 

They (jive you notliini;, or they give a crown. 

No work o'er gained true fam(!, or ever can, 

But what did honour to the name of man. 
Weighty the subject, cogent the discourse ; 

Clear be the style, the v(;ry sound of force ; 

Kasy the conduct, simple the design, 

Striking the moral, and the soul divine. 

Let nature art, and judgment wit, exceed; 

O'er learning reason reign, o'er that your creed; 

Thus Virtue's seeds, at once, and laurcds, grow; 

Do thus, and rise a Pope or a Di^spreau; 

And when your genius exquisitely shines, 

Liv(! up to tlie full lustre of yf)ur linos. 

Parts but ex[)ose those men who Virtue quit 

A fallen angel is a fallen wit ; 

i\nd they |)lead Lucifer's detested cause, 

Who for bare talents challenge our ap[)lause. 

Would you restore just honours to the pen! 

From able writers rise to worthy men. 

" Who's this with nonsense nonsense would re- 
st rainl 

Who's this (they cry) so vainly schools the vain? 

Who damns our trash with so much trash rejdete 7 

As three ells round, hugi; Cheync rails at irieal?" 
Shall I with I'avius, then, my voice exalt. 

And challenge all mankind to find one fault? 



With huge cxamens overwhelm my page, 
And dark(^n reason with d(»gmatic ragcl 
As if, one tedious volume writ in rhyme. 
In prose a duller could excuse the crime? 
Sure next to writing, the most idle thing 
Is gravely to harangue on what we sing. 

At that tribunal stands the writing tribe. 
Which nothing can intimidate or bribe: 
'riin(\ is the judge ; Time has nor friend nor foe; 
False fame must wither, and the true will grow. 
Armed with this truth all critics f defy; 
b'or if I fall, by my own pen I die; 
WhiN' snarlers strive; with proud but fruitless pain, 
To wound iiTimortals, or to slay the slain. 

Sore pn^ssed wi(h dangi-r, and in awful dread 
Of twenty y)am])blets leveled at my head. 
Thus have I forged a buckler in my brain, 
Of recent form, to servo me this campaign. 
And saf(!ly hope; to ipiit the dreadful Held, 
Deluged with ird«, and sleep behind my shield, 
Unless dire Codrus rouses to the fray 
In all his might, and damns me for a day. 

As turns a Ikx^k of geese, and on the green 
I*ok(! out their foolish necks in awkward spleen, 
(Ridiculous in rage!) to hiss, not bite. 
So war their quills when sons of Dulness write. 



AN EPISTLE 

TO THE RIQHT HON. GEOROE LOUT) I.ANSDOWNR. 

WucN Rome, my Lord, in Iier fidl glory shone, 
And great Augustus ruled the; glolw; alone; 
Whil(!SU|)pliant kings, in all their jjomp and state, 
Swarmed in his courts, and thronged his palace- 
gate, 
Horace did oft the mighty man detain, 
And soothed liis bn^ast with no ignoble strain ; 
Now soared alofl, now struck an humbler string 
And taught the Roman genius how to sing. 

Pardon, if I his freedom flare [lursue. 
Who know no want of Cajsar, finding you; 
The Muses' friend is pleased, the Muse should 

press 
Through circling crowds, and lahour for access; 
That [)artial to his darling he may prove. 
And shining throngs fr)r her ajijiroach remove. 
To all lh(! world industrious to [iroclaim 
liis love of arts, and boast, the glorious flame. 

Long has tlu; western world reclined her head, 
Poun.'d forth her sorrow, and bewailed her dead ; 
I''ell Discord thnmgh her borders fiercely ranged. 
And shook her nations, and her monarchs changed; 
By land and sea its utmost rage employed. 
Nor Heaven repaired so fast as men rlestroyed. 

In vain kind summer's |)I(!nteous fields bestowed, 
In vain the vintage liberally flowed; 



136 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Alarms from loadcii lioivnlsall (iloasuros chased, 
And roMic'd tlic ricli Biir;fiii\(lian <:;rapo oftasto; 
Tlic sinili's ot'JNaUire could no hlcssin;; ^'finyii 
The Iruitiul Autumn, or tho (lowcry Spring ; 
Time was disliiiifnished liy tho sword and sijcar, 
JVot hy tho various as|)octs of tho year; 
The truntpet's sound proeUvinied a milder sky, 
AikI hloodshed told us when the sun was nigh. 

Hut now, (so soon is BriUiiii's l)l(>ssing seen, 
When such as you are near her glorious Uueeu!) 
Now Peace, tiiough long repulsed, arrives ut lust, 
And hids us smile on all our hihours past; 
Bids every nation eeaso her wonted moan, 
And every monarch call his crown hiti.owa: 
To valour gentler virtues now succeed ; 
No longer is the great man horn to bleed : 
Renowned in councils, brave Argyle shall tell. 
Wisdom and prowess in one breast may dwell ; 
Through milder tracts he soars to deatldess fame. 
And, without trembling, we i-esound his name. 

No more the rising harvest whets the sword, 
No longer waves uncertain of its lord: 
Who cast (he seed the golden sheaf shall claim, 

Nor chance of battle change the miuster's name : 
Each stream, unstained with blood, more smoothly 

flows, 
The brigliler sun a fuller day bestows; 
All Nature seems to wear a cheerful face, 
And thank great Anna for relnrning peace. 

"^I'lie palicnt thus, when on his bed of pain 
No longer he invokes the gotls in vain, 
But rises to new life, in every field 
ITe iiuds Klysium, rivers nectar yield; 
Nothing so chea]) and vulgar but can i>lease, 
And borrow beauties from his hvto disease. 

Nor is it p(>ace alone, but such a peace 
As more than bids the rage of battle cease. 
Death may determine war, and rest succeed, 
'Cause nought surviveson whicli our rage may feed; 
In faithful friends we lose our glorious foes, 
And strifes of love exalt our sweet repose. 
See graceful Bolingbroke, your friend, advance, 
Nor miss his Lansdown in the court of Franco; 
So well received, so welcome, so at home, 
(Blessed change of Fate!) in Bourbon's stately 

dome. 
The monarch jileased, descending from the throne. 
Will not that Amia call him all her own; 
He claims a part ! and looking round to find 
Something might sjieak the fulness of his mind, 
A diamoiul shines, which oil had touched him near. 
Renewed his grief, and robbed him of a tear; 
Now first with joy beheld, well placed on one 
Who makes him less regret his ilarling son: 
So dear is Anna's minister, so great 
Your glorious friend in his own private state. 

To make our nations longer too, in vaiu 
Pocs Nature iiiterposo tho raging main: 



Tho Gallic shore to distant Britain grows, 
For Lewis Thames, tho Seine for Anna fiows: 
From conllicts past each others worth we find, 
And thence in stricter friendship now are joined: 
Ivich wound received now pleads tho cause of love, 
And former injuries endearments prove. 
What Briton but must prize th' illustrious sword 
That cause of fear to Churchill could afi'ord'f 
Who sworn to J5ourbon's sceptre, but nmst framo 
Vast thoughts of him that could bravo 'I'allard 

tame 7 
Thus generous hatred in affection ends, 
And war, which raised tho foes, completes tho 

friends. 
A thousand happy consequences flow, 
(The da/./.ling prospect makes my bosom glow) 
(%)mmeree shall lift her swelling sails, and,roll 
Her wealthy fleets secure from pole to pole. 
The British merchant, who, with care and [)ain. 
For many moons sees only skies and main. 
When now, in view of his loved native shore, 
The i>erils of the dreadful ocean o'er. 
Clause to regret his wealth no more shall find, 
JN or curse the n\ercy of the sea and wind: 
C)ur hanlest fare condenmed to serve a ti)e, 
And give him strength to strike a deeper blow. 
Sweet Philomela providentially iFu's 
To distant woods and streams for fresh supplies 
To feed her young, and make them try the wing. 
And witii tiieir tiMider notes attempt to sing; 
Meanwhile the fowler spreads his secret snare, 
And renders vain the tuneful mother's care. 
Britannia's bold adventurer of late. 
The foaming ocean ploughed with equal fate. 

Goodness is greatness in its utmost height, 
And power a curse, if not a friend to right. 
To conquer is to make dissension cease, 
That man may serve the King of kings in peace. 
Religion now shall all her rays dis[)ense. 
And shine abroad in perfect excellence; 
Klse may we <lread fonw greater curse at h;ui<1, 
To scourge a thoughtless and ungralefid huul. 
Now war is weary, and retired to rc-st ; 
The meagre Famine, and the spotted Pest, 
Deputed in her stead, may blast the day. 
And sweep the ivlics of the sword away. 

When peaceful Numa filled the Roman throno 
Jove in the fulness of his glory shone; 
Wise Solomon, a stranger to the sword, 
Was born to raise a tem))le to the Lord. 
Aiuie, tix>, shall build, anil every sacred pile 
Speak peace eternal to Britannia's isle. 
Those mighty souls, whom military care 
Diverted from their only great alliiir. 
Shall bend their full united force to bless 
Th' almighty Author of their late success. 
And what is all the world subdued to this? 
Tho grave sets bounds to sublunary bliss. 



EPISTLES. 



137 



But Ihero aro conquests to great Anna known, 
Above the splendour of an earthly throne ; 
Conquests I whose triumph is too i^reat witlilu 
The scanty bounds of matter to begin; 
Too glorious to shino forth, till it has run 
Beyond this darkntws of the stars and sun, 
And shall whole ages past bo still, still but begun. 

Heroic shades ! whom war has swept away, 
Look ilown, and smile on this auspicious day; 
IMow boast your deaths, to those your glory tell, 
Who or at Agincourt or Cressy fell ; 
Then deep into eternity retire; 
Of greater things than peace or war in<iuire; 
Fully content, and unconcerned to know 
What farther passes in the world lielow. 

The bravest of mankind shall now have leave 
To die but once, nor piece-meal seek the grave : 
On gain or pleasure bent, wo shall not meet 
Sad melancholy numbers in each street, 
(Owners of bones dispersed on Flandria's plain, 
Or wasting in the bottom of the main) 
To turn us back from joy, in ttrnder fear 
Lest it an insult of their woes appear. 
And make us grudge ourselves that wealth their 

blood 
Perhaps preserved, who starve or beg for food. 
Devotion shall run i>ure, and disengage 
From that strange fate of mixing peace with rage. 
On heaven without a sin wo now may call. 
And guiltless to our Maker i)rostrate fall; 
Be christians while we jiray ; nor in one breath 
Ask mercy for ourselves, for others death. 

But, ( ) ! I view with trans[)ort arts restored, 
Wiiie.h double use to liritain shall allbrd. 
Secure her glory purchased in the field, 
And yet for future [>eacc sweet motives yield ; 
While we contemjilate, on the painted wall. 
The j)reHHing Hriton, and the Hying Gaul, 
In such bright images, such living grace, 
As leave great Raphael but the second jilace ; 
Our cheeks shall glow, our heaving bosoms rise, 
And martial ardour sparkle in our eyes: 
Much we shall triumph in our battles past. 
And yet content those battkjs prove our last. 
Lest, whil(! in arms for brighter fame we strive. 
We lose the means to keep that fame alive. 
In silent groves the birds delight to sing. 
Or near the margin of a secret sjmng : 
Now all is calm, sweet music shall improve, 
Nor kindle rage, hut be the nurse of love. 

But what 's the warbling voice, the trembling 
string. 
Or breathing canvass, when the Muses sing 1 
The muse, my Lord, your care above the rest, 
With rising joy dilat'-s my partial breast. 
The thunder of the '.)attlc ceased to roar. 
Ere Greece her godlike poets taught to soar ; 
Rome's <lreadful f<)e, great Hannibal 1 was dead. 
And all licr warlike neighbours round her bled : 



For Janus shut, her lo Pteans rung, 
Hcifore an Ovid or a Virgil sung. 

A thousand various forms the Muse may wear, 
(A thousand various forms become the fair) 
P>ut shincis in none with more majestic mien, 
'J'han wlu'n in stale slu; draws the purple scene; 
('alls l(>rth her monarchs, bids her heroes rage, 
And mourning Beauty mcilt th(! crowded stage; 
Charms back past agi^s, givers to Britain's use 
The noblest virtues time did <'.'er produce; 
Leaves lamed historians' boasted art behind ; 
They keep the soul alone, and that's confined, 
Sought out with |)ains, and but by jiroxy speaks; 
The hero's presence deep impression makes; 
The scene his soul and body re-unite. 
Furnish a voice, produce him to the sight; 
Make our coutemiiorary him that stood 
High in renown, perhaps before the Hood; 
Make Nestor to tliis age advice afford. 
And Hector f()r our service draw his sword. 

More glory to an autiior what can bring, 
Whence nol)ler service to his country s|)ring, 
Than from those labours which, in man's desjiighl, 
Pos.scHS him with a jiassioii for the right? 
With honest magic make; the knave inclined 
To pay devotion to the virtuous mind ; 
Through all lusr toils and dangers liid him rovo 
Anil with her wants and anguish fall in love'} 

Who hoars the godlike Montezuma groan. 
And does not wish tlu; glorious jiain his own? 
Lend but your understanding, and their skill 
Can dominc(!r at phtasure o'er your will : 
Nor is the short-lived coiujuest ([uickly past; 
Shame, if not choice, will hold the convert fast. 

How often have 1 setiu the generous bowl 
With [(leasing force unlock a secret soul. 
And steal a truth, which every sober hour 
(The i)rose of lili;) had kejit within her [lowcr'? 
The grape victorious often has prevailed. 
When gold and beauty, racks and tortures, failed ; 
Yet when the spirit's tumult was allayed. 
She mourned, [lerhaps, the sentiment betrayed: 
But mourned too late, nor longer can deny 
And on her own confession charge the lie. 
Thus they whom neither the prevailing lovo 
Of goodness hero, or mercy from above. 
Or fear of future pains, or human laws. 
Could rend(!r advocates in Virtue's cause. 
Caught by the sc^ne, have unawares resigned 
Their wonted dis])08ition of the mind : 
By slow degrees |(revails the pleasing talc. 
As circling glasses on oursi'uses steal. 
Till thoroughly by the Muses' banquet warmed, 
The passion tossing, all the soul alarmed. 
They turn mere zealots, flushed with glorious 

rage. 
Rise in their seats, and scarce forbear the stage. 
Assistance to wronged innocence to bring, 
Or turn the poniard of some tyrant king. 



133 



YOUNG'S WORKS, 



How can they cool to villains? how subside 

To dregs of vice, from such a godly pride 1 

To spoiling orphans how to-day return, 

Who wept last night to see Monimia mourn 1 

In this gay school of virtue whom so fit 

To govern and control the world of wit 

As Talbot, Lansdown's friend, has Britain known'? 

Him polished Italy has called her own ; 

He in the lap of Elegance was bred, 

And traced the Muses to their fountain-head ; 

But much, we hope, he will enjoy at home 

What's nearer ancient than the modern Rome, 

Nor fear I mention of the court of France, 

When I the British genius would advance ; 

There, too, has Shrewsbury improved his taste, 

Yet still wo dare invite him to our feast. 

For Corneillc's sake I shall my thoughts suppress 

Of Oronooko, and presume him less : 

What though we wrong him ? Isabella's wo 

Waters those bays that shall for ever grow. 

Our foes confess, nor we the praise refuse, 
The drama glories in the British Muse. 
The French are delicate, and nicely lead 
Of close intrigue the labyrinthian thread. 
Our genius more affects the grand than fine ; 
Our strength can make the great plain action shine : 
They raise a great curiosity indeed. 
From his dark maze to see the hero freed ! 
We rouse the affections, and that hero show 
Gasping beneath some formidable blow ; 
They sigh ; we weep : the Gallic doubt and care 
We heighten into terror and despair ; 
Strike home, the strongest passions boldly touch. 
Nor fear our audience should be pleased too much. 
What's great in Nature wc can greatly draw, 
Nor thank for beauties the dramatic law. 
The fate of Cocsar is a tale too plain 
The fickle Gallic taste to entertain ; 
Their art would have perplexed, and interwove 
The golden arras with gay flowers of love : 
We know heaven made him a far greater man 
Than any Cicsar in a human plan ; 
And such we draw him, nor are too refined 
To stand affected with what Heaven designed. 
To claim attention, and the heart invade, 
Shakspcare but wrote the play the Almighty made : 
Our neighbour's stage art too barefaced betrays ; 
'Tis great Corncille at every scene we praise : 
On Nature's surer aid Britannia calls ; 
None think of Shakspeare till the curtain falls ; 
Then with a sigh, returns our audience home. 
From Venice, Egypt, Persia, Greece, or Rome. 

France yields not to the glory of our lines, 
But manly conduct of our strong designs. 
That oft they think more justly we must own, 
Not ancient Greece a truer sense has shown : 
Greece thought hut justly, they think justly too : 
We sometimes err, by striving more to do. 



So well arc Racine's meanest persons taught, 
But change a sentiment, you make a fault : 
Nor dare we charge them with the want of flame : 
When we boast more we own ourselves to blame. 

And yet in Shakspeare something still we find 
That makes me less esteem all human kind : 
He made one nature, and another found : 
Both in one page with master strokes abound : 
His witches, fairies, and enchanted isle, 
Bids us no longer at our nurses smile. 
Of lost historians we almost complain, 
Nor think it the creation of his brain. 
Who lives when his Othello's in a trance "? 
With his great Talbot,* too, he conquered France. 

Long may we hope brave Talbot's blood will run 
In great descendants; ShakspeaVe has but one ; 
And him, my Lord, permit me not to name. 
Rutin kind silence spare his rival's shame; — 
Yet I in vain that author would suppress ; 
What can't be greater can not be made less : 
Each reader will defeat my fruitless aim. 
And to himself great Agamemnon name. 

Should Shakspeare rise, unblessed with Tal- 
bot's smile, 
E'en Shakspeare's self would curse this barren 

isle ; 
But if that reigning star propitious shine, 
And kindly mix his gentle rays with thine, 
E'en I, by far the meanest of your age. 
Shall not repent your passion for the stage. 

Thus did the will-almighty disallow. 
No human force could pluck the golden bough, 
Which left the tree with case at Jove's command, 
And spare the labour of the weakest hand. 

Auspicious fate ! that gives me leave to write 
To you, the Muses' glory and delight, 
Who know to read nor false encomiums raise, 
And mortify an author with your praise. 
Praise wounds a noble mind when 'tis not due; 
But Censure's self will please, my lord, from you. 
Faults are our pride and gain, when you descend 
To point them out, and teach us how to mend, 
What though the great man sets his coffers wide, 
That can not gratify the poet's pride. 
Whose inspiration, if 'tis truly good. 
Is best rewarded when best understood 1 
The Muses write for glory, not for gold ; 
'Tis far beneath their nature to be sold : 
The greatest gain is scorned, but as it serves, 
To speak a sense of what the Muse deserves ; 
The Muse, wliich from her Lansdowne fears no 

wrong. 
Best judge, as well as subject of her song. 
Shoidd this great theme allure me farther still, 
And I presume to use your patience ill, 



' An ancestor of the Duke of Shrewsbury, wlio conquered 
France, drawn by Shakspeare. 



EPISTLES. 



139 



The world wiHild jilrjul my ciiusc, and none but you 

Will take (lisfjust at wliat I now imrsuo. 

Since what iw mean, my IVIuso can't raise, I'll 

clioose 
A theme tluit'-J able to exalt my Mufio. 

For who, not void ofthouc;;ht| can Granville name, 
Without a Hi)arli of hi« immortal flame 1 
Whether wo seek the patriot or the friend, 
Let Bolingbrokc, let Anna, recommend ; 
Whether we choose to love or to admire, 
You melt the tender, and the ambitious fire. 

Such native graces without thought abound, 
And such familiar glorie.H sjiread around, 
As mon; incline Ihe sinnder-by to raise 
His value for himself, than you to praise. 
Thus you befriend the most heroic way, 
Kless all, on none an obligation lay. 
So turned by Nature's hand for all that's well, 
'Tis scarce a virtue when you most cxcc^l. 

Though Bwcel your presence, grateful is your 
mien ; 
You to be haj)py, want not to bo seen ; 
Though prized in public, you can smile alone. 
Nor court an apjirobation but your own : 
In throngs, not conscious of those eyes that gaze 
In wonder (ixed, though resolute to phrase. 
You, were all blind, would still deserve ai)[>lausc; 
The world's your glory's witness, not its cause; 
That lies beyond tlu! limits of the day, 
Angels behold it, and their God obey. 

You take delight in others' excellence, 
A gill which Nature rarely does dispense: 
((fall that brt^athe, 'tis you jierhaps, alone 
Would be well pleased to see yourself outdone. 
You wish not tlios(! who show your name respect, 
So little worth as might excuse; neglect 1 
Nor are in ])ain lost merit you should know : 
Nor shun the well-deserver as a foe ; 
A troublesome acipiairitancc! that will claim 
To be well used, or dyi; your cheek with shame. 

You wish your country's good; that told, so well 
Your [lowers an; known, IIh; evetit I need not tell. 
When Nestor spoke, none asked if ho ])revailed ; 
That god of sweet persuasion never failed : 
And such great fame had Hector's valour wrought, 
Who meant he coiKjuered, oidy said he fought. 

When you, my Lord, to sylvan scenes retreat, 
(No crowds around for pleasure or for state) 
You are not cast upon a stranger land, 
And wander |)ensiv(; o'er the barren strand ; 
Nor arc you by received example taught. 
In toys to shun the diwipline of thought ; 
But, nncotifined by Ixiunds of time and place, 
You choose com|)ani()iis from all human race; 
Converse with those; tlw; deluge swept away, 
Or those whoso midnight is Britannia's day. 

Books not so mu<;h inform, as give consent 
To those ideas your own thoughts present ; 

2E 



Your only gain, from turning volumes o'er, 
Is finding cause to like; yourself the more. 
In (iri;cian sages you an; only taught 
With more; res|)ect to value; your e>wn thought, 
(ire'at Tully gn;w i^imeirtal while; he; elrew 
Tlieiso jirecepts we l)ehe)lel alive inyeiu. 
Yeiur life is so aeljnste>d to the-ir se'hools, 
It make's that histe)ry the;y me;anl feir riiles. 
What joy, what pleasing transport, must arise, 
Within your bn;ast, and \U\. you to the- skie's, 
Whe'ii in e'acli le;arniMl jiage; that you uiiliilel, 
You find some jiart of your own conelue;t told 1 

So jileased aiiel so surprised jT'^ne-as ste)oel, 
And sue;h triuiii|ihaiit raptun's fin>d his blood, 
When far fn)in Trejjan she)n's the; he;ro spied 
His ste)ry shining feirlh in all its priele; ; 
Aelmiri;el himsi'lf, and saw his a(;tions staiiel 
The' praise; and woiide'r of a fore'ign land. 

He; kneiws nejt half his be;ing whei's e'.einlincd 
In cemvcrsc anel refle;e;tion em mankind : 
Your soul, whie-h underHtanels he-r e-hnrter we'll, 
Disehiins imprise)tie'e! liy the)se skie'S to dwell ; 
Ranges e;tcrnity without the leave 
Ofele'ath, nor waits the; passage; e)f the grave. 

Whe'ii |)aiiis e'leTliid, aiiel e;te'riial bliss, 
Whe'n the'so high cares your weary thoughts din- 
miss, 
In heavenly numbers yeiu your soul unbenel. 
And for ye)ur e;ase! te) ele'athle-ss fame ele;sce;nd. 
Ye kings ! woulel ye; true; gn;atne;ss unele;rstand 1 
Ileael Seneca, grown rich in Orariville;'s hands.* 

Be;liolel the; glorie's ed' yemr life; ce)mi)lete I 
Still at a rte)w, anel pormane;ntly gre'ut: 
New moments shed new pleasures as they fly, 
And yet ye)ur gre'ate'st is that you must elie'. 

Thus Anna sa,w, anel niise-el yeiu to the' seat 
Of honour, and confesseel her servant great ; 
f'orife'Kse;el, not maelo him sne;h ; fe)r fnitlifid Pamei 
I fe;r truiiipe't Hwe;lle;d lenig since with Ceranvillo'n 

name. 
Though you in me)desty the title wear, 
Yeiur name; shall lie- the; title; e)f ye)iir heir; 
farther than e'rinine make his glory known, 
Anel cast in shaih'S the favour e)f a thn)iie. 
From thre)ni;s the beam of high elistineitiem Kfiringa^ 
The; se)ul's ende)wme'nts freiiii the' Kin;; eif kings. 
Le), eine great elay calls Ibrlli te'fi mighty pe;e'rs I 
Produce ten Grttnvill(;8 in five thousand years. 
Anna! be; thou e;e)r!te'nt to fix the' file; 
Of various kingdenns, anel e'e)iitn)l the; great: 
But, O ! to biel thy Granville; l)righl(;r shine I 
To him that great (ire'nigative; re'sign, 
Wlie) the- sun's he'iglit e'.aii r.'dso at pleasure higher, 
1 lis lamp illumine, se't, his flames on fire. 
Yet still one; bliss, one; gleiry, I forbe-ar, 
A darling friend whom n(;ar your lie;art you wear; 



' See lUa LordehlpVi tragedy, entitled Heroic Lovo 



140 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



That lovely joutli, my lord, whom you must blame 
That 1 grow thus familiar with your name. 

He's Criciuily, open, in his coniluct nice; 
Nor serve these virtues to atone for vice : 
Vice he has none, or such as none wish less, 
But (Vit'nils, indeed, good-nature in excess. 
You can not boast the merit of a choice 
In making him your own; 'twas Nature's voice, 
Which called too loud by man to be withstood, 
Plcadnig a tie far nearer than of blood ; 
Similitudeof maimers, such a mind. 
As makes you less the wonder of mankind. 
Sucli case his common converse recoaunends, 
As he ne'er felt a passion, but his friend's ; 
Yet fixed his principles beyond the force 
Of all beneath the sun to bend his course.* 

Thus the tall cedar, beautiful and fair. 
Flatters the motions of the wanton air, 
Salutes each passing breeze with head reclined, 
Tlie pliant branches dance in every wind; 
But lixed the stem, her upright state maintains, 
And all the fury of the North disdains. 

How are ye blessed in such a matchless friend I 
Alas ! with me the joys of friendship end. 

Harrison ! 1 must, 1 will, complain ; 

Tears sooth the soul's distress, though shed in vain. 
Did'st thou return, and bless thy native shore 
Willi welcome peace, and is my friend no more ! — 
Thy task was early done, and I must own 
Death kind to thee, but ah ! to thee alone. 
But 'tis in me a vanity to mourn, 
Ti\e sorrows of the great thy tomb adorn ; 
Strallbrd and I5olingbroke the loss perceive ; 
They grieve, and make thee envied in thy grave. 
With aching he;irt and a foreboding mind, 

1 night to day in painful journey joined. 
When first informed of his approaching fate, 
But reached the partner of my soul too late. 
'Tvvas past; his cluek was cold; that tuneful 

tongue. 
Which isis charmed with its melodious song. 
Now languished, wanti'd strength to speak his 

pain, 
Scarce raised a feeble groan, and sunk again : 
Each art of life in which he bore a part. 
Shot like an arrow tlirongh my bleeding heart. 
To what served all his promised wealth and power, 
But more to load that most unhappy hour 1 

Yet still prevailed the greatness of his mind, 
That not in health, or life itself, conllned, 
I'Vlt through his mortal pangs Britannia's peace. 
Mounted to joy, and smileil in Death's embrace. 

His sjiirit now just ready to resign. 
No longer now his own, no longer mine. 
He grasps my hand, his swimming eyeballs roll ; 
My hand he grasps, and enters in my soul ; 

* Ills Lorsliip's nephew who took orders. 



Then witli a groan — Sujiport me — O! beware 
Of holding worth, however great, too dear!* 

Pardon, my Lord, the privilege of grief, 
That in untimely freedom seeks relief : 
To better fate your love I recommend ; 
Oh ! may you never lose so dear a friend ! 
May nothing interrupt your happy hours ! 
Enjoy the blessings peace on Europe showers: 
Nor yet disdain these blessings to adorn ; 
To make the muse immortal you was born. 
Sing ! and in latest time, when story 's dark. 
This period your surviving fame shall mark ; 
Save from the gulf of years this glorious age. 
And thus illustrate their historian's page. 

The crown of Spain in doubtful balance hung, 
And Anna Britain swayed when Granville sung; 
That noted yearEuropa sheathed her sword. 
When this great man was first saluted Lord. 



A LETTER TO MR. TICKELL. 

Occnaioned by the death of tlie 
RIGHT HONOURABLE JOSEPH ADDISON. 



-Tu nunc eris alter ab illo. — Virg. 



O LONO with me in Oxford groves confined, 
In social arts and sacred friendship joined ; 
Fair Isis' sorrow, and fair Isis' boast. 
Lost from her side, but fortunately lost ; 
Thy wonted aid, my dear companion! bring, 
And teach me thy departed friend to sing : 
A darling theme ! once powerful to inspire. 
And now to melt the Muses' mournful choir: 
Now, and now first, wo freely dare commend 
His modest worth, nor shall our praise ofli'iid. 

Early he bloomed amid the learned train. 
And ravished isis listened to his strain. 
See, see, she cried, old Maro's muse appears 
Waked from her slumber of two thousand years: 
Her finished charms to Addison she brings, 
Thinks in his thought, and in his number sings. 
All rea<l transported his pure classic page; 
Read and forget their climate and their age. 

The state, when now his rising fame was known, 
The unrivaled genius challenged for her own, 
Nor would that one for scenes or actions strong, 
ShouKl let a life evaporate in song. 
As health and strength the brightest charms dis- 
pense. 
Wit is the blossom of the soundest sense: 
Yet few, how few, with lolly thoughts inspired, 
With quickness jwinted, and with rapture fired, 
In conscious pride their own importance iind. 
Blind to themselves, as the hard world is blind ! 



• The Author here bewails that most ingenious gentlemai^ 
Mr. William Hon'ison, follow of New-College, Oxon. 



EPISTLES. 



141 



Wit they esteem a gay but worthlcHH power, 
The sli^Iit amuseinent of a Icisun^ hour, 
Uriniiiulful that, conceaUxl from vulij;nr eyes, 
Majestic Wisdom wears tlie bright (hsguise. 

Poor Di(U) fonilled thus, with idle joy, 
Dread Cupid lurking in the Trojan boy, 
Lightly she toyed and trilled with liis charms. 
And knew not that a god was in her arms. 

Who greatest excellence of thought could boast, 
In action, too, have been distinguished most: 
This Sommers knew, and Adilison sent forth 
From the inaligtumt regions of Iht^ north. 
To be matured in more indulgent skies. 
Where all the vigour of the soul can rise; 
Through warmer veins wlierc sprightlier spirits 

run. 
And sense, enlivened, sparkles in the sun. 
With secret pain tiic prudent |)atriot gave 
The hopes of Britain to the rolling wave. 
Anxious, the charge to all the stars resigned. 
And placed a confidence in sea and wind. 

Ausonia soon received iier wondering guest. 
And equal wonder in her turn confest. 
To sec her fervours rivaled by the pole, 
Her lustre beaming from a northern soul: 
In like surprise was her iEneas lo.st, 
To find his picture grace a foreign coast. 

Now the wide field of Europe he surveys. 
Compares her kings, her thrones and empires 

weighs, 
In ripened judgment and consummate thought; 
Great work ! By Nassau's favour chea[)ly bought. 

rio now returns to Britain, a support, 
Wise in her senate, graceful in her court; 
And when the public welfare would permit, 
The source of learning, and the soul of wit. 
O Warwick! (whom the muse is fond to name, 
And kindles, conscious of her future theme) 
O Warwick! by divine contagion l)riglit. 
How early did.st thou catch his radiant light! 
By him inspired, how shine before, thy time. 
And leave thy years, and leap into thy i)rimc! 

On some warm bank, thus, fortunat(!ly borne, 
A rose-bud opens to a summer's morn, 
Full blown ere noon her fragrant pride displays. 
And shows the abundance of her purple rays. 
Wit, as her bays, was once a barren tree; 
We now, surprised, her fruitful branches see; 
Or, orange-like, till hia auspicious time 
It grew indeed, byt shivered in our clime : 
He first the plant to richer gardens led, 
And fixed, indulgent, in a warmer bed: 
The nation, pleased, enjoys the rich [troducc, 
And gathers from her ornament her use. 

When loose from public cares, the grove he 
sought, 
And filled the leisure interval with thought. 
The various labours of his easy pag(!, 
A chance amusement, polished half an age. 



Beyond this truth old bards could scarce invent, 
Wiio durst to frame a world l)y accident. 

What he has sung, how early, and how well, 
The Thames shall boast, and Roman Tiber 

tell. 
A glory more sublime remains in store. 
Since such his talents, that he sung no more. 
No fuller [)roof of [tower thi; Almighty gave. 
Making the sea, tliiiii curbing her jiroud wave. 

Nought can the genius of his works transcend, 
But their fair puritose and important end; 
To rouse the war for injured b'.uro|)e'K laws. 
To steel the jtatriot in great l?runswick's cause*, 
With virtue's charms to kindle sacred love, 
Or paint the eternal bowers of bliss above. 
Where had'st thou room, great Author! whereto 

roll 
The mighty theme of an immortal Boull 
Through paths unknown, unbeaten, whence wcw 

brought 
Thy proofs so strong for immaterial thought^ 
One let me join, all others may excel, 
" How could a mortal essence think so well!" 

But why so large in the great writer's praise? 
More lofty subj(x-ts should my inimbers raise : 
In him (illustrious rivalry!) contend 
The statesman, patriot. Christian, and the 

friend ! 
His glory such it borders on disgrace 
To say he sung the best of human race. 

In joy once joined, in sorrow now for years, 
Partner in grief, and brother of my tears, 
Tickell ! accept this verse, thy mournful due ; 
Thou farther shaltthc sacred theme j)ursue; 
And as thy strain describes the matchless man, 
Thy life shall second what thy muse began. 
■^IMiough sweet in numbers, though afire divine 
Dart through the whole, and burn in every line, 
Who strives not for that excellence he draws. 
Is stained by fame, and suficTs for applause. 
But haste to thy illustrious task; prepare 
The noble work well trusted to thy care, 
The gift bequeathed by Addison's command. 
To Craggs made sacred by his dying hand. 
Collect the labours, join the various rays, 
The scattered light in one united blaze; 
Then bear to him so true, so truly loved. 
In life distinguished, and in death approved 
The immortal legacy. He hangs awhile 
In generous anguish o'er the glorious pile ; 
With anxious pleasure the known jtage reviews, 
And the dear pledge with falling tears bedews. 
What though thy tears poured o'er thy godlike 

friend, 
Thy othca cares for Britain's weal suspend? 
Think not, O patriot! while thy eyes o'erflow, 
Those cares suspended for a private wo; 
Thy love to him is to tiiy eotintry shown ; 
He mourns for her who mourns for Addison, 



liy 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



0tft^. 



OCEAN: AN ODE. 

OCCASIONED BY HIS MAJESTY'S ROYAL ENCOUR- 
AGEMENT Of THE SEA SERVICE. 

TO WHICH IS PREFIXED 

AN ODE TO THE KING. 

1 THINK myself obliged to rccommand to you a 
consideration of the greatest iniijortance, and I 
should look upon it as a great happiness, if, at the 
beginning of my reign, I could see the foundation 
laid of so great and necessary a work as the in- 
crease and encouragement of our seamen in gene- 
ral, that they may be invited, rather than compel- 
led by force and violence, to enter into the service 
of their country as oft as occasion shall require it ; 
« consideration worthy the representatives of a 
people great and flourishing in trade and naviga- 
tion. This leads me to mention to you the case of 
Greenwich Hospital, that care may be taken, by 
some addition to that fund, to render comfortable 
and effectual that charitable provision for the sup- 
port and maintenance of our seamen, worn out, 
and become decrepit by age and infirmities, in the 
ser%'ice of their country. — Speech, Jan. 27, 1727-8. 



TO THE KING. 
Old Ocean's praise 
Demands my lays ; 
A truly British theme I sing ; 
A theme so great 
I dare complete, 
And join with Ocean Ocean's King. 

To gods and kings. 

The poet sings ; 

To kings and gods the muse is dear ; 

The nuise insjiircs 

With all her fires; 

Begin, my soul ! thy bold career. 

From awful state, 

From high debate. 

From morning-splendours of a crown, 

From homage paid. 

From empires weighed 

From plans of blessings and renown; 

Great monarch ! bow 

Thy beaming brow ; 

To thee 1 strike the sounding lyre, 

With proud design 

In verse to shine ; 

To rival Greek and Roman fire. 



The Roman ode 

Majestic flowed. 

Its streams divinely clear and strong ; 

Its sense and sound 

Thebes rolled profound : 

The torrent roared and foamed along. 

Let Thebes, nor Rome, 

So famed, presume 

To triumph o'er a northern isle; 

I,ate time shall know 

The north can glow. 

If dread Augustus deign to smile. 

The work is done ! 

The distant sun 

His smile supplies ! exalts my voice 

Through earth's wide bound 

Shall George resound, 

My theme, by duty, and by choice. 

The naval crov^'n 

Is all his own ! 

Our fleet, if War or commerce call, 

His will performs 

Through waves and storms 

And rides in triumph round the ball. 

Since then the main 

Sublimes my strain. 

To whom should I address my songi 

To whom but thee 1 

The boundless sea, 

And grateful muse to George belong. 

Hail, mighty theme ! 

Rich mine of fame ! 

If gods invoked extend their aid; 

Hail, subject new ! 

As Britain's due 

Reserved by the Pierian maid. 

Durst Homer's muse, 

Or Pindar's, choose 

To pour the billows on his string? 

No, both defraud 

The tuneful god : 

Scarce more sublime, when Jove they sing. 

No former race 

With strong embrace, 

This theme to ravish durst aspire; 

With virgin charms 

My soul it warms, 

And melts melodious on my lyre. 



ODES. 



143 



Now low, now high, 

My fingers fly, 

Now pause, and now fresh music spring ; 

Now dance, now creep. 

Now dive, now sweep, 

And fetch the sound from every string. 

Now numbers rise, 

Like virgin sighs ; 

The soft Pavonians melt away; 

As from the north 

Now rushes forth 

A blast, that thunders in my lay. 

My lays I file 

With curious toil ; 

Ye Graces turn the glowing lines ; 

On anvils neat 

Your strokes repeat, 

And every stroke the work refines ! 

How music charms I 

How metre warms ! 

Parent of actions good and brave ! 

How vice it tames ! 

And worth inflames ! 

And holds proud empire o'er the grave ! 

Jove marked for man 

A scanty span. 

But lent him wings to fly his doom; 

Wit scorns the grave ; 

To wit he gave 

The life of gods ! immortal bloom ! 

Since years will fly. 

And pleasures die. 

Day after day, as years advance; 

Since while life lasts 

Joy suflfers blasts 

From frowning Fate and fickle Chance ; 

Nor life is long. 

But soon we throng. 

Like autumn leaves, Death's pallid shore; 

We make at least 

Of bad the best. 

If in life's phantom, Fame, we soar. 

Our strains divide 

The laurel's pride ; 

With those we lift to life we live ; 

By fame enrolled 

With heroes bold, 

And share the blessings which we give. 

What hero's praise 
Can fire my lays 

Like his with whom my lay begun? 
" Justice sincere, 
And courage clear. 
Rise the two columns of his throne. 
23 2e» 



" How formed for sway ! 

Who look obey, 

They read the monarch in his port: 

Their love and awe 

Supply the law, 

And his own lustre makes the court, 

" But shines supreme, 

Where heroes flame ; 

In war's high-licarted pomp he prides I 

By godlike arts 

Enthroned in hearts, 

Our bosom-lord o'er wills presides." 

Our factions end ! 

The nations bend ! 

For when Britannia's sons, combined " 

In fair array. 

All march one way ; 

They march the terror of mankind. 

If equal all 

Who tread the ball, 

Our bounded prospect, here, would end ; 

But heroes prove 

As steps to Jove, 

By which our thoughts, with ease, ascend. 

From what we view 

We take the clue 

Which leads from great to greater things ; 

Men doubt no more, 

But gods adore. 

When such resemblance shines in kings. 

On yonder height. 

What golden light 

Triumphant shines, and shines alone. 

Unrivaled blaze ! 

The nation's gaze ! 

'Tis not the sun ; 'tis Britain's throne. 

Our monarch there, 

Reared high in air, 

Should tempests rise, disdains to bend ; 

Like British oak, 

Derides the stroke ; 

His blooming honours far extend I 

Beneath them lies, 

With lifted eyes, 

Fair Albion, like an amorous maid; 

While interest wings 

Bold foreign kings 

To fly, like eagles, to his shade. 

At his proud foot 

The sea, poured out, 

Immortal nourishment supplies; 

Thence wealth, and state. 

And power, and fate. 

Which Eurai)e reads in George's evf a. 



144 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



OCEAN. 

AN ODE. 
CONCLUDING WITH A WISH. 

Let the sea make a noise, let the floods clap their hands. 

Psalm xcviii. 
Sweet rural scene 
Of flocks and green! 
At careless ease my limbs are spread: 
All nature still 
But yonder rill, 
And listening pines nod o'er my head. 

In prospect wide 

The boundless tide ! 

Waves cease to foam, and winds to roar; 

Without a breeze 

The curling seas 

Dance on in measure to the shore. 

Who sings the source 

Of wealth and force 1 

Vast field of commerce, £ind big war 

Where wonders dwell ! 

Where terrors swell ! 

And Neptune thunders from his carl 

Where, where are they 

Whom Poean's ray 

Has touched, and bid divinely rave? — 

What! none aspire? 

I snatch the lyre. 

And plunge into the foaming wave. 

The wave resounds! 

The rock rebounds ! 

The Nereids to my song reply ! 

I lead the choir, 

And they conspire, 

With voice and shell, to lift it high. 

They spread in air 

Their bosoms fair, 

Their verdant tresses pour behind; 

The billows beat 

With nimble feet. 

With notes triumphant swell the wind. 

Who love the shore. 

Let those adore 

The god Apollo, and his nine, 

Parnassus' hill. 

And Orpheus' skill, 

But let Arion's harp be mine. 

The main ! the main I 

IS Britain's reign; 

Her strength, her glory, is her fleet : 

The main ! the main ! 

Be Britain's strain ; 

As Triton's strong, as Syren's sweet. 



Through nature wide 

Is nought descried 

So rich in pleasure or surprise ; 

When all-serene. 

How sweet the scene ; 

How dreadful when the billows rise ! 

And storms deface 

The fluid glass, 

In which erewhile Britannia, fair, 

Look down with pride. 

Like Ocean's bride. 

Adjusting her majestic air ! 

When tempests cease. 

And, hushed in peace, 

The flattened surges smoothly spread, 

Deep silence keep. 

And seem to sleep 

Recumbent on their oozy bed. 

With what a trance 

The level glance. 

Unbroken shoots along the seas! 

Which tempt from shore 

The painted oar, 

And every canvass courts the breeze! 

When rushes forth 

The frowning North 

On black'ning billows, with what dread 

My shuddering soul 

Beholds them roll. 

And hears their roarings o'er my head ! 

With terror mark 

Yon flying bark ! 

Now centre-deep descend the brave; 

Now tossed on high. 

It takes the sky, 

A feather on the towering wave ! 

Now spins around 

In whirls profound: 

Now whelmed, now pendant near the clouds; 

Now, stunned, it reels 

Midst thunder's peals, 

And now fierce Ughtning fires the shrouds. 

All ether burns 

Chaos returns ! 

And blends, once more, the seas and skies; 

No space between 

Thy bosom green, 

O Deep ! and the blue concave lies. 

The northern blast. 

The shattered mast. 

The syrt, the whirlpool, and the rock. 

The breaking spout. 

The stars gone out, 

The boiling streight, the monster shock. 



ODES. 



145 



Let others fear; 

To Britain dear 

Whate'er promotes her daring claim; 

Those terrors charm 

Which keeps her warm 

In chase of honest gain or fame. 

The stars are bright 

To cheer the night, 

And shed, through shadows, tempered fire; 

And Phoebus flames, 

With burnished beams, 

Wliich some adore, and all admire. 

Are then the seas 

Outshone by these! 

Bright Thetis! thou art not outshone: 

With kinder beams, 

And softer gleams. 

Thy bosom wears them as thy own. 

There, set in green. 

Gold stars are seen, 

A mantle rich, thy charms to wrap: 

And when the sun 

His race has run, 

He falls enamoured in thy lap. 

Those clouds, whose dyes 

Adorn the skies. 

That silver snow, that pearly rain, 

Has Phoebus stole, 

To grace the pole, 

The plunder of the invaded main! 

The gaudy bow. 

Whose colours glow. 

Whose arch with so much skill is bent, 

To Phoebus' ray, 

Which paints so gay. 

By thee the watery woof was lent. 

In chambers deep. 

Where waters sleep. 

What unknown treasures pave the floor 1 

The pearl, in rows, 

Pale lustre throws; 

The wealth immense which storms devour. 

From Indian mines. 

With proud designs, 

The merchant, swollen, digs golden ore ; 

The tempests rise 

And seize the prize. 

And toss him, breathless, on the shore. 

His son complains 

In pious strains ; 

" Ah! cruel thirst of gold," he cries; 

Then ploughs the main 

In zeal for gain, 

The tears yet swelling in his eyes, 



Thou watery vast! 

What mounds are cast 

To bar thy dreadful flowings o'er ! 

Thy proudest foam 

Must know its home ; 

But rage of gold disdains a shore. 

Gold pleasure buys ; 

But pleasure dies ; 

Too soon the gross fruition cloys ; 

Though raptures court. 

The sense is short; 

But virtue kindles living joys ! 

Joys felt alone ! 

Joys asked of none ! 

Which Time's and Fortune's arrows miis ; 

Joys that subsist, 

Though fates resist. 

An unprecarious, endless bliss ! 

The soul refined 

Is most inclined 

To every moral excellence; 

All vice is dull, 

A knave's a fool. 

And virtue is the child of Sense. 

The virtuous mind. 

Nor wave nor wind. 

Nor civil rage, nor tyrant's frown, 

The shaken ball. 

Nor planet's fall, 

From its firm basis can dethrone. 

This Britain knows, 

And therefore glows 

With generous passions, and expends 

Her wealth and zeal 

On public weal. 

And brightens both by godUkc ends. 

What end so great 

As that which late 

Awoke the genius of the Main ; 

Which towering rose. 

With George to close. 

And rival great Eliza's reign? 

A voice has flown 

From Britain's throne 

To reinflame a grand design ; 

That voice shall rear 

Yon fabric fair,* 

As nature's rose at the divina 

When Nature sprung 

Blessed angels sung. 

And shouted o'er the rising ball : 



• A new fund for Greenwich hospital, recommended from 
the throne. 



146 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



For strains as high 

As man's can fly 

The sea-nlevoted honours call. 

From boisterous seas, 

The lap of Ease 

Receives our wounded and our old ; 

High domes ascend ! 

Stretched arches bend ; 

Proud columns swell ! wide gates unfold I 

So sleeps the grain, 

In Ibstering rain. 

And vital beams, till Jove descend ; 

Then bursts the root. 

The verdures shoot. 

And earth, enrich, adorn, defend. 

Here, soft reclined, 

From wave, from wind, 

And Fortune's tempests, safe ashore, 

"I'o cheat their care, 

Of former war 

They talk the pleasing shadows o'er. 

In lengthened tales 

Our fleet prevails ; 

In tales, the lenitives of age ! 

And o'er the bowl 

They fire the soul 

Of listening youth to martial rage. 

The story done. 

Their setting sun, 

Serenely smiling down the west, 

In soft decay 

They drop away; 

And honour leads them to their rest. 

Unhappy they ! 

And falsely gay! 

Who bask for ever in success : 

A constant feast 

duite palls the taste. 

And long enjoyment is distress. 

What charms us most, 

Our joy, our boast. 

Familiar, loses all its gloss; 

And gold refined 

The sated mind 

Fastidious turns to perfect dross. 

When, after toil, 

His native soil 

The panting mariner regains, 

What transport flows 

From bare repose 1 

We reap our pleasure from oui paina, 

Ye warlike ! slain 
Beneath the main, 



Wrapt in a watery winding sheet, 

Who bought with blood 

Your country's good, 

Your country's full-blown glory greet.* 

What powerful charm 

Can Death disarm ■? 

Your long, your iron slumbers break : 

By Jove, by Fame, 

By George's name, 

Awake ! awake ! awake I 

Our joy so proud, 

Our shout so loud. 

Without a charm the dead might hear ! 

And, see ! they rouse 

Their awful brows. 

Deep-scarred, from oozy pillows rear! 

With spiral shell. 

Full-blasted, tell, 

That all your watery realms should ring ; 

Your pearl alcoves, 

Your coral groves. 

Should echo theirs and Britain's king. 

As long as stars 

Guide mariners. 

As Carolina's virtues please, 

Or suns invite 

The ravished sight. 

The British flag shall sweep the seas. 

Peculiar both ! 

Our soil's strong growth. 

And our bold natives' hardy mind; 

Sure heaven bespoke 

Our hearts and oak, 

To give a master to mankind. 

That noblest birth 

Of teeming earth, 

Of forest fair that daughter proud, 

To foreign coasts 

Our grandeur boasts. 

And Britain's pleasure speaks aloud: 

Now, big with war, 

Sends fate from far, 

If rebel realms their fate demand ; 

Now sumptuous spoils 

Of foreign soils 

Pours in the bosom of our land. 

Hence Britain lays 

In scales, and weighs 

The fates of kingdoms and of kings; 

And as she frowns. 

Or smiles, on crowns, 

A night or day of glory springs. 



' Written soon after King George the First's accesBJon. 



ODES. 



147 



Thus Ocean swells 

The streams and rills, 

And to their Iwrders lifts them high, 

Or else withdraws 

The mighty cause, 

And leaves their famished channels dry. 

IIow mixed, how frail. 

How sure to fail. 

Is every pleasure of mankind! 

A damp destroys 

My blooming joys, 

While Britain's glory fires my mind : 

For who can gaze 

On restless seas, 

Unstruck with life's more restless state 1 

Where all are tossed, 

And most are lost. 

By tides of passion, blasts of fate, 

The world's the main, 

How vexed ! how vain ! 

Ambition swells, and anger foams ; 

May good men find, 

Beneath the wind, 

A noiseless shore, unrufiled homes ! 

The public scene 

Of hardened men. 

Teach me, O teach me to despise I 

The world few know, 

But to their wo. 

Our crimes with our experience rise. 

All tender sense 

Is banished thence. 

All maiden Nature's first alarms; 

What shocked before 

Disgusts no more. 

And what disgusted has its charms. 

In landscapes green. 

True Bliss is seen. 

With Innocence, in shades, she sports ; 

In wealthy towns 

Proud Labour frowns, 

And painted Sorrow smiles in courts. 

These scenes untried 

Seduced my pride, 

To Fortune's arrow bared my breast, 

Till Wisdom came, 

A hoary dame, 

And told me pleasure was in rest. 

" Oh may I steal 

Along the vale 

Of humble hfe, secure from foes! 

My friend sincere. 

My judgment clear. 

And gentle business my repose. 



" My mind be strong. 

To combat wrong ; 

Grateful, O King! for favours shown; 

Soft to complp,in. 

For others' pain. 

And bold to triumph o'er my own! 

" (When Fortune's kind) 

Acute to find, 

And warm to relish every boon, 

And wise to still 

Fantastic ill. 

Whose frightful spectres stalk at noon. 

" No fruitless toils. 

No brainless broils, 

Each moment leveled at the mark ! 

Our day so short 

Invites no sport ; 

Be sad and solemn when 'tis dark. 

" Yet Prudence still 

Rein thou my will ! 

What's most important make most dear! 

For 'tis in this 

Resides true Bliss ; 

True Bliss, a deity severe. 

" When temper leans 

To gayer scenes. 

And serious life void moments spares. 

The sylvan chase 

My sinews brace ! 

Or song unbend my mind from cares! 

" Nor shun, my soul, 

The genial bowl, 

Where mirth, good-nature, spirit, flow I 

Ingredients these 

Above to please 

The laughing gods, the wise below. 

" Though rich the vine, 

More wit than wine. 

More sense than wit, good-will, than art, 

May I provide ! 

Fair truth, my pride ! 

My joy, the converse of the heart! 

" The gloomy brow^, 

The broken vow. 

To distant climes, ye gods! remove; 

The nobly-souled 

Their commerce hold 

With words of truth, and looks of love. 

" Oh glorious aim! 

Oh wealth supreme ! 

Divine benevolence of soul ! 

That greatly glows. 

And freely flows. 

And in one blessing grasps the whole' 



1^ 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



" Prophotic schemes, 

And ffoldcn droams, 

Miiy 1, viiisiiiijfuiuc cast away; 

Have what 1 have, 

And Hve, not leave, 

Euauioured of tlie present day ! 

" My hours n>y own. 

My hiults unknown, 

My chief revenue iu content; 

Then leave one heaiu 

Of honest fame, 

And scorn thelaliourcd monument! 

" Unhurt n\y urn, ^ 

Till that ffreat turn 

"When niiiflity Nature's self shall die; 

Time eease to ijiide 

With lunnaii pride, 

Sunk in the ocean of eternity." 



SEA-PIECE. 



11. HIS PRAYKR BKFOKE ENGAGEMENT. 



DEDICATION TO MR. VOLTAIRE. 

]\Iy Muse, a hinl of passage, (lies 

From tro/.en dime to milder skies: 

From chilling hlasts she seeks thy ciieeiing beam, 

A beam of favour here denied : 

Conscious of faults, her blushing pride 

Hopes an asvlum in so great a name. 

To dive full deep in ancient days,* 

The warrior's anient deeds to raise, 

And nionarchs aggrandize — the glory thine; 

Thine is tiie drama, how renowned; 

Thine l''.pic's lollier trump to sound;—— 

lint let Arion's sea-strung harp be mine. 

But w here's his dolphin! knowest thou where'? 

May that lie tiiunil in thee, Voltaire! 

Save tliou from harm iny plunge into the wave: 

How will thy name illustrious raise 

My sinking song! Mere mortal lays, 

!So patronized, are rescued from the grave. 

" Tell me," say'st thou, "who courts my smile? 
What stranger strayed from yonder isle !" — 
No stranger, Sir! though born in foreign clitncs; 
On Doi*set Downs, when Milton's page. 
With Sin and Death provoked thy rage. 
Thy rage provoked, who soothed with gentle 
rhymes. 



• Aiuials of tlw Emperor Clmrlea XII. Lewis XIV. 



Who kindly couched thy censure's eye, 

And gave thee clearly to descry 

Sound judgment giving law to fancy strong; 

Who halfinclined thee to confess, 

Nor could thy modesty do less. 

That Milton's blindness lay not in his song. 

But such debates long since are flown 

For over set the suns that shone 

On airy pastimes, ere our brows were gray: 

How shortly siudl we both liirget, 

To thee, my patron, 1 my debt, 

And thou to thine for Prussia's golden key 

The present, in oblivion east, 
b'uU soiin sliall sleep, as sleeps the pa§t ; 
Full soon the wiile distinction die between 
The frowns and favours of the great; 
lligh-llushed Success, and pale Defeat 
The Gallic gaiety, and British spleen. 

Ye winged, yc rapid moments! stay: 

Oh, Friend ! as deaf, as rapid, tliev : 
Lite's little drama done, tiie curtain falls!- 
Dost thou not hear it 7 I can hear. 
Though nothing strikes the listening ear ; 
Time groans his last; Eternal loudly calls I 

Nor calls in vain ; tlie call inspires 

Far other counsels and desires, 

Than once prevailed : we stand on higher ground: 

What scenes we see! — Exalted aim! 

With ardours new on spirits flame ; 

Ambition blessed ! with more than laurels crowned. 



ODE THE FIRST. 

THE URITISII SAILOR'S EXULTATION. 

In lofty sounds let those delight 

Who brave the foe, but fear the fight. 

And bold in word, of arms decline the stroke; 

'Tis mean to boast, but great to lend 

To foes tlie counsel of a friend, 

And warn them of the vengeance they provoke. 

From whence arise these loud alarms? 

Why gleams the South with brandished arms! 

War, batheil in blood, fromcursed ambition springs; 

Ambition mean, ignoble pride! 

Perhaps their ardours may subside. 

When weighed the wondere Britain's sailor sings. 

Hear, and revere. At Britain's nod. 
From each enchanted grove and wood, 
Hastes the huge oak, or shapeless forest leaves ; 
The mountain pines assume new forms. 
Spread canvass wings, and lly through storms, 
And ride o'er rocks, and dance on foiuning waves. 



ODES. 



149 



She nods again ; the labouring earth 

Discloses a tremendous bivtli ; 

In smoking rivers runs her molten ore ! 

Thence monsters of enormous size, 

And hideous aspect, threatening rise; 

Flame from the deck, from trembling bastions roar. 

These ministers of Fate fulfil. 

On empires wide, an island's will, 

When tiirones unjust wake vengeance. Know, 



ye powers 



In sudden night, and ponderous bails, 
And floods of flame, the temi)est falls, 
When braved Britannia's awful aenate lowers. 

In her grand council* she surveys, 

In patriot picture, what may raise, 

Of insolent attempts, a warm disdain ; 

From hope's triumphant summit thrown. 

Like darted lightning, swiftly down 

The wealth of Ind', and confidence of Spain. 

Britannia sheaths her courage keen, 

And spares her nitrous magazine; 

Her cannon slumber, till the ])r<)U<l asjure. 

And leave all law below them, then they blaze ! 

They timuder from resounding seas. 

Touched by their injured master's soul of fire. 

Then furies rise ! the battle raves ! 

And rends the skies, and warms the waves! 

And calls a tempest from the peaceful deep, 

In spite of Nature, spite of Jove, 

While all serene, and hushed above. 

Tumultuous winds in azure chambers sleep. 

A tho\]sand deaths the bursting bomb 
Hurls from her disemboweled womb ; 
Ch:iitied, glowing globes in dread alliance joined, 
Red-winged by strong sulphureous blasts. 
Sweep in black whirlwinds, men and masts, 
And leave singed, naked, blood-drowned, decks be- 
hind. 

Dnnrf laurels rise in tented fields ; 

The wreath immortal Ocean yields; 

There War's whole sting is shot, whole fire is spent, 

Whole glory blooms. How pale, how tame, 

How lambent, is Bellona's flame ! 

How her storms languish on the Continent I 

From the dread front of ancient war 
Less terror frowned ; her scythed car. 
Her castled elephant, and battering beam, 
Stoop to those engines wliich deny 
Superior terrors to the sky. 
And boast their clouds, their thunder, and their 
flame. 

The flame, the thunder, and the cloud, 
The night by day, the sea of blood, 



Hosts whirled in air, the yell of sinking throngs, 

The graveless dead an ocean warmed, 

A firmament by mortals stormed. 

To patient Britain's angry brow belongs. 

Or do I dreaml or do I rave? 

Or see I Vulcan's sooty cave. 

Where Jove's red bolts the giant-brothers frame 1 

Those swarthy gods of toil and heat. 

Loud peals on mountain anvils beat, 

And panting tempests rouse the roaring flame. 

Ye sons of j^.tna! hear my call. 

Unfinished let those baubles fall. 

Yon shield of Mars, Minerva's helmet blue: 

Your strokes suspend, ye brawny throng! 

Charmed by the magic of my song, 

Drop the feigned thunder, and attempt the true 

Begin; and, first take rapid flight,* 

Fierce flame, and clouds of thickest night, ' 

And ghastly terror, paler than the dead; 

Then borrow from the North his roar. 

Mix groans and death; one i)hial |)our 

Of wronged Britannia's wrath ; and it is made ; 

Gaul starts and trembles — at your dreadful trade. 



* House of Lords. 



ODE THE SECOND. 

IN wiiicir IS 

THE SAILOR'S PRAYER REFORE ENGAGEMENT. 

So formed the bolt ordained to break 
Gaul's haughty ])lan, and Bourbon shake. 
If Britain's crimes siipport not Britain's foes, 
And edge their swords. O power Divine ! 
If blessed by thee the bold design, 
Embattled hosts a single arm o'erthrows. 

Ye warlike dead ! who fell of old 

In Britain's cause, by Fame enrolled 

In deathless annal ! deathless deeds inspire: 

From oozy beds, for Britain's sake. 

Awake, illustrious Chiefs! awake. 

And kindle in your sons paternal fire. 

The day commissioned from above. 
Our worth to weigh, our hearts to prove, 
If war's full shock too feeble to sustain. 
Or firm to stand its final blow. 
When vital streams of blood shall flow. 
And turn to crimson the discoloured main. 

That day 's arrived, that fatal hour ! 

" Hear us, O hear, Almighty power! 

Our guide in counsel, and our strength in fight! 

Now War's important dye is thrown. 

If left; the day to man alone. 

How blind is Wisdom, and how weak is Might"? 



' Alluding 10 Virgil's dcBcriplion of thunder. 



IbO 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



" Let prostrate hearts, and awful fear, 

And i]r("|) remorse, and siglis sincere, 

For Britain's guilt tiie wrath divine appease; 

A wratli more formidable far 

Than angry Nature's wasteful war. 

The whirl of tempests, and the roar of seas, 

" From out the deep to thee we cry, 

To thee, at Nature's helm on high! 

Steer tliou our conduct, dread Omnipotence! 

To thee for succour we resort; 

Thy favour is our only port ; 

Our only rock of safety thy defence. 

" O Thou ! to whom the lions roar. 

And not unheard, thy boon implore! 

Thy throne our bursts of cannon loud invoke: 

Thou canst arrest the (lying ball. 

Or send it back, and bid it fall 

On those from whose proud deck the thunder broke. 

" Britain in vain extends her care 

To climes remotq* for aids in war ; 

Still fartlier must it stretch to crush the foe: 

There's one alliance, one alone. 

Can crown her arms, or fix her throne. 

And that alliance is not found below. 

" Ally Supreme ! we turn to thee; 

We learn obedience from the sea ; 

With seas and wir.ds, henceforth, thy laws fulfil; 

'Tis thine our blood to freeze or warm, 

To rouse or hush the martial storm. 

And turn the tide of conquest at thy will. 

" 'Tis thine to beam sublime renown. 

Or quench the glories of a crown ; 

'Tis thine to doom, 'tis thine from death to&ee, 

To turn aside his leveled dart. 

Or jiluck it from the bleeding heart : — 

There, we cast anchor, we conlide in thee. 

" Thou ! who hast taught the North to roar, 

And streaming lightst nocturnal pour 

Of frightful aspect! when proud foes invade, 

Their blasted pride with dread to seize, 

Did Britain's Ihigs, as meteors, blaze, 

And George depute to thunder in thy stead. 

" The riglit alone is bold and strong;-, 

Black hovering clouds appal the wron;T 

With dread of vengeance. — Nature's awful Sire! 

Less than one moment shouldst thou frown, 

Where is Puissance and RenownT 

Thrones tremble, empires sink, or worlds expire. 

" Let George the just chastise the vain : 

Thou! who dost curb the rebel main, 

To mount the shore when boiling billows rave ! 



Bid George repel a bolder tide, 

The Iwundless swell of Gallic pride. 

And check Ambition's overwhelming wave, 

" And when (all milder means withstood) 

Ambition tamed by loss of blood 

Regains her reason ; then, on angels' wings, 

Let peace descend, and shouting greet. 

With peals of joy, Britannia's fleet. 

How richly freighted it triumphant brings 

The poise of kingdoms and the fate of kings." 



IMPERIUM PELAGI. 

A NAVAL LYRIC. 

WRITTEN IN IMITATION Or PINDAr's SPIRIT. 

Occasioned by His Majesty's return from Hanover, Sept. 1729^ 
and the succeeding Peace. 



Monte decurrens velut aninis, imbres 
QiU'in sii[)or not ;us alucrc ripa.s, 
Fcrvot, inimensiisque riiit piofundo 

Pindarus ore. 
Concincs Itttosque dies, ct iiibia 
Pulilicnm Inil'im, super impetrato 
Tortis Auj>usu rodilu. Ilor. 



' Russia. 



t Aurani Borealis. 



PREFACE. 
A PINDARIC carries a formidable sound; but 
there is nothing formidable in the true nature of 
it, of which (with utmost submission) I conceive 
the critics have hitherto entertained a false idea. 
Pindar is as natural as Anaereon, though not so 
familiar; as a fixed star is as much in the Iwuiids 
of nature is a flower of the field, though less ob- 
vious, and of greater dignity. This is not the re- 
ceived notion of Pindar : I shall therefore soon sup- 
port at large the hint which is now given. 

Trade is a very noble subject in itsi If, more pro- 
per than any for an Englishman, and particularly 

i seasonable at this juncture. 

I We have more specimens of good writing in 
every province than in the sublime, our two 
famous epic poems excepted. I was willing to 
make an attempt where I had the fewest rivals. 

If, on reading this Ode, any man has a fuller 
idea of the real interest, or possible glory of his 
country than before, or a stronger impression from 
it, or a warmer concern for it, I give up to the 
critic any further reimtation. 

We have many copies and translations that pass 
for originals. This Ode, I humbly conceive, is an 
oriifinal, though it professes imitation. No man 
can be hke Pindar, by imitating any of his par- 
ticular works, any more than like Raphael, by 
copying the Cartoons. The genius and si>irit of 
sucli great men must l>c collected from the whole; 
and when thus we are possessed of it, we must ex- 
ert its energy in subjects and designs of our own. 



ODES. 



151 



Nothing is so unpindarical as following Pimlar on 
the foot. Pindar is an origmal ; and hu must be so 
too who would be like Pindar in that which is his 
greatest praise. Nothing so unlike as a close copy 
and a noble original. 

As for length, Pindar has an unbroken ode of 
six hundred lines. Nothing is long or short in 
writing, but relatively to the demand of the sub- 
ject, and the manner of treating it. A distich 
may be long, and a folio short. However, 1 have 
broken this Ode into strains, each of which may 
be considered as a separate ode, if you please. And 
if the variety and fulness of matter be considered, 
I am rather apprehensive of danger from brevity 
in this Ode, than from length. But lank writing 
is what I thitdc ought most to be declined, if for 
nothing else, for our plenty of it. 

The Ode is the most spirited kind of poetry, 
and the Pindaric is the most spirited kind of ode. 
This 1 speak at my own very great peril ; but 
truth has an eternal title to our confession, though 
we arc sure to suffer by it. 



THE MERCHANT. 
AN ODE. 

ON THE BRITISH TRADE AND NAVIGATION. 
To his Grace the Duke of Chandos. 



PRELUDE. 



CONTENTS. 



The Proposition. An Address to the Vessel that brouglit 
over the King. Who should sing on this occasion. Pindaric 
boost. 

Fast by the surge my limbs are spread, 

The naval oak nods o'er my head, 

The winds are loud, the waves tumultuous roll ; 

Ye winds ! indulge your rage no more ; 

Ye sounding billows ! cease to roar: 

The god descends, and transports warm my soul. 

The waves are hushed, the winds arc spent ; 
This kingdom, from the kingdoms rent, 
I celebrate in song. Famed Isle ! no less. 
By Nature's favour, from mankind, 
Than by the foaming sea disjoined ; 
Alone in blisa : an isle in happiness ! 

Though Fate and Time have damped my strains, 
Though youth no longer fires my veins. 
Though slow their streamsinthis cold climate run, 
The royal eye dispels my cares. 
Recalls the warmth of blooming years ; 
Returning George supplies the distant sun. 

Away, my Soul ! salute the Pine,* 
That glads the heart of Caroline, 



' Tlie veesel in which the King came over. 
8F 



Its grand deposit faithful to restore 1 

Salute the bark that iHi'er shall hold 

So rich a freight in gems or gold, 

And loaded from both Indies would be poor. 

My soul ! to thee she spreads her sails ! 
Their bosoms fill with sacred gales ; 
With inspiration from the Godhead warm ; 
Now bound for an eternal clime, 

send her down the tide of Time, 
Snatched from oblivion, and secure from storm. 

Or teach this flag like that to soar. 
Which gods of old and heroes bore ; 
Bid her a British constellation rise — 
The sea she scorns; and now shall bound 
On lofty billows of sweet sound : 

1 am her pilot, and her port the skies I 

Dare you to sing, yc tinkling Train! 
Silence, yc Wretched ! yc Profane ! 
Who shackle prose, and boast of a"bsent gods; 
Who murder thought, and numbers maim, 
Who write Pindarics cold and lame. 
And labour stiff Anacreontic odes. 

Ye lawful sons of Genius, rise ! 

Of genuine title to the skies; 

Ye founts of learning ! and ye mints of Fame ! 

You who file ofl' the mortal part 

Of glowing thought with Atticart, 

And drink pure song from Cam's or Isis' stream. 

I glow, I burn! the numbers pure, 

High-flavoured, delicate, mature, 

Spontaneous stream from my unlaboured breast j 

As when full-ripened teems the vine. 

The generous bursts of willing wine 

pistil nectareous from the grape unprcssed. 



STRAIN I. 

CONTENTS. 

How the King attended. A prospect of happiness. Indus- 
try. A siupiising instiinceof it in Old Uome. Tlio mischief 
of Bloth. Wliut liappincssis. Hlolli its greatest enemy. Trade 
natural to Urilaln. Triidc invoked. Descrilieil. Wliat the 
greatest liumitn excellence. The praise of wealth. Its use, 
abuse, end. The variety of Nature. The final moral cause 
of it. The hencfu, of man's necessities. Uriudn's naval stores. 
Blie makes all nature serviceable to lior ends. Of reason. Its 
excellence. JIow we should form our estimate of tilings. Kea- 
Bon's diflicult task. VVliy the first glory her's. Her effecU in 
Old Britain. 



" Our monarch comes ! nor comes alone.'' 
What shining forms surround his throne, 
O sun ! as planets thee. To my loud strain 
See Peace, by Wisdom led, advance ; 
The Grace, the Muse, the Season, dance! 
And Plenty spreads behind her flowing train I 



■I 



152 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



" Our monarch comes ! nor comes alone !" 
New glories kindle round his throne. 
The visions rise ! I triumph as I gaze. 
By Pindar led, I turned of late 
The volume dark, the folds of Fate, 
And now am present to the future blaze. 

By George and Jove it is decreed, 

The miglithy Months in pomp proceed, 

Fair daughters of the Sun !— O thou divine, 

Blessed Industry ! a smiling earth 

From thee alone derives its birth : 

By thee the ploughshare and its master shine. 

From thee, mast, cable, anchor, oar. 

From thee the cannon, and his roar ! 

On oaks nursed, reared by thee, wealth, empire 

grows. 
O golden fruit ! oak well miglit prove 
The sacred tree, the tree of Jove ; 
All Jove can give the naval oak bestows. 

What can not Industry complete"? 
When punic war first flamed, the great, 
Bold, active, ardent Roman Fathers meet : 
" Fell all your groves," a Flamen cries;* 
As soon they fall, as soon they rise ; 
One moon a forest, and the next a fleet. 

Is sloth indulgence'? 'tis a toil; 

Enervates man, and damns the soil; 

Defeats creation, plunges in distress. 

Cankers our being ; all devours ; 

A full exertion of our powers ! 

Thence, and thence only, glows our happiness. 

The stream may stagnate, yet be clear, 

The sun suspend his swift career. 

Yet healthy Nature feel her wonted force; 

Ere man his active springs resigned, ^ 

Can rust in body and in mind, 

Yet taste of bliss, of wliich he chokes the source. 

Where, Industry ! thy daughter fair 1 

Recall her to her native air : 

Here was Trade born, here bred, here flourished 

long; 
And ever shall she flourish here : 
What though she languished 1 'twas but fear ; 
She 's sound of heart ; her constitution 's strong. 

Wake, sting her up. Trade ! lean no more 
On thy fixed anchor ; push from shore ; 
Earth lies before thee, every climate court. 
And see! she's roused; absolved from fears. 
Her brow in cloudless azure rears, 
Spreads all her sail, and opens every port. 



• L. Flonis. 



Sec cherished by her sister, Peace, 
She levies gain on every place, 
Religion, habit, custom, tongue, and name ! 
Again she travels with the sun. 
Again she draws the golden zone, 
Round earth and main ; bright zone of wealth and 
fame. 

Ten thousand active hands, that hung 

In shameful sloth, with nerves unstrung. 

The nation's languid load, defy the storms, 

The sheets unfurl, and anchors weigh. 

The long moored vessel wings to sea. 

Worlds worlds salute, and peopled ocean swarms. 

His sons, Po, Ganges, Danube, Nile, 
Their sedgy foreheads lift and smile; 
Their urns inverted, prodigally pour 
Streams charged with wealth, and vow to buy 
Britannia for their great ally. 
With climes paid down. What can the gods do 
more "? 

Cold Russia costly furs, from far, 

Hot China sends her painted jar, 

France generous wines to crown it, Arab sweet, 

With gales of incense swells our sails, 

Nor distant Ind our merchant fails. 

Her richest ore the ballast of our fleet. 

Luxuriant isle ! what tide that flows. 

Or stream that glides, or wind that blows, 

Or genial sun that shines, or shower that pours, 

But flows, glides, breathes, shines, pours, for thee"? 

How every heart dilates to see 

Each land's each season blending on thy shores ! 

All these one British harvest makel 

The servant Ocean, for thy sake, 

Both sinks and swells ; his arms thy bosom wrap, 

And fondly give, in boundless dower. 

To mighty George's growing power, 

The wafted world into thy loaded lap. 

Commerce brings riches, riches crown 
Fair virtue with the first renown ; 
A large revenue, and a large expense, 
When hearts for others' vvellare glow, 
And spend as free as gods liestow. 
Gives the full bloom to mortal excellence. 

Glow, then, my breast! abound, my store; 

This, and this boldly, I implore: 

Their want and apathy let Stoics boast; 

Passion and riches, good or ill. 

As used by man demand our skill ; 

All blessings wound us when discretion's lost 

Wealth, in the virtuous and the wise, 
'Tis vice and folly to despise: 
Let those in praise of poverty refine, 
Whose heads or hearts pervert its use. 
The narrow souled or the profuse! 
The truly great find morals in the mine. 



ODES. 



153 



Happy the man ! who, larj^e of heart, 

Has l('arnt the rare, illustrious art 

Of being ricli : stores starve us, or they cloy, 

From gold if more than chymic skill 

Extract not what is briglitcr still: 

'Tis hard to gain, much harder to enjoy. 

Plenty's a means, and joy her end : 

Exalted minds their joys extend. 

A Chandos shines when others' joys are done ; 

As lolly turrets, by their height. 

When humbler scenes resign their light. 

Retain the rays of the declining sun. 

Pregnant with blessings, Britain! swear, 

r^o sordid son of thine shall dare 

Offend the donor of thy wealth and peace ; 

Who now his whole creation drains 

To pour into thy tumid veins 

That blood of nations, commerce and increase. 

How various Nature! turgid grain 

Here nodding, floats the golden plain ; 

There worms weave silken webs, here glowing 

vines 
Lay forth their purple to the sun : 
Beneath the soil there harvests run, 
And king's revenues ripen in the mines. 

What's various Nature 1 art divine, 
Man's soul to soften and refine; 
Heaven different growths to different lands im- 
parts. 
That all may stand in need of all, ; 

And interest draw around the ball 
A net to catch and join all human hearts. 

Thus has the great Creator's pen, 

His law supreme to mortal men. 

In their necessities distinctly writ ; 

E'en appetite supplies the place 

Of absent virtue, absent grace. 

And human want performs for human wit. 

Vast naval ensigns strowed around. 

The wondering foreigner confound; 

How stands the deep-awed continent aghast, 

As her proud sceptred sons survey, 

At every port, on every quay. 

Huge mountains rise, of cable, anchor, mast ! 

The unwieldedtun! the ponderous bale! 

Each prince his own clime set to sale 

Sees here, by subjects of a British king. 

How earth's abridged ! all nations range 

A narrow-spot ! our thronged Exchange, 

And send the streams of plenty from their spring. 

Nor earth alone, all nature bends 

To aid in Britain's glorious ends. 

Toils she in trade! or bleeds in honest wars ? 

Her keel each yielding sea inthrals. 

Each willing wind her canvass calls : 

Her pilot into service lists the stars. 



In size confined, and humbly made. 
What though we creep beneath the shade, 
And scoiii as emmets on this point the ball 1 
Heaven ligiitod uj) the human soul. 
Heaven bid its rays transpierce the whole, 
And, giving godlike reason, gave us all. 

Thou golden chain 'twixt God and men. 

Blessed Reason I guide my life and pen; 

All ills, like ghosts, fly trembling at thy light. 

Who thee obeys reigns over all ; 

Smiles, though the stars around him fall; 

A God is nought but reason infinite. 

The man of reason is a god, 

Who scorns to stoop to Fortune's nod ; 

Sole agent he beneath the shining sphere. 

Others are passive, are impelled. 

Are frightened, flattered, sunk, or swelled. 

As Accident is j)leascd to domineer. 

Our hopes and fears are much to blame ; 

Shall monarchs awel or crowns inflame 1 

From gross mistake our idle tumult springs: 

Those men the silly world disarm, 

Elude the dart, dissolve the charm, 

Who know the slender worth of men and things. 

The present object, present day, 

Are idle phantoms, and away : 

What's lasting, ordy docs exist. Know this, 

Life, fame, friends, freedom, empire, all; 

Peace, commerce, freedom, nobly fall. 

To launch us on the flood of endless bliss. 

How foreign these, though most in view ! 

Go, look your whole existence through, 

Thence form your rule ; thence fix your estimate ; 

For so the gods. But as the gains, 

How great the toil 1 'twill cost more pains 

To vanquish folly than reduce a state. 

Hence, Reason I the first palm is thine ; 

Old Britain learnt from thee to shine : 

By thee. Trade's swarming throng, gay Freedom's 

smile. 
Armies, in war of fatal frown, 
Of Peace the pride, Arts flowing down. 
Enrich, exalt, defend, instruct our isle. 



STRAIN 11. 



CONTKNTS. 
Arts from commRrce. Wliy liritain should pursue it. 
What wealth incluilos. An historiral digression, which kind 
is most frequent in Pindar. The wealth and wonderful glory 
of Tyre. TIio approach of her ruin. The cause of it. Her 
crimes throut;!) all ranks and orders. Her miserable fall. The 
neighbourinj; kirii^s' just reflection on it. An awfid imagcof 
the Divine power and vengeance. From what Tyre fell, and 
how deep her calamity. 



Commerce gives arts as well as gain; 
By commerce wafted o'er the main, 



154 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



They barbarous cliinos cnligbtcn as they run ; 

Arts, the rich trallic of the soul ! 

May travi'l thus from pole to |)olo, 

And gild the world with learning's brighter sun. 

Commerce gives learning, virtue, goldl 
Ply Commert'o then ye Britons bold. 
Inured to winds and seas ! lest gods repent : 
The gods that throned you in the wave, 
And, as the trident's eniblem, gave 
A triple realm that awes the continent: 

And awes witli wealth : for wealth is power : 
When Jove descends, a golden shower, 
'Tis navies, armies, empire, all in one- 
View, emulate, outshine old Tyre ; 
In scarlet robed, with gems on fjrc, 
Her Merchants princes ! every deck a throne ! 

She sat an empress ! awed the flood I 

Her stable cohmm Ocean trod; 

Sheciillcd the nations, and she called the seas, 

By both obeyed ; the Syrian sings ; 

The Cyprian's art her viol strings ; 

Togarmah's steed along her valley neighs. 

The fir of Senir makes her floor, 

And Basiiim's oak, transformed, her oar; 

High Lebanijn her mast ; far Dcdan warms 

Her mantled host; Arabia feeds; 

Her sail of purpK; ICgypt si»read8; 

Arvad sends mariners ; the Persian arms. 

The world's last limit bounds her fame, 
The Golden City was her name ! 
Those stars on earth, the topaz, onyx, blazo 
Beneath her foot. Extent of coast. 
And rich as Nile's let others boast, 
Hcr's the far noblest harvest of the seas. 

O merchant land ! as Eden fair ! 

Ancient of empires! Nature's eaiv ! 

The strength of Ocean I head oi' Plenty's springs! 

The pride of isles, in wars revered ! 

Mother of cralls ! loved ! courted ! feared ! 

Pilot of kingdoms ! and support of kings ! 

Great mart of nations ! — but she fell; 

Her pampered sons revolt ! rebel ! 

Against his favourite isle loud roars the Main ! 

The tempest bowls, her sculptured dome 

Soon the wolf's refuge, dragon's home ! 

The land one altar! a whole people slain! 

The destined Day jnits on her frown ; 

The sable Hour is coming down ; 

She's on her march from yon almighty throne : 

The sword and storm are in her hand ; 

She trumpets shrill her dread command : 

Dark be the light of i arth, the boast unknown ! 

For, oh ! her sins, as red as blood. 
As crimson deep outcry the flood : 



The CLueen of Trade isbought, once wise and juslj 

IIow venal is her council's tongue: 

How riot, violence, and wrong. 

Turn gold to dross, her blossom into dust ! 

To things inglorious, far beneath 

Those high-born souls they proudly breathe 

Her sordid nobles sink ! her mighty bow ! 

Is it for this the groves around 

Return the tabret's sprightly sound *? 

Is it for this her great ones toss the brow 1 

What burning feuds 'twixt brothers reign 1 
To nuptials cold how glows the vein, 
Confounding kindred, and misleading right 1 
The spurious lord it o'er the land, 
liold Blasphemy dares make a stand, 
Assault the sky, and brandish all her might ! 

Tyre's artisan, sweet orator. 

Her merchant, sage, big man of war. 

Her judge, her prophet, nay, her hoary heads, 

Whose brows with wisdom should be crowned, 

Her very priests in guilt abound : 

Hence the world's cedar all her honours sheds. 

What dearth of truth, what thirst of gold ! 
Chiefs warm in peace, in battle cold ! 
What youth unlettered ! base ones lifted high! 
What public boasts! what private views! 
What desert temples ! crowded stews! 
What women — practised but to roll an eye ! 

O ! foul of heart, her fairest dames 

Decline the sun's intruding beams, 

To mad the midnight in their gloomy haunts. 

Alas! then; is who sees them there; 

There is who flatters not the fair, 

When cymbals tinkle, and the virgin chants. 

He sees, and thunders ! — Now in vain 

The courser jiaws and foams the rein. 

And t'liariots stream along the printed soil: 

In vain her liigh presumptuous air, 

In gorgeous vestments, rich and rare. 

O'er her proud shoulder throws the poor man's toiL 

In robes or gems, her costly strain, 

Green, scarlet, azure, shine in vain! 

In vain their goldeii heads her turrets rear ; 

In vain high-flavoured, foreign fruits, 

Sidonian oils, and Lydian lutes, 

Glide o'er her tongue, and melt upon her ear. 

In vain wine flows in various streams. 
With helm and spear each pillar gleams ; 
Damascus, vain ! unfolds the glossy store, 
The golden wedge from Ophir's coasts, 
Prom Arab incense, vain, she boasts ; 
Vain are her gods, and vainly men adore. 

Bell falls ! the mighty Nebo bonds ! 
The nations hiss ! her glory endsl 



ODES. 



155 



To ships, her confidence ! she flics from foes ; 
Foes meet her there: the winJ, the wave, 
That once aid, strcnfftii, and grandeur gave. 
Plunge her in seas from which her glory rose. 

l£er ivory deck, embroidered sail, 

And mast of cedar, nought avail. 

Or pilot learned ! siio sinks, nor sinks alone I 

Her gods sink with her ! to the sky, 

Which never more shall meet her eye, 

She sends her soul out in one dreadful groan. 

What though so vast her naval might, 

In her first dawned the British right. 

All flags abased her sea-dominion greet * 

What though she longer warred than Troy? 

At length her foes that isle destroy, 

Whose conquest sailed as far as sailed her fleet. 

The kings she clothed in purple, shako 
Their awful brows : " O foul mistake ! 
O fatal pride I" they cry, " this, this is she 
Who saiil — With my own art and arm 
In the world's wealth I wrap me warm — 
And swelled at heart vain empress of the sea t 

" This, this is she who meanly soared : 

Alas ! how low to be adored. 

And stylo herself a god ! — Through stormy wars 

This eagle-isle her thunder bore, 

High-fed her young with human gore. 

And would have built her nest among the stars. 

" But ah, frail man ! how impotent 

To stand heaven's vengeance, or prevent ! 

To turn aside the great Creator's aim ! 

Shall island kings with him contend, 

Who makes tlie poles beneath him bend. 

And shall drink up the sea herself with flame 1 

" Earth, ether, empyreum, bow, 

When from tlie brazen mountain's brow, 

The God of battles takes his mighty bow : 

Of wrath prepares to pour the flood, 

Puts on his vesture dipped in blood, 

And marches out to scourge the world below. 

" Ah wretched isle, once called the great I 
Ah wretched isle ! and wise too late ! 
The vengeance of Jehovah is gone out ; 
Thy luxury, corruption, pride, 
And, freedom lost, the realms deride; 
Adored thee standing ; o'er thy ruins shout : 

" To scourge with war, or peace bestow, 

Was thine, O fallen ! fallen low ! 

'Twas thine of jarring thrones to still debate: 

How art thou fallen, down, down, down! 

Wide Waste, and Night, and Horror frown, 

Where Empire flamed in gold, and balanced states." 



• Q. Curtia. 



STRAIN III. 



CONTENTS. 
An inference from this liiKloiy. Advice to Urilnin. Mors 
proper to licr tli-ui other iiiilioim. IIow fiir (lie stroke of ty- 
runny roaches. Wliat siipporia our emleavoiirs. The uncon- 
sidered l)enetita of liheity. Uriuiin's ol)lij,'iiiion to pursue 
trade. Why above lialf the glolje is sea. Iliilain's grandeur 
from her situation. The wiiuls, tlie se.-us, tlie constellations, 
described. .Sir Ifaac Newton's praise. Britain compared with 
otlier slates. The leviathan described. Jhitaiii's site and an- 
cient title to the sens. Who rivals her. Of Venice. Holland, 
Some despi.se trade as mijan ; censured for it. Trade's glory. 
The late Czar. Solomon. A suriirisin;; instance of magnifi- 
cence. The merchant's dignity. Compared with men of 
letters. 



2r» 



Hence learn, as hearts are foul or pure, 

Our fortunes wither or endure : 

Nations may thrive or perish by the wave. 

What storms from Jove's unwilling frown, 

A people's crimes solicit down ! 

Ocean 's the womb of riches and the grave. 

This truth, O Britain ! ponder well : 

Virtues should rise as fortunes swell. 

What is large property ? — the sign of good, 

Of worth superior: if 'tis less, 

Another's treasure we possess, 

And charge the gods with favours mlsbestowed. 

This counsel suits Britannia's isle. 
High-flushed with wealth and Freedom's smile: 
To vassals prisoned in the continent. 
Who starve at home on meagre toil, 
And suck to death their mother soil, 
'Twere useless caution, and a truth mispent. 

Fell tyrants strike beyond the bone. 

And wound the soul; bow genius down, 

Lay virtue waste ! For worth or arts who strain, 

To throw them at a monster's footi 

'Tis property supports pursuit. 

Freedom gives eloquence, and freedom gain. 

She pours the thought, and forms the style ; 

She makes the blood and K|)irits boil: 

I feel her now ! and rouse, and rise, and rave 

In Thcban song. O Muse ! not thine, 

Verse is gay Freedom's gill divine ; 

The man that can think greatly is no slave. 

Otiiers may trafllc if they please ; 

Britain, fair daughter of tlie seas. 

Is born for trade, to plough her field, the wave, 

And reap the growth of every coast: 

A speck of land ! but let her boast 

Gods gave the world, whcu Ihoy the waters ga^e. 

Britain ! behold the world's wide face; 

Nor covered half wi'J» solid space, 

Three parts are flijiiJ. Empire of the sea ! 



156 



VOUNG'S WORKS. 



And why 1 lor coiiiim-rco. Ocean stroamu 

Fur tliiit, (liroiif;;!! nil liis vnrious names; 
Ami il li>r coinmcivc, Ucciiu Hows lor tliec, 

Britain, liko some {jrcal. polciitato 

()(" iMiHtcrn dimi', retires in state, 

SImtsout the nations ! Would a i>rincc drawnighl 

] lo passes her siron;; fjuards, Iho waves, 

Ol'tiervant winds adinissiou craves, 

Her ompiro lias no neii^libour but the sky. 

Tlicro are her friends ; soil Zephyr there, 

Keen I'',urus, Notus never fair, 

Roufjli Horeas burstinj^ from the j)olo; (Jl urge, 

And urfje ii)r iier, their various toil; 

1"li(< ('aspian, the hroad Haltie. boil, ^ 

And inlolifc^ tluMlead Paeifie seourf^o. 

Tliere are her friends, a niarslialled train I 
A golden host ! and azure plain I 
I\v turns do duty, and by turns retreat; 
'J'hey may retreat, but not tVoin her; 
The stars that quit this licinisphere, 
Must quit the islvies to want a Hritis^h fleet. 

iFyad, for Iier, leans o'er her urn; 

l''or lier C )rion's glories burn. 

The Pleiads ghnvni. For IJritons set and riso 

The lair liieed sons of Ma/.arotli, 

!Near tlu^ deep chandlers of the [South, 

The raging dog that llres the midnight sides. 

These nations Newton made his own ; 

All inlimati' with him alone, 

His mighty soul did, liko a giant, run 

To the vast volume's closing star; 

Deciphered every character: 

His reason poured new light upon the sun. 

Let the proud brothers of the laud 
Smil<> at our rock and barren strand; 
Not such the sea ; let Fohe's ancient lino 
Vast tracks and ample beings vaunt! 
The camel low, small elephant ; 

ikitain 1 the leviathan is thino. 

Leviathan ! whom Nature's strifo 
Brought forth her largest piece of lift^ ! 

1 Ic sleeps an isle! his sports ihe billows woxm! 
Jlreadful Leviathan! thy spout 

Invailes the skies; the stars arc out : 
lie drinks a river, and ejects a storm. 

The Atlantic surge aii)und our shore, 
Cernmn and Caledonian roar; 
Their mighty (icnii hold us in tJicir lap. — 
J lear Kgbert, I'^lgar, Mlhelrcd ; 
" The seas are ours," — the monarchs said — 
The floods their hands, their hands the nations, 
clap. 



Whence is a rival then to rise 1 

('an he be found beneath the skit-s7 

No, there they dwell that can give Britain fear: 

The powers of earth, by rival aim, 

Her grandeur but the more proclaim. 

And jirovc their distance most as they draw near, 

I'roud Venice sits amid the wavcjj, 

1 ler foot ambitious Ocean laves; 

Art's noblest boast! lint, O ! what wondrous odds 

'Twixt Venice and Britannia's isle 7 

'Twixt mortal and immortal loill 

Brilainiia is a Venice built by gods. 

Iict Holland triumj)!! o'er her foes, 
But not o'er friends by whom she rose; 
The child of Britain! and sliall she coutcndl 

It were no less than jiarricidc 

What wonders rise from out the tide! 
Her High and Mighty lu the ruildcr bend. 

And aro there, then, of lofty brow, 
Who think trade mean, and scorn to bow 
So far beneath the stale of luible birth 1 
Alas! these chiefs but lillle know 
Cou\mcrce how high, themselves how low, 
The sons of nobles are the sou.s of earth. 

And what have earth's mean sous to do 

But reap her fruits, and warm pursue 

The world's chief good, not glut on others' toilt / 

High Commerce from the gods cain(< <lown. 

With compass, chart, and starry crown. 

Their delegate to make the nations smile. 

Blush, and behold tiie Russian bow ; 

From forty crowns his mighty brow 

To trade — to toil he turns his glorious hand; 

That arm which swept the bloody fielil, 

Sec! the huge axe or hammer wield, 

^Vllile scj'ptrcs wait, and thrones impatient stan4 

O shame to subjects! first renown, 

Matchless example to the crown! 

Old Time is poor; what age boitsts such a sight?, 

He drones! adore the man divine — 

No; virtue still as mean decline; 

Call Russians barb'rous and yourselves politn. 

He, too, of Judah, great as wise, 

With Hiram strove in merchandise; 

Monarchs with monarchs struggle for an oar! 

That Merchant siidiing to his grave, 

A llood of treasure swells the cave; 

The king Idl much, the merchant buried more* 



* Vast iroB«uro inl(on from Solomon's tomb thlrtpcn hun- 
(Irod yvM-9 iiUor h'l!) iloadi, Ihroo ihuusiuid uUcilU at ouo time, 
tuul un iiiimciuio huiu lliu iiexu 



ODES. 



IW 



Ih Mcrcliaiit an inirloriouu iiaino '{ 

No ; (it for I'iiidiir hucIi a tliiMiio, 

'J'oo ^rriit for (lie ; I punt liiuiratli the weij;ht I 

irioiiil iiH Occjaii'H wcro my voice, 

ITwonlH and tliou;^litn to court my clioicc 

Uutnunibcrcd Kandn, 1 could not rcucii ilit height. 

iMrrchantfl o'er prou<1cst horooH rcifjn; 
'J'lioMc tr.idc in l)l('HKini;, tiicHe in pain, 
y\t slau;{liti'r kvvcII, and Hhoiit while nationit groan : 
Witii pur[ile monairhH mercharitii vie: 
If great to Hpend, what to Hupply? 
I'ricHlH pray lur blubsingH, merchants pour 'em 
down. 

KingH MerdiantH arc, in league, and lovo, 
Kartli'H odonrn puy Hofl aii'H above, 
Tliat o'(!r the t(M'niiiig field prolific range. 
PianetH are MerciiantH, take, return, 
LuHtre and heat; l)y trudic. hum: 
Tile wlio!(! creation iw one vawt Kxcliange. 

In Merchant an inglorious name? 

What H!iy tli(! Hoim of lettered Fame, 

Proud ol' their volunicH, Kvvelling in their cellwT 

In ojien lile, in change; of Hcenc;, 

'Mid various mannerH, tliroiign of men. 

Experience, arlH, and Holid wisdom dwellH. 

Trade, Art's mechanic, Naturci's stores 
Well weighs ; to starry science soars : 
ReadH warm in life (dead-coloiirecl hy the l)en) 
1'he sili;H| tr)iigue.s, intereslH, of the ball: 
Who studies trade, he studies all. 
Accom[ilished Merchants are uccomplishcd men. 



STRAIN IV. 



CONTKNTS. 

I'inil.ir Invoked. Il'm pr.iiBii. Ilriiain hIiomM ilcclinn war, 
but buliUy u«ii;rl her tiaili;. Ki\c(>\ir:t','i;il froiri llio Ihrono. 
Drltaiii'H coiiiiiiiiiri withuiit trailo. 'I'radc'H rljarac.trr, ami Hiir- 
priiilnj^dccdH. Carthago. Hi)|r>mipii'HK!iii|il(!. Kl. I'aiil'HCImrcli. 
Tim iiiimir'H cliaraclcr. 'I'liu wi)iidi:rfii|i:lli.T,lni)f liadci. Why 
ri'li^lori rccomitiiiidcd to tliu Morr.liarit. What (uImo joy. 
What iriiB. What nliKloii Ih Io thci Mirrchaiil. Why tradd 
nior«! (florioiiH In Hrlloim than (HhorH. Mow warmly and how 
Jdim to he |iniHii(;d liy IIH. 'I'hii Hiilori'M |r;;ar,y. (-'ohinihiiM. 
IliH|iraiNu. America di;Hi'.rlliud. Worlibiiuill unknown. (Incen 
Lllzuljctli. King (jeorgu II. Iliii glory iiavuliy ruprcHvtitcd. 



IIow shall I farther rrmse the soul ! 

How Sloth's lascivious n^ign control 

By verst! with unextinguiKhed ardour wrought? 

How every hreasl inllame with mine'f 

How hill my theme still lirighter shine. 

With wealth of words and unexhausted thought? 

O thou I)ire,ii;an swan on high. 

Round whom familiar thunders fly! 

Wliile Jove attends a language like his own, 



Thy spirit pour like vernal showiirs; 

IVIy verne shall hurst out wilii the. Ilowi'rs, 
Whili; Hritain's trade advances with her sun 

'i'liough IJritaia was not horn to fear, 

( J rasp not at bloody fame for war; 

Nor War decline, if thrones your right invade: 

.love gnthers tempest black as night; 

.)ov(! pours th<! golilen (lood of light: 

Let Britain thinider, or let Mritain Iraile. 

Hritain, a comet or a star. 
In coiiiiiierce tliiH, or that in war; 
JiCt i>rit.oiis shout! earth, seas, and skies resouiiJI 
• /'ominerce to kindle, raise, prenerve, 
And sjiirit dart througn I'very nerve. 
Hear from the throne* u voice through time re- 
nowned. 

So fall from heaven the vernal showers. 

To cheer the glebe, and waki^ the llowers : 

The bloom called forth, sees a/.ure skies dis[ilaycd; 

The bird of voice is proud to sing, 

Industrious bees ply evtjry wing, 

Distend their cells, and urge tluiir golden trade. 

Trade once rxtiiiguislKul, Britain's sun 
Is gone out too ; bin race is run ; 
lie shines in vain; her isht'san isle indeed, 
A spot too filiiall to be o'erconie: J 

Ah, ilreadful Kali'tyl wretch<!d doom! 
No foe will conqu(!r what no foe can food. 

Trade 's the source, sinew, soul ol' all : 
'I'nide's all herself; her's, lier's the ball: 
When! most uiise('n, the; godditss still is there. 
Trade leads the dance. Trade lights the blaze; 
The courtier's pom])! the studi'iit's easi;! 
'Twas Trade at BlenhiMm fought, and clowul tho 
war. 

What Rome and all her gods defies? 

"^riie Punic our; behold it risi! 

And battle (or the world ! Trade gave the call: 

Rich cordials from his naval art 

Sent the strong spirits to his heart, 

'J'hat bid an Afric Merchant grasj) the ball. 

Where is, on earth, Jevovah's home? 

Trade marked the soil, and built the dome, 

In which his majesty lirst deigned to dwell; 

The; walls with silvctr sheets o'erlaid. 

Rich as the sun, through gold unwi^ighed, 

Bent tho mooned arch, and bid tho column swell.' 

Crandeiir unknown to Solorrifin It 
Methinks the lab'ring earth should groan 
Beneath yon load ; created, sure, not motlo ! 



•The KIiir'h S|M!c<-,h. 

t BL I'uul'H built by iho coal-tax. 



158 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Servant and rival of the skies ! 

Heaven's arch alone can higher rise ; 

What hand immortal raised theel — Humble Trade. 

Where had'st thou been if left at large, 

Those sinewy arms that tugged the barge 

Had caught at Pleasure on the flowery green 1 

If they that watched the midnight star 

Had swung behind the rolling car, 

Or filled it with disgrace, where had'st thou been? 

As by repletion men consume, 

Abundance is the miser's doom. 

Expend it nobly ; he that lets it rust, 

Which, passing numerous hands, would shine ; 

Is not a man, but living mine. 

Foe to the gods, and rival to the dust. 

Trade barbarous lands can polish fair, 
Make earth well worth the wise man's care. 
Call forth her forests, charm them into fleets : 
Can make one house of human race, 
Can bid the distant poles embrace; 
Her's every sun ; and India India meets. 

Trade monarchs crown, and arts imports, 
With bounty feeds with laurel courts ; 
Trade gives fair Virtue fairer still to shine, 
Enacts those guards of gain, the laws, 
Exalts e'en Freedom's glorious cause: 
Trade, warned by Tyre, make religion thine ! 

You lend each other mutual aid : 

Why is heaven's smile in wealth conveyed'? 

Not to place vice, but virtues, in our power. 

Pleasure declined is luxury. 

Boundless in time and in degree ; 

Pleasure enjoyed, the tumult of an hour. 

False joy 's a discomposing thing. 

That jars on Nature's trembhng string, 

Tempests the spirits, and untunes the frame: 

True joy the sunshine of the soul, 

A bright serene that calms the whole, 

Which they ne'er knew whom other joys inflame. 

Merchant ! religion is the care 

To grow as rich — as angels are ; 

To know false coin from true; to sweep the main, 

The mighty stake secure, beyond 

The strongest tie of field or fund : 

Commerce gives gold, religion makes it gain. 

Join then religion to thy store, 
Or India's mines will make thee poor. 
Greater than Tyre! O bear a nobler mind, 
Sea sovereign isle! proud War decline, 
Trade patronize ! What glory thine. 
Ardent to bless, who could subdue mankind 1 

Rich Commerce ply, with warmth divine, 
By day, by night ; the stars are thine: 



Wear out the stars in trade ! eternal run 

From age to age, the noble glow, 

A rage to gain and to bestow : 

While ages last! in trade burn out the sun. 

Trade, Britain's all, our sires sent down, 

With toil, blood, treasure, ages won: 

This Edgar great bequeathed; this Edward bold ; 

Let Forbisher's, let Raleigh's fire! 

O let Columbus' shade inspire ! 

New worlds disclose, with Drake surround an old. 

Columbus ! scare inferior fame 

For thee to find, than heaven to frame, 

That womb of gold and gem :* her wide domain 

An universe ! her rivers seas ! 

Her fruits, both men and gods to please ! 

Heaven's fairest birth I and but for thee in vain. 

Worlds still unknown deep shadows wrap; 
Call wonders forth from Nature's lap; 
New glory pour on her eternal sire : 
O noble search ! O glorious care ! 
Are you not Britons'? why despair 1 
New worlds are due to such a godlike sire. 

Swear by the great Eliza's soul. 

That trade as long as waters roll : 

Ah! no; the gods chastise my rash decree: 

By great Eliza do not swear; 

For thee, O George ! the gods declare. 

And thou for them ! late time shall swear by thee. 

Truth, bright as stars, with thee prevails; 

Full be thy fame as swelling sails; 

Constant as tides, thy mind ; as masts elate ; 

Thy justice an unerring helm. 

To steer Britannia's fickle realm; 

Thy numerous race sure anchor of her state. 



STRAIN V. 



CONTENTS. 
What is the bound of Britain's power. Bayond that of the 
most famed in history. The sign Lyra. Wiiat the constella- 
tions are. Argo. The Whale. The Dolphin. Eridanua. 
The Lion. Libra. Virgo. Berenice. The British lady cen- 
sured. The Moon. What the sea is. Apostrophe to the Em- 
peror. The Spanish Armada. How Britain should speak 
her resentment. What gives power. What natives do in war. 
The Tartar. Mogul. Africa. China. Who master of the 
world. What the history of the world is. The genealogy of 
Glory. Mistakes about it. Peace the Merchant's harvest. 
Ships of divine origin. Merchants ambassadors. The Briton's 
voyage. Praise the food of Glory. Britain's record. 



Britannia's state what bounds confiine! 
(Of rising thought! O golden mine!) 
Mountains, Alps, streams, gulfs, oceans, set no 

bound ; 
She sallies till she strikes the star; 
Expanding wide, and launching far 
As wind can fly, or rolling wave resound. 



Vide Descriptions of America, 



ODES. 



199 



Small isle ! for Caesars, for the son 

Of Jove, who burst from Macedon, 

For gorgeous Easterns blazing o'er mankind, 

Then, when they called the world their own, 

Not equal fame from fable shown : 

They rose to gods, in half thy sphere confined. 

Here no demand for Fancy's wing; 

Plain Truth's illustrious: as I sing, 

Oh hear yon spangled harp repeat my lay ! 

"Von starry lyre has caugiit the sound. 

And spreads it to the planets round, 

Who best can tell where ends Britannia's sway. 

The skies (fair printed page!) unfold 

The naval fame of heroes old, 

As in a mirror show the adventurous throng. 

The deeds of Grecian mariners 

Are read by gods, are writ in stars, 

And noble verse that shall endure as long. 

The skies are records of the main; 
Thence Argo listens to my strain: 
Chiron for song renowned, his noble rage 
For naval fame and song renews. 
As Britain's fame he hears and views; 
Chiron, the Shovel of a former age. 

The Whale (for late I sung his praise) 

Pours grateful lustre on my lays. 

How smiles Arion's* friend with partial beams? 

Eridanus would flatter too, 

But jealousies his smiles subdue; 

He fears a British rival in the Thames. 

In pride the lion lifts his mane, 

To see his British brothers reign 

As stars below; the Balance, George! from thine, 

Which weighs the nations, learns to weigh 

More accurate the night and day; 

From thy fair daughters Virgo learns to shine. 

Of Britain's courts, ye lesser lights! 
How could the wise men gaze whole nights 
On Richmond's eye, on Berenice's air? 
But, oh! you practise shameful arts: 
Your own retain, seize others' hearts; 
Pirates, not merchants, are the British fair. 

'Tis truth I sing by Cynthia's beam, 
Pale GLueen! be flushed at Britain's fame; 
And, rolling, tell the nations — o'er the main 
" To share her empire is thy pride." 
He, mighty Power! who curbs the tide, 
Uncurbs, extends, throws wide Britannia's reign, 

What is the main, ye kings renowned ! 
Britannia's centre and your bound? 
Austrian! where'er Leviathan can roll 
Is Britain's home! and Britain's mine 
Where'er the ripening sun can shine! 
Parts are for emperors ; for her the whole. 



24 



The Dolphia 



Why, Austrian ! wilt thou hover still 

On doubtful wing, and want the skill 

To see thy welfare in the world's ? too late 

Another Churchill thou may'st find, 

Another Churchill not so kind, 

And other Blenheims big with other fate. 

Ill thou remember'st ill, dost own 

Who rescued an ungrateful throne ; 

111 thou consider'st that the kind are brave ; 

111 thou dost weigh that in Time's womb 

A day may sleep, a day of doom. 

As great to ruin as was that to save. 

How woiild'st thou smile to hear my strain, 

Whose boasted inspiration's vain 1 

Yet what if my prediction should prove true? 

Know'st thou the fatal j)air who shine 

O'er Britain's trading empire ! thine 

As one rejected, what if one subdue ? 

What naval scene* adorns the seat 

Of awful Britain's high debate. 

Inspires her councils, and records her power? 

The nations know, in glowing balls 

On sinking thrones the tempest falls 

When her august assembled senates lower. 

O language, fit for thought so bold ! 
Would Britain have her anger told? 
Ah ! never let a meaner language sound, 
Than that which prostrates human souls. 
Through heaven's dark vault impetuous rolls. 
And Nature rocks when angry Jove has frowned. 

Nor realms unbounded, not a flood 

Of natives, not expense of blood. 

Or reach of council, gives the world a lord; 

Trade calls him forth, and sets him high, 

As mortal man o'er men can fly. 

Trade leaves poor gleanings to the keenest sword. 

Nay, hers the sword, for fleets have wings. 

Like lightning fly to distant kings: 

Like gods descend at once on trembling states. 

Is war proclaimed ? Our wars are hurled 

To farthest confines of the world. 

Surprise your ports, and thunder at your gates.' 

The King of tempests, jEolus, 

Sends forth his pinioned people thus, 

On rapid errands, as they fly they roar. 

And carry sable clouds, and sweep 

The land, the desert, and the deep ! 

Earth shakes! proud cities fall, and thrones adore! 

The fools of Nature ever strike 

On bare outsides, and loathe, or like 

As glitter bids: in endless error vie; 

Admire the purple and the crown; 

Of human welfare and renown 

Trade's the big heart ; bright empire but their eye. 

• The Spanish Arraada, in llie House of Lords. 



160 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Whence Tartar grand, or Mogul greaf? 

Trade gilt their titles, powered their state ; 

While Afric's black, lascivious?, slothful breed, 

To clasp their ruin, fly from toil, 

That meanest product of their soil. 

Their people sell ; one half on the' other feed. 

Of Nature's wealth, from commerce rent, 

Afric's a glaring monument : 

Mid citron forests, and pomegranate groves, 

(Cursed in a paradise!) she pines ; 

O'er generous glebes, o'er golden mines, 

Her beggared, famished, tradeless native roves. 

Not so thine, China ! blooming wide, 
Thy numerous fleets might bridge the tide ; 
Thy products would exhaust both Indias' mines, 
Shut be that gate of trade ! or wo 
To Britains ! Europe 'twill o'erflow. 
Ungrateful song ! her growth* inspires thy lines. 

Britain ! to these, and such as these, 

The river broad, and foaming seas, 

Which sever lands to mortals less renowned, 

Devoid of naval skill or might: 

Those severed parts of earth unite : 

Trade's the full pulse that sends their vigour round. 

Could, O could one engrossing hand 
The various streams of trade command 7 
That, like the sun, would gazing nations awe; 
That awful power the world would brave. 
Bold War, and Empire proud, his slave : 
Mankind his subjects, and his will their law. 

Hast thou looked round the spacious earth 1 
From commerce, Grandeur's humble birth; 
To George from Noah, Empires living, dead. 
Their pride, their shame, their rise, their fall, 
Time's whole plain chronicle is all 
One bright encomium, undesigned, on trade. 

Trade springs from peace, and wealth from trade. 
And power from wealth: of power is made 
The god on earth ; hail, then, the dove of peace ! 
Whose olive speaks the raging flood 
Of War repressed ; what's loss of blood % 
War is the death of Commerce and Increase. 

Then perish War — detested War ! 

Shalt thou make gods, like Caesar's star 7 

What calls man fool so loud as this has done, 

From Nimrod's down to Bourbon's line 1 

Why not adore, too, as divine, 

Wide wasting storms before the genial sun 1 

Peace is the merchant's summer clear ; 
His harvest — harvest round the yearl 
For Peace with laurel every mast be bound; 

•Coffee. 



Each deck carouse, each flag stream out, 
Each cannon sound, each sailor shout ; 
For peace, let every sacred ship be crowned ! 

Sacred are ships, of birth divine ! 

An angel drew the first desitrn ; 

With which the Patriarch* Nature's ruin braved: 

Two world's abroad, an old and new. 

He safe o'er foaming billows flew, 

The gods made human race, a pilot saved. 

How sacred, too, the Merchant's name ! — 

When Britain blazed meridian fame.t 

Bright shone the sword, but brighter trade gave 

law; 
Merchants in distant courts revered, 
Where prouder statesmen ne'er appeared, 
Merchants ambassadors ! and thrones in awe : 

'Tis theirs to know the tides, the times. 
The march of stars, the birth of climes: 
Summer and winter theirs; theirs land and sea: 
Theirs are the seasons, months and years, 
And each a different garland wears : 
O that my song could add eternity ! 

Praise is the sacred oil that feeds 
The burning lamp of godlike deeds: 
Immortal glory pays illustrious cares. 
Whither, ye Britons! are ye bound 1 
O noble voyage, glorious round ! 
Launch from the Thames, and end among the 
stars. 

If to my subject rose my soul, 

Your fame should last while oceans roll : 

When other worlds in depths of time shall rise, 

As we the Greeks of mighty name. 

May they Britannia's fleet proclaim. 

Look up and read her stories in the skies, t 

Ye Syrens ! sing ; ye Tritons ! blow ; 
Ye Nereids ! dance ; ye Billows ! flow ; 
Roll to my measures O ye starry throng ! 
Ye Winds ! in concert breathe around ; 
Ye Navies ! to the concert bound 
From pole to pole ! to Britain all belong. 



THE MORAL. 



CONTENTS. 

The most happy should be the most virtuous. Of eternity, 

VVliat Britain's art sliould be. Whence slavery. 



Britain! thus blessed, thy blessing know, 
Or bliss in vain the gods bestow ; 



' Noah. t In Queen Elizabeth's reign. 

}It is Sir Isaac Newton's opinion that the principal constel- 
lations took their names from the Argoiuuts, to perpetuate 
that great action. 



ODES. 



161 



Its end fulfil, means cherish, source adore : 

Vain swellings of thy soul repress ; 

They most may lose who most possess. 

Then let ashless with awe, and tremble at thy store. 

Nor be too fond of life at best ; 

Her cheerful, not enamoured guest : 

Let thought fly forward ; 'twill gay prospects give, 

Prospects immortal ! that deride 

A Tyrian wealth, a Persian pride, 

And make it perfect fortitude to live. 

O for eternity ! a scene 

To fair adventurers serene ! 

O, on that sea to deal in pure renown ! 

Traffic with gods ! what transports roll ! 

What boundless import to the soul ! 

The poor man's empire ! and the subject's crown ! 

Adore the gods, and plough the seas : 

These be thy arts, O Britain ! these. 

Let others pant for an immense command ; 

Let others breathe War's fiery god : 

The proudest victor fears thy nod, 

Long as the trident fills thy glorious hand. 

Glorious while heaven-born freedom lasts. 
Which Trade's soft spurious daughter blasts : 
For what is tyranny 1 a monstrous birth 
From luxury, by bribes caressed. 
By glowing power in shades compressed. 
Which stalks around, and chains the groaning 
earth. 



THE CLOSE. 

CONTENTS. 

This subject now first sung. How sung. Preferable to 
Pindar's subject. How Britain should be sung by all. 



Thee, Trade ! I first, who boast no store, 

Who owe thee nought, thus snatch from shore. 

The shore of prose, where thou hast slumbered long, 

And send thy flag triumphant down 

The tide of time to sure renown : 

O bless my country ! and thou payest my song. 

Thou art the Briton's noblest theme : 

Why then unsung 1 my simple aim 

To dress plain sense, and fire the generous blood, 

Nor sport imaginations vain ; 

But list with yon ethereal train* 

The shining muse, to serve the public good. 



• The Stars. 



Of ancient art, and ancient praise. 

The springs are opened in my lays :♦ 

Olympic heroes' ghosts around me throng, 

And think their glory sung anew, 

Till chiefs of equal fame they view. 

Nor grudge to Britons bold their Theban song. 

Not Pindar's theme with mine compares ; 
As far surpassed as useful cares 
Transcend diversion light, and glory vain : 
The wreath fantastic, shouting throng, 
And panting steed to him belong ; 
The charioteer's, not empire's golden rein. 

Nor, Chandos ! thou the Muse despise 

That would to glowing ./Etna rise, 

(Such Pindar's breast) thou Theron of our time*. 

Seldom to man the gods impart 

A Pindar's head or Theron's heart. 

In life or song how rare the true sublime ! 

None, British born will sure disdain 

This new, bold, moral, patriot strain, 

Though not with genius, with some virtue crowned; 

(How vain the muse !) the lay may last. 

Thus twined around the British mast. 

The British mast with nobler laurels bound ! 

Weak ivy curls round naval oak. 

And smiles at winds and storms unbroke ; 

By strength not her's sublime : thus proud to soar, 

To Britain's grandeur cleaves my strain, 

And lives and echoes through the plain, 

While o'er the billows Britain's thunders roar. 

Be dumb, ye groveling sons of verse. 

Who sing not actions, but rehearse, i 

And fool the muse with impotent desire t 

Ye sacrilegious ! who presume 

To tarnish Britain's naval bloom. 

Sing Britain's fame, with all her hero's fire. 

CHORUS. 

Ye Syrens, sing ; ye Tritons, blow ; 

Ye Nereids, dance ; ye billows, flow ; 

Roll to my measures, O ye starry throng ! 

Ye winds, in concert breathe around ; 

Ye navies, to the concert bound 

From pole to pole ; to Britain all belong : 

Britain to heaven : from heaven descends my song. 



-Tibi res antiquae laudis, et artia 



Ingredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes ; 
Aseraeumque cano Romana per oppida carmen.— Ftrg- 



162 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



ON PART OF THE BOOK OF JOB.* 



TiiRicE happy Jobt long lived in rccfal state, 
Nor saw the sumptuous East a prince so great ; 
Whose worldly stores in such abundance flowed, 
Whose heart with such exalted virtue glowed. 
At length misfortunes take their turn to reign, 
And ills on ills succeed, a dreadful train ! 
What now but deaths, and poverty, and wrong. 
The sword wide-wasting, the reproachful tongue, 
And spotted plagues, that marked his limbs all o'er 
So thick with pains, they wanted room for more ? 
A change so sad what mortal heart could bcarl 
Exhausted wo had left him nought to fear. 
But gave him all to grief Low earth he pressed. 
Wept in tlie dust, and sorely smote his breast. 
His friends around the deep alHiction mourned. 
Pelt all his pangs, and groan for groan returned ; 
In anguish of their hearts their mantles rent. 
And seven long days in solemn silence spent; 
A debt of reverence to distress so great ! 
Then Job contained no more, but cursed his fate. 
His day of birth, its inauspicious light, 
Ho wishes sunk in sliades of endless night. 
And blotted from the year, nor fears to crave 
Death, instant death, impatient for the grave, 
That seat of peace, that mansion of repose, 
Where rest and mortals are no longer foes ; 



* It is disputed among the critics, who was the autlior of 
the book of Job ; sonic give it to Moses, some to others. As I 
■was engaged in tliis liiilo performance, some arguments oc- 
curred to me wliich favour the lormer of these opiniotis ; argu- 
ments I have flung into the following notes, where little else 
is to be expected. 

1 The Almiglity's speech, chap, xxxviii. &c. which is what 
1 paraplirasc in tliis liltlo work, is by much the finest part of 
tlie noblest and nnwt ancient poem in llie world. Bishop Pa- 
trick says, its grandeur is as much above all other poetry, as 
thunder is louder tlian a wliispcr. In order to set this distin- 
guished part of the poem in a fuller liglil, and give tlio reader 
a clearer conception of it, I have abridged the preceding and 
Bubsequent parts of the poem, and joined them to it; sotliat 
tliis book is a sort of an epitome of the whole book of Job. 

I use the word paraphrase, because I want another which 
might better answer to the uncommon libeilios I liave tiiken. 
I have omitted, added, and U-ansposed. Tlic mountain, Uio 
comet, tlio sini, and other parts, are entirely added : tho.se up- 
on the peacock, the lion, &c. are much enlarged; and I have 
thrown the whole into a method more suitable to our notions 
of regularity. The jiulicious, if they compare this piece with 
the oiiginal, will, I flatter myself, find the reasons for the great 
liberties I have indulged myself in through tlio whole. 

Longinus has a chapter on interrogations, which shows that 
they contribute very much to the sublime. This speech of the 
Almighty is made up of them. Interrogation seems, indeed, 
tlio proper stylo of majesty incensed. It diflcra from other 
manner of reproof as bidding a person execute himself does 
from a common execution ; for he that asks Uio guilty a pro- 
per question, makes him, in effect, pasa sentence on liiinself. 



Where counsellors are hushed, and mighty kingfl 
(O happy turn !) no more are wretched things. 

His words were daring, and displeased his friends j 
His conduct they reprove, and he defends; 
And now they kindled into warm debate. 
And sentiments opposed with equal heat ; 
Fixed in opinoin, both refuse to yield, 
And summon all their reason to the field : 
So high, at length, their arguments were wrought, 
Thoy reached the last extent of human thought : 
A pause ensued : — when lo, heaven interposed, 
And awfully the long contention closed. 
Full o'er their heads, with terrible surprise, 
A sudden whirlwind blackened all the skie.s : 
(They saw, and trembled !) from the darkness broke 
A dreadful voice, and thus th' Almighty spoke.* 

Who gives liis tongue a loose so bold and vain, 
Censures my conduct, and reproves my reign. 
Lills up his thought against me from the dust, 
And tells the world's Creator what is just: 
Of late so brave, now lift a dauntless eye, 
Face my demand, and give it a reply — 
Where didst thou dwell at Nature's early birth'? 
Who laid foundations for the spacious earth 1 
Who on its surface did extend tlie line, 
Its form determine, and its bulk confine 1 
Who fixed the corner-stone? What hand, declare, 
Hung it on nought, and fastened it on air. 
When the bright morning stars in concert sung. 
When heaven's high arch with loud hosannas 

rung. 
When shouting sons of God the triumph crowned, 
And the wide conclave thundered with the sound? 
Earth's numerous kingdoms, hast thou viewed them 

ain 

And can thy span of knowfedge grasp the balll 
Who heaved the mountain which sublimely stands, 
And casts its shadow into distant lands ? 

Who, stretching forth his sceptre o'er the deep, 
Can the wide world indue subjection keep"? 
I broke the globe, I scooped its hollow side. 
And did a bason for the floods provide : 
I chained them with my word : the boiling sea, 
Worked up in tcinpcsts, hears my great decree ; 



' The book of Job is well known to be dramatic, and, liko 
the tragedies of old Greece, is fiction built on truth. Probably 
this most noble part of it, the Almighty speaking out of the 
whirlwind (so suitable to the after-practice of the Greek stage, 
when there happened dignus vindice tiodus) is fictitious; 
but it is a fiction more agreeable to the time in which Job 
lived than to any since. Frequent before the law were tlie 
appearances of tlic Almightyafter this manner, Exod. ch.xix. 
Ezek. ch. i, &c. Hence is he said to dwell in thick darkTieaa, 
and have his teatj in the tchirltcind, 



A PARAPHRASE, &c. 



163 



" Thus far thy floating tide shall be conveyed ; 
And here, O Main ! be thy proud billows stayed."* 
Hast thou explored the secrets of the deep, 
"Where, shut from use, unnumbered treasures sleep? 
Wliere, down a thousand fathoms from the day, 
Springs the great fountain, mother of the sea? 
Those gloomy paths did thy bold foot e'er tread, 
Whole worlds of waters rolling o'er thy head. 
Hath the cleft centre opened wide to thee? 
Death's inmost chambers didst thou ever see 1 
E'er knock at his tremendous gate, and wade 
To the black portal through the incumbent shade? 
Deep are those shades ; but shades still deeper hide 
My counsels from the ken of human pride. 

Where dwells the Light 1 in what refulgent 
dome? 
And where has darkness made her dismal home? 
Thou know'st, no doubt, since thy large heart is 

fraught 
With ripened wisdom, through long ages brought, 
Since Nature was called forth when thou wast by. 
And into being rose beneath thine eye ! 

Are mists begotten 1 who their father knew ? 
From whom descend the pearly drops of dew ? 
To bind the stream by night what hand can boast? 
Or whiten morning with the hoary frost? 
Whose powerful breath, from northern regions 

blown. 
Touches the sea, and turns it into stone ? 
A sudden desart spreads o'er realms defaced, 
And lays one half of the creation waste? 
Thou know'st me not; thy blindness can not see 
How vast a distance parts thy God from thee. 
Can'st thou in whirlwinds mount aloft? can'st 

thou 
In clouds and darkness wrap thy awful brow ! 
And when day triumphs in meridian light. 
Put forth thy hand and shade the world with night? 

Who launched the clouds in air, and bid them 
roll 
Suspended seas aloft, from pole to pole ? 
Who can refresh the burning sandy plain, 
And quench the summer with a waste of rain ? 
A'Vho in rough desarts, far from human toil, 
Made rocks bring forth, and desolation smile? 
There blooms the rose where human face ne'er 

shone. 
And spreads its beauties to the sun alone. 

To check the shower who lifts his hand on high, 
And shuts the sluices of the' exhausted sky, 



* There is a very great air in all that precedes, but this is 
signally sublime. We are struck with admiration to see the 
vast and ungovernable ocean receiving commands, and punc- 
tually obeying them ; to find it like a managed horse, raging, 
toesing, and foaming, but by the rule and direction of its mas- 
ter. This passage yields in sublimity to that of Let there he 
light, ifc. so much only, as the absolute government of nature 
yields to the creation of it. 

Tlie like spirit in these two passages is no bad concurrent 
argument that Moses is author of ilie book of Job. 

2G 



When earth no longer mourns her gaping veins, 
Her naked mountains, and her russet plains, 
But, new in life, a ciieerful prospect yields 
Of shining rivers, and of verdant fields; 
When groves and forests lavish all their bloom. 
And earth and heaven are tilled with rich per- 
fume ? 
Hast thou e'er scaled my wint'ry skies, and seen 
Of hail and snows my northern magazine ? 
These the dread treasures of mine anger are. 
My fund of vengeance for the day of war. 
When clouds rain death, and stonns, at my com- 
mand. 
Rage through the world, or waste a guilty land. 

Who taught the rapid winds to fly so fiist; 
Or shakes the centre with his eastern blast ? 
Who from the skies can a whole deluge pour ? 
Who rides through nature with a solemn roar 
Of dreadful thunder, points it where to fall. 
And in fierce lightning wraps tlie flying ball? 
Not he who trembles at tlie darted fires. 
Falls at the sound, and in the flash expires. 

Who drew the comet out to such a size, 
And poured his flaming train o'er half the skies ? 
Did thy resentment hang him out ? Does he 
Glare on the nations, and denounce from thee ? 

Who on low earth can moderate the rein 
That guides the stars along the ethereal plain ? 
Appoint their seasons, and direct their course, 
Their lustre brighten, and supply their force? 
Can'st thou the skies' benevolence restrain, 
And cause the Pleiades to shine in vain ? 
Or, when Orion sparkles from his sphere. 
Thaw the cold season, and unbind the year? 
Bid Mazzaroth his destined station know, 
And teach the bright Arcturus where to glow? 
Mine is the Night, with all her stars; I pour 
Myriads, and myriads I reserve in store. 

Dost thou pronounce where Daylight shall be 
born, 
And draw the purple curtains of the Morn? 
Awake the Sun, and bid him come away, 
An<l glad thy world with his obsequious ray? 
Hast thou, enthroned in flaming glory, driven 
Triumphant round the spacious ring of heaven? , 
That pomp of light, what hand so far displays, 
That distant earth lies basking in the blaze 1 

Who did the soul with her rich powers invest, 
And light up reason in the human breast. 
To shine, with fresh increase of lustre, bright, 
When stars and sun are set in endless night? 
To these my various questions make reply. 
The Almighty spoke, and, speaking, shook the 
sky. 

What then, Chaldean Sire! was thy surprise? 
Thus thou, with trembling heart, and downcast 

eyes: 
"Once and again, which I in groans deplore, 
My tongue has erred, lut shall presume no more. 



164 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



My voice is in eternal silence bound, 

And all my soul falls prostrate to the ground." 

He ceased : when, lo ! again the' Almighty spoke ; 
The same dread voice from the black whirlwind 
broke ! 

Can that arm measure with an arm divine 1 
And can'st thou thunder with a voice like mine 1 
Or in the hollow of thy hand contain 
The bulk of waters, the wide-spreading main, 
When, mad with tempests, all the billows rise 
In all their rage, and dash the distant skies 1 

Come forth, in Beauty's excellence arrayed, 
And be the grandeur of thy power displayed; 
Put on omnipotence, and, frowning, make 
The spacious round of the creation shake; 
Despatch thy vengeance, bid it overthrow 
Triumphant Vice, lay lolty tyrants low. 
And crumble them to dust. When this is done, 
I grant thy safety lodged in thee alone; 
Of thee thou art, and may'st undaunted stand 
Behind the buckler of thine own right hand. 

Fond man ! the vision of a moment made ! 
Dream of a dream ! and shadow of a shade ! 
What worlds hast thou produced, what creatures 

framed, 
What insects cherished, that thy God is blamed 1 
When, pained with hunger, the wild raven's brood 
Loud calls on God,* importunate for food ; 
Who hears their cry, who grants their hoarse re- 
quest. 
And still the clamour of the craving nest 1 
Who in the stupid ostricht has subdued 
A parent's care, and fond inquietude 1 
Wliile far she flies, her scattered eggs are found, 
Without an owner on the sandy ground ; 
Cast out on fortune, they at mercy lie, 
And borrow life from an indulgent sky : 
Adopted by the Sun, in blaze of day, 
They ripen under his prolific ray ; 



■ Another argument that Mose.s was the author is, that most 
of the creatures here mentioned are Egyptian. The reason 
given wliy the raven is paitic.ularly mentioned as an object 
of the care of Providence is, because by her clamorous and 
importunate voice she particularly seems always calling upon 
It. And since there were ravens on the Nile more clamorous 
than the vest of that species, those probably are meant in this 
place. 

I There are many instances of this bird's stupidity : let two 
euffice. iMi-st, it covers its head in the rcetls, and tliinks it- 
self out of sight. 

Secondly, Tlicy that go in the pursuit of them draw tlie skin 
of an ostrich's neck on one hand, which provesaBuflicientlLure 
to take I hem with the other. 

They have so little brain, that Heliogabalus had six hundred 
heads for his supper. 

Here we may see that our judicious as well as sublime au- 
thor just touches the points of distinction in each creature, and 
then hastens to another. A description ia exact when you can 
MDt add, but what is common to another thing ; nor withdraw, 
but something peculiarly belonging to the thing described. A 
likeness is lost in too'much description, as a meaning often in 
too much illustration. 



Unmindful she that some unhappy tread 
May crush her young in their neglected bed : 
What time she skims along the field with speed,* 
She scorns the rider and pursuing steed.t 

How rich the peacock \t what bright glories run 
From plume to plume, and vary in the sun ! 
He proudly spreads them to the golden ray, 
Gives all his colours, and adorns the day ; 
With conscious state the spacious round displays, 
And slowly moves amid the waving blaze. 

Wlio taught the hawk to find, in seasons wise, 
Perpetual summer, and a change of skies 1 
When cloudsdeform the year, she mounts the wind, 
Shoots to the south, nor fears the storm behind ; 
The sun returning, she returns again. 
Lives in his beams, and leaves ill days to men. 

Though strong the hawk, though practised well 
to fly,§ 
An eagle drops her in a lower sky : 
An eagle, when, deserting human sight. 
She seeks the sun in her unwearied flight: 
Did thy command her yellow pinion lift 
So high in air, and seat her on the clift. 
Where far above thy world she dwells alone, 
And proudly makes the strength of rocks her own ; 
Thence wide o'er nature takes her dread survey. 
And with a glance predestinates her prey 111 
She feasts her young with blood, and, hovering o'er 
The unslaughtered host, enjoys the promised gore. 

Kiiowest thou how many moons, by me assigned, 
Roll o'er the mountain goat and forest hind, IT 



' Here is marked another peculiar quality of this creature, 
which neither Hies nor runs directly, but has a motion com- 
posed of botli, and using its wings as sails, makes great speed. 

I Xenophon says, Cyrus liad horses that could overtake the 
goat and the wild ass, but none that could reach this creature. 
A thousand golden ducats, or an hundred camels, was the 
slated price of a horse that could equal their speed. 

} Though this bird is but just mentioned in my author, I 
could not forbear going a little further, and spreading those 
beautiful plumes (which are shut up) into half a dozen lines. 
The circumstance I have marked of his opening his plumes to 
the sun is true : Expandit colores adversa 7naxiin sole, quia 
sicfiilgcntiiis radiant. Plin. Ix. c. 20. 

§ Tluianus ( De re Accip.) mentions a hawk that flew from 
Paris to London in a night. 

And the Egyptians, in regard to its swiftness, made it their 
symbol for the wind; for which reason we may suppose the 
hawk, as well as the crow above, to have been a bird of note 
in Egypt. 

II The eagle is said to be of so acute a sight, that when she ia 
so liigh in the air that man can not see her, she can discern the 
smallest fish under water. My author accurately understood 
the nature of the creatures he describes, and seems to have 
been a naturalist as well as a poet, which the next note will 
confirm. 

H Tlio meaning of this question is, Knowest thou the time 
and circumstances of their bringing forth 1 for to know tlie 
time only was easy, and had nothing extraordinary in it; but 
the circumstance had something peculiarly expressive of God's 
providence, which makes the question projicr in this place. 
Pliny obsei-ves, that the hind with young is by instinct direct- 
ed to a certain herb called Seselis, which facilitates the birth. 
Thunder also (which looks like tiic more immediate hand of 



A PARAPHRASE, &c. 



165 



While pregnant, they a motlier's load sustain 7 
They bend in anguish, and cast forth their pain. 
Hale arc their young, from human frailties freed, 
Walk unsustained, and unassisted feed: 
They live at once, forsake the dam's warm side. 
Take the wide world, with Nature for their guide ; 
Bound o'er the lawn, or seek the distant glade, 
And find a home in each delightful shade. 

Will the tall reein, which knows no lord but me, 
Low at the crib, and ask an alms of thee 7 
Submit his unworn shoulder to the yoke, 
Break the stiff clod, and o'er thy furrow smoke? 
Since great his strength, go trust him, void of care, 
Lay on his neck the toil of all tlic year ; 
Bid him bring home the seasons to thy doors. 
And cast his load among the gathered stores. 

Didst thou from service the wild ass discharge. 
And break his bonds, and bid him live at large ; 
Through the wide waste, his ample mansion, roam. 
And lose himself in his unbounded home 1 
By Nature's hand magnificently fed, 
His meal is on the range of mountains spread ; 
As in pure air aloft he bounds along. 
He sees in distant smoke the city throng; 
Conscious of freedom, scorns the smothered train. 
The threatening driver, and the servile rein. 

Survey the warlike horse ! didst thou invest 
With thunder his robust distended chest? 
No sense of fear his dauntless soul allays ; 
'Tis dreadful to behold his nostrils blaze : 
To paw the vale he proudly takes delight, 
And triumphs in the fulness of his might : 
High raised, he snuffs the battle from afar, 
And burns to plunge amid the raging war ; 
And mocks at death, and throws his foam around. 
And in a storm of fury shakes the ground. 
How does his firm, his rising heart, advance 
Full on the brandished sword and shaken lance 
While his fixed eye-balls meet the dazzling shield, 
Gaze, and return the lightning of the field ! 
He sinks the sense of pain in generous pride, 
Nor feels the shaft that trembles in his side; 
But neighs to the shrill trumpet's dreadful blast. 
Till death, and when he groans, he groans his last. 

But fiercer still, the lordly lion stalks, 
Grimly majestic in his lonely walks : 
When round he glares, all living creatures fly; 
He clears the desart with his rolling eye. 
Say, mortal, does he rouse at thy command, 
And roar to thee, and live upon thy hand 1 
Dost thou for him in forests bend thy bow, 
And to his gloomy den the morsel throw. 
Where, bent on death, lie hid his tawny brood. 
And, crouched in dreadful ambush, pant for blood; 
Or stretched on broken limbs, consume the day. 
In darkness wrapt, and slumber o'er their prey 1 



By the pale moon thoy take their destined round,* 
And lash their sides and i'urious tear the ground. 
Now shrieks and dying groans the desart fill ; 
Thoy rag(?, they rend ; their ravenous jaws distil 
With crimson foam ; and when the banquet's o'er 
They stride away, and j)aint their steps with gore: 
In flight alone the shej)hcrd puts his trust, 
And shudders at tlio talon in the dust. 

Mild is my Behemoth, though large his frame; 
Smooth is his temper, and repressed his flame; 
While unprovoked. This native of the flood 
Lifts his broad foot, and puts ashore for food : 
Earth siidvs beneath him as he moves along 
To seek the herbs, and mingle with the throng. 
Sec, with what strength his hardened loins are 

bound. 
All over proof, and shut against a wound! 
How like a mountain cedar moves his tail 1 
Nor can his complicated sinews fail. 
Built high and wide, his solid bones surpass 
Tiie bars of steel; his ribs arc ribs of brass; 
His port majestic, and his armed jaw. 
Give the wide forest and the mountain law. 
The mountains feed him; there the beasts admire 
The mighty stranger, and in dread retire; 
At length his greatness nearer they survey, 
Graze in his shadow, and his eye obey. ' 
The fens and marshes are his cool retreat, 
His noontide shelter from the burning heat ; 
Their sedgy bosoms his wide couch are made, 
And groves of willows give him all their shade. 

His eye drinks Jordan up, when, fired with 
drought. 
He trusts to turn its current down his throat; 
In lessened waves it creeps along the plain ; 
He sinks a river, and he thirsts again. 

Go to the Nile, and, from its fruitful side, 
Cast forth thy line into the swelling tide; 
With slender hair Leviathant command. 
And stretch his vastness on the loaded strand. 
Will he become thy servant 1 will he own 
Thy lordly nod, and tremble at thy frownl 
Or with his sport amuse thy leisure day. 
And, bound in silk with thy soft maidens play 1 " 

Shall pompous banquets swell with such a j)rizc7 
And the bowl journey round his ample size ? 
Or the debating merchant share tlie prey. 
And various limbs to various marts convey? 
Through his firm skull what steel its way can win? 
What forceful engine can subdue his skin ? 



Providence) has the same effect, Ps. xxix. In so early an 
age to oljserve these things may style our author a naturalist. 



' Pursuing Ihoir prey by night is true of most wild beasts, 
paniculiirly the lion, Psal. civ. 20. The Arabians have one 
among their five huiiihcd names for the lion, which Bignilies 
the hunter hy moonshine. 

t The taking the crocodile is most dimcuK. Diodorus says, 
they are not to be taken but by iron nets. When Augustus 
conquered Egypt, he struck a medal, the impress of which 
wiis a crocodile chained to a palm-tree, with this Inscriptionj 
Nemo antea religavit. 



IGG 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Fly fur, and live; tempt not his matchless might; 
The hnivrst Hlirink to cowards in his sight; 
Tiio rushfst, daro not rouse liiiu up:* who tiicn 
Shall turn on me, among the sons of men! 

Am 1 a debtor? hnst thou ever heard 
Whenee come the gills wiiich niv on me conferred 1 
M3' lavish fruit a thousand vallies (ills, 
And mine the herds that graze a thousand liilis: 
Earth, sea, and air, all Nature is my own. 
And stars and sun are dust beneath my throne; 
And dar'st tiiou witii the world's great Father vie. 
Thou, who dost tremble at my creature's eye? 

At full my huge Leviathan shall rise, 
IJoast ail his strength, and spread his, wondrous 

size : 
Who, great in arms, e'er stript his shining mail, 
Or erowneil his triumph with a single sealed 
Whose heart sustains him to draw near? Behold 
Destruction yawns;t his spacious jaws unfold, 
And, marshalled round the wide exjinnse, disclose 
Teeth edged with death, and crowding rows on 

rows : 
What hideous fangs on either side arise ! 
And what a deep abyss between them lies! 
Mete with tiiy lance, and with thy plumbet sound. 
The one how long, the other how jirofound I 

I lis bulk is charged with su<'h a furious soul. 
That clouds of smoke from his spread nostrils roll 
As from a furnace ; and, when roused his ire, 
Fate issues from his jaws in streams of lire.t 
The rage of tempests, and the roar of seas, 
Thy terror, this thy great superior please; 
fcjtrength on his ample shoulder sits in state ; 
His well joined limbs are dreadfully complete; 
His flakes of solid flesh are slow to part; 
As steel his nerves, as adamant his heart. 
When, late awaked, he rears him from the floods. 
And stretching forth his stature to the clouds, 
Writlies in tlie sun aloft his scaly heigiit. 
Anil strikes the distant hills with transient light, 



• 'I'liifl nlliiilcs 10 a rnslom of this creature, which !a wlien 
Kitod wilh lisli, 10 CDino nshiire anil sloop nnionff llio roeda. 

t 'riit' crocodile's moutli i.s exceiHliiij; wide. Wlien he gapes, 
tuya I'liuy, sil latum os. Rlariial says to liis old woimiii, 
Ciiiii coinpiirala liciilms tain oni 
NiliiU'iu! lialictcrocodMus aiigusta. 

So that the exjirepsioti lliero ia liarcly just. 

} This tools nearer truth llian at llist view may ho imagined. 
TliP crocodile, cay lh(! natumlists, lying Ions; underwater, and 
lieing ttierc forced to liold its liivalh, wlien it emerges, tlio 
brcatli long repressed Ls hot, and hurst.i out so violently, that 
it resemlile.'J fnv and pnioke. The liorse snppressea not hit) 
hrealli liy any nieiina so lung, neither ia ho ao fierce and ani- 
inntiid; yei the most correct of poets ventures to uao the same 
metaphor concerning him. 

Collectnmquc premeiw volvit suh narlhna igncin. 
Jly this and tlic foregoing note, ) would caution against a fal^-o 
opinion of tlic Eastern boldnt^s, from passages in tliem ill un- 
derstood, 



Far round arc fatal dampsof terror spread. 
The mighty ft-ar, nor blush to own their dread. 
Large is his front ; and when his burnished eyes 
Lid their broad lids, the morning sceina to rise.'* 

Jn vain may death in various shapes invad<j. 
The swift-winged arrow, the dcscentling blade; 
I lis naked breast their impotence defies; 
The dart rebounds, the brittle faulchion flies. 
Shut in himself, the war without he hears, 
Safe in tiie tempest of their rattling spears; 
The cumbered strand their wasted voilies strow ; 
Ilis sport the rage, and labour of the foe. 

1 lis pastimes like a caldron boil the flood, 
And blacken ocean with a rising nmd; 
The billows feel him as he works his way, 
His hoary footsteps shine along the sea; 
The fiiam high-wrought, with white divides the 

green. 
And distant sailors point where death has been. 

His like earth bears not on her spacious face; 
Alone in nature stands his datmtless race. 
For utter ignorance of f<>ar renowned : 
In wrath he rolls his baleful eye around; 
Makes every swoln disdainful heart subside, 
And holds dominion o'er the sous of Pride. 

Then the Chaldean eased his lalwuring breast. 
With full conviction of his crime oppressed. 

" Thou can'st accomplish all things, Lord of 
might ! 
A nd every thought is naked to thy sight : 
But, oh ! thy ways arc wonderful, and lio 
Beyond the deepest reach of mortal eye. 
Ofl have I heard of thine Almighty power, 
Hut never saw thee till this dreadful hour. 
O'erwhelmed witii shame, the Lord of life I see, 
Abiior myself, and give my soid to thee ; 
Nor shall my weakness tempt thino anger more : 
Man is not made to question, but adore." 

* Ill's ei/ea are like the ei/elids of the jnorning. I think tliis 
gives us as great an image of the thing it would expiesa oa 
CJin enter the thought of man. It ia not improhahle that tl»e 
Egyptians stole their hieroglyphic for the morning, which la 
tlio crocodile's eye, from this juissago, though no commentator 
I liave seen mentions it. It is easy to conceive how the Egyp- 
tians should he both readers and admirers of the writings of 
Biases, whom I suppose the aiulior of this poem. 

I have ol)scrved already that three or four of the creatures 
liere described are Egyptian ; tlie two last are notoriously so; 
they are the river-horse and the crocodile, those celebrated in- 
liiibilanls of the Nile; and on these two it is that our author 
ciiiedy dwells. It would have been exjiecled from an author 
more remote from that river than Mosea, in a cataloguo of 
civaiures priHluced to magniiy their t'realor, to have dwelt on 
the two largest works of his hand, r/e. the elephant and tho 
whale. This is so natural an expectation, that some com- 
mentators have rendered behemoth and leviathan tho elephant 
and whale, though the descriptions in our author will not ad- 
mit of It ; but Moses being, aa we may well aupiHise, mider an 
immediate terror of tho hi|ipopotamus and crocodile, fromtlicir 
daily miscliiels and ravages around him, it is very accoiuUabto 
1 why he should pcrmU tlicm lo take place. 



RESIGNATION. 



ICT 



IN TWO I'AllTH. 

AXD A POSTSCRIPT. 

TO MRS. B ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ . 



My soul shall bo satlsdeil, even us it were with marrow unti fatncsH ; when my mouth praJHcth thco wilh joyful \\^. 

I'fuln Uiii. ft. 



PART I. 

The days how few, how short the yeani, 
Of inaii'n too rajjid nicv. ! 
Each leavinff as it swiftly flics, 
A sliortcr in its place. 

They who the longest lease enjoy, 
Have tolc] us with a sijrh, 
That to he born seems httlo more 
Than to begin to die. 

Numbers there are who feel this truth 
Witli fears alarmed; and yet, 
In life's delusion lulled asleep, 
This weighty truth forget. 

And am I not to these akin 1 
Ag(! »Iumh(^r8 o'er the quill; 
Its honour blots whate'er it writes, 
And am I writing slilH 

Conscious of Nature in decline. 
And languor in my thoughts, 
To Hof\en ci^nsure and abate 
Its rigour on my faults, 

Permit me, Madam ! ere to you 
The promised verse I |>ay. 
To touch on felt Infirmity, 
Sad sister of Decay. 

One world deceased, another born. 

Like Noah tiiey behold, 

O'er whoso while hairs and furrowed brows 

Too many suns have rolled. 

ITappy the patriarch 1 he rejoiced 
His second world to see; 
My second world, though gay the scene, 
Can boast no charms for me. 

To me this brilliant ago appears 
With dt'Koliition spread ! 
Near all witli whom I lived and smiled, 
Whilst life was life, are dead ; 

And with them died my joys : the grave 
Has l)roken Nature's laws, 
And closed against this feeble frame 
Its partial cruel jaws : 

2 a* 



Cruel to spare ! condcnmed to life I 
A cloud im[)airs my Kiglil ! 
My weak hand disobeys my will. 
And trembles as I write. 

What shall t write ? Thalia tell ; 
Say, long niiaiidoncd muse! 
What field of fancy shall 1 rangel 
What subject shall 1 choose'? 

A choice of moment high inspire. 
And rescue iw. from shante, 
For doting on thy charms so late. 
By grandeur in my theme. 

I'>eyond tiie them(>s wiiich most admire, 
Which dazzle or amaze; 
Heyond renowned exploits of war. 
Bright charms, or ein[)ire's blaze. 

Are tliemes, which, in a world of wo. 
Can best appcaHe our pain, 
And in an age of gaudy guilt, 
Ciay Folly's flood restrain; 

Amidst tbe storms of life support 
A calm unshaken mind, 
And witli uriliHlitig liuircls crown 
The brow of the resigned. 

Resignation ! yet unsung, 
Untouched by former strains, 
'I'hougii cl.iiining every muse's smile, 
And every jxK't's pains: 

Heneatli life's evening solemn shade 

1 dedicate my page 

To tiiee, thou safest guard of youth ! 
'I'hou sole su[ip()rt of age ! 

All other duties crescents are 
Of virtue faintly brigiit; 
The glorious consniniiiation thou! 
Whicii fills her orh with light: 

ITow rarely filled ! the love divine 
In evils to discx'rn ; 
This the firstl Ichsou which we want. 
The latest wiiieh we learn: 

A melancholy trutii ! for know, 
Could our proud hearts resign, 



168 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



The distance greatly would decrease 
'Twixt human and divine. 

But though full noble is my theme, 
Full urgent is my call 
To soften sorrow, and forbid 
The bursting tear to fill : 

The task I dread: dare I to leave 
Of human prose the shore, 
And put to sea! a dangerous sea t 
What throngs have sunk before ! 

How proud the poet's billows swell ! 
The God ! the God! his boast ; 
A boast how vain! what wrecks abound! 
Dead bards stench every coast. 

What then am I? shall I presume, 
On such a moulton wing, 
Above the general wreck to rise 
And in my winter sing "? 

When nightingales, when sweetest bards. 
Confine their charming song 
To summer's animating heats. 
Content to warble young. 

Yet write I must ; a lady* sues ; 
How shameful her request! 
My brain in labour for dull rhyme ! 
Hers t»eming with the best! 

But you a stranger will excuse, 
Nor scorn his feeble strain ; 
To you a stranger, but, through fate, 
No stranger to your pain. 

The ghost of Grief deceased ascends. 
His old wound bleeds anew; 
His sorrows are recalled to life 
By those he sees in you : 

Too well he knows the twisted strings 
Of ardent hearts combined, 
When rent asunder, how they bleed. 
How hard to be resigned. 

Those tears you pour his eyes have shed ; 
The pang you feel he felt ; 
Thus Nature, loud as Virtue, bids 
His heart at yours to melt. 

But what can heart or head suggest 1 
What sad Experience say? 
Through truths austere to peace we work 
Our rugged gloomy way. 

What are wcl whence? for what? and whither' 
Who know not needs must mourn: 
But Thought, bright daughter of the Skies! 
Can tears to triumph turn. 



■Mrs.M- 



Thought is our armour ; 'Tis the mind's 
Impenetrable shield. 
When, sent by Fate, we meet our foes 
In sore Affliction's field : 

It plucks the frightful mask from ills, 
Forbids pale fear to hide. 
Beneath that dark disguise a friend, 
Which turns Affection's tide. 

Affection frail I trained up by Sense, 
From Reason's channel strays, 
And whilst it blindly jjoints at peace, 
Our peace to pain betrays. 

Thought winds its fond erroneous stream 

From daily-dying flowers, 

To nourish rich immortal blooms, 

In amaranthine bowers: 

Whencs throngs, in ecstacy, look down 
On what once shocked their sight, 
And thank the terrors of the past 
For ages of delight. 

All withers here ; who most possess 
Are losers by their gain ; 
Stung by full proof, that, bad at best, 
Life's idle, all is vain : 

Vain, in its course, life's murm'ring stream ; 
Did not its course offend. 
But murmur cease, life, then, would seem 
Still vainer from its end. 

How wretched ! who, through cruel fate, 
Have nothing to lament. 
With the poor alms this world affords, 
Deplorably content 1 

Had not the Greek his world mistook, 
His wish had been most wise ; 
To be content with but one world. 
Like hinf, we should despise, 

Of earth's revenue would you state 
A full account and fair? 
We hope, and hope, and hope, then cast 
The total up— despair. 

Since vain all here, all future, vast, 
Embrace the lot assigned ; 
Heaven wounds to heal; its frowns are friends; 
Its strokes severe most kind. 

But in lapsed nature rooted deep. 
Blind Error domineers. 
And on fools' errands in the dark. 
Sends out our hopes and fears ; 

Bids us for ever pains deplore. 
Our pleasures over-prize; 
These oft persuade us to be weak, 
[Those urge us to be wise. 



RESIGNATION. 



109 



From Virtue's rugged path to riglit, 
]'>y i)Iea8ure are we brought 
'I'o (lowory fields of wrong, and there 
Fain cliidcs us for our I'liult : 

Yet wliilst it chides it speaks of peace, 
If folly is withstood, 
And says. Time pays an easy price, 
For our eternal good. 

I u earth's dark cot, and in an hour. 
And in delusion great. 
What an economist is man ! 
To spend his whole estate, 

And hcggar an eternity! 

For which, as he was horn, 

More worlds than one against it weighed, 

As feathers he should scorn. 

Say not your loss in triumph leads, 
Religion's feeble strife; 
Joys future amply reimburse 
Joys bankrupts of this life. 

But not deferred your joy so long. 
It bears an early date; 
Aflliction's ready pay in hand 
Befriends ouv present stale. 

What are the tears which trickle down 
Her melancholy face, 
Like liquid pearl 1 like pearls of price, 
They purchase lasting peace. 

Grief softens hearts, and curbs the will, 
Impetuous passion tames, 
And kee|)s insatiate keen desire 
From launc!>iag in extremes. 

Through Time's dark womb, our judgment right, 
If our dim eye was thrown, 
Clear should we see the will divine 
Has but forestalled our own. 

At variance with our future wish. 
Self-severed, we complain: 
If so, the wounded, not tiie wound. 
Must answer for the pain. 

The day shall come, and switl of wing, 
Though you may tliink it slow. 
When, in the list of Fortune's smiles, 
You'll enter frowns of wo. 

For mark the path of Providence ; 
This course it has pursued, 
" Pain is the parent, wo the womb, 
Of sound important good :" 

Our hearts arc fastened to this world 
By strong and endless ties; 
And every sorrow cuts a string. 
And urges us to rise. 



'Twill sound severe — yet rest assured 
I'm studious of your peace; 
Though I should dare to give you joy — 
Yes, joy of his decease. 

An hour shall come, (you question this) 
An hour, when you shall bless. 
Beyond the brig! itest beams of life. 
Dark days of your distress. 

Hear then, without surprise, a truth, 
A daughter truth to this. 
Swift turns of fortune often tie 
A bleeding heart to bliss. 

Esteem you this a paradox 7 
My sacred motto read; 
A glorious truth, divinely sung 
By one whose heart had bled. 

To resignation swift he flew ; 

In her a friend he found; 

A friend which blessed him with a smile. 

When gasping with his wound. 

On earth nought precious is obtained 
But what is ])ainful too; 
By travel, and to travel born, 
Our sabbaths are but few. 

To real joy we work our way, 
Encountering many a shock. 
Ere found what truly charms, as found 
A Venus in the block. 

In some disaster, some severe 
Appointment for our sins, 
Th;it mother-blessing, (not so called 
True happiness, begins. 

No martyr e'er defied the flames 

By stings of life unvexed ; 

First rose some quarrel with this world. 

Then passion for the next. 

You see then pangs are parent pangs. 
The pangs of happy birth ; 
Pangs, by which only can be born 
True happiness on earth. 

The peopled earth look all around. 
Or through times records run. 
And say, what is a man unstruckl 
It is a man undone. 

This moment am I deeply stung — 

My bold pretence is tried. 

When vain man boasts, heaven puts to proof 

The vauntings of his i)ride. 

Now need I, Madam! your support. — 
How exquisite the smart! 
How critically timed the news* 
Which strikes me to the heart! 



' The death of Mr. Richardson, 



170 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Tilt" jiiuijjsofwiiicli I H[K)ko I feel: 
If worth liki- (liinc Ih borno, 
O long Ih'IovciI I 1 blcMs tlio blow, 
And triumph wliilBt 1 mourn. 

.Nor inonrn I loiifj; l)v fjrief subtlucd 
Ml' rciiHoii'H ciniiiro hIiowii, 
Deep anguish cornea by licavon's decreo, 
Continues by our own; 

And when conliiiiK-d piiHt its point, 
IndulfTt'd ill liMiijIli ot'linie, 
Grief i« disj(nice, nnd what was fato 
Corrupts into a crime. 

And Hindi I,criininidly mean, "> 

IVlywlf itnd Hubji'cl wnini^l 
No; my example sluili support 
Tlie subject of my 8onj][. 

M:\dum! I fjrnnt your loss is grcot. 

Nor iiltle is your jjain : 

Let tluit l»e vveigluHl ; when weighed aright, 

It richly pays your puin. 

When henven would kindly set us free. 
And eii rib's <<ncbantiii(Mi(send, 
It lakes the most elleetual means, 
And robs us of a iViend. 

Tint siicli !i IVicnd! — and sigh no more! 
''I'is prudcnl, but severe: 
Heaven aid my weakness, and I drop 
All sorrow- with this tear. 

Perhaps your sellled grief to sooth 
I should not vainly strive, 
l?nl Willi soil balm your pain assuagc. 
Had he been still alive; 

Whose frequent aid brought kind relief 
In my distress of thought, 
Tinsjed with bis bciuna my cloudy page, 
And beautiliiul a fault. 

To touch our passions' secret springs 
Was his peculiar care; 
And deep bis happy genius dived 
In bosoms of the fair. 

Nature, which favours to the few 
All art beyond imparls, 
To him presented, at his birth, 
The key of human hearts. 

But not to me by bill) beijucathed 
His genlle smoolb address; 
His tender band to touch the wound 
In throbbings ol'ilistress. 

Ilowe'er, ])ro<ieed I must, unblessed 
With jl'^.seulaiiian art : 
Know, l,ov(>, soiiii'iiines, mistaken Lovo I 
Plays Disa'VeetioirH part. 



Nor laixls, nor seas, nor suns, nor stars. 
Can soul from soul divide; 
They correspond from distant worlds. 
Though transports are denied. 

Are you not then unkindly kind! 
Is not your love severe i 
O I stop that crystal source of wo. 
Nor wound him with a tear. 

As those above from human bliss 
Receive increase of joy, 
May not a stroke from human wo, 
In part their peace destroy 1 

He lives in those he left; — to what! 
Your now paternal care: 
Clear from its clouds your brightened eye^ 
It will discern him there ; 

In features, not of form alone. 
Rut those, 1 trust of mind, 
Auspicious to the public weal. 
And to their fate resigned. 

Think on the tempests he sustained. 
Revolve his battles won, 
And let those prophesy your joy 
From such a father's son. 

Is consolation what you seek 1 
Fan then bis marliid lire, 
And animate to flame the sparks 
Becpicathed him by his sire. 

As nothing greot is born in haste. 
Wise Nature's time allow; 
His father's laurels may descend. 
And flourish on his brow. 

Nor, Madam ! be surprised to heixr, 
That laurels may Ih> due 
Not more to heroes of the field 
(Proud boasters!) than to you. 

Tender as is the female frame, 
Like that brave man you mourn, 

You are a soldier, and to fight 
Superior battles born. 

Beneath a banner nobler far 
Than ever was imfurled 
In fields of blood ; a baimer bright ! 
High-waved o'er all the world; 

It, like a streaming meteor, casta 
An universal light ; 
Sheds day, sheds more, eternal day. 
On nations whelmeil in night. 

Beneath that banner, what exploit 
Can nioimt our glory higher. 
Than to sustain the dreadful blow, 
When those wo lovo expire 1 



RESIGNATION. 



171 



Go forth a moral Amazon, 
Arinod with uiulnuiitoil tliou^Iit; 
Till" Imttlc won, tlion;jli coHtiiij; (l<';ir, 
^'ou'll tliiiik it clicjiiily lioiic^lil. 

'I'lic piisdivo horo, who sits down 
Uiittctivo, nnd can amilo 
Jicnciitli Aflliclion'M gulling load, 
t)nliu'tn II (^iihiu''h Idil. 

'I'hc billows 8t,iiii('d hy bhiiightcrcd foes 
IiiHrrior pruiso uH'ord; 
]li':iHoii's a l)l()()(lli'H>i coliqiKTi'r 
]\loro i^loriouH thiiii tlic Hword. 

Nor I'iin tli(> tlMiiidcr of hu/./.aa 
From siioiitinjj nations, cause 
SiK'Ii Hvvect dcljijht, nH (Voin your heart 
Soil whisjuM's of ii|)|)l;uis(V 

'J'hc dear dcceasi'd ko famed in arms, 
With what delight lie'll view 
lliK IrltiiiiphH on the nnin outdone, 
Thus con(|U(Ted twice liy you ! 

(Share liis dehjjht ; take Iieed to shun 
Of hisonis most disoaHed 
'Phut odd disteMi|ier, iiiid absurd 
Reluctance to be pleased. 

(Some hcvm in love with Sorrow's cliarms, 
And that foul fiend embrace ; 
'J'his temi)er let me justly brand 
And stani]) it with dis^^race. 

Sorrow! of horrid parenta]L;e! 

M'liou Hocund-horn of hell! 

Ai^ainst beHveu's endlcHS mcrcics pourod 

] low dar'st thou to rebel '} 

l''roin black and noxious vapours bred, 
And nursed by want of thouffht, 
And to the door of I'Venzy's self 
]5y I'crsevt^rance brou^jrht. 

Thy moat inglorious coward teara, 
I'roiTi brutal eyes have ran; 
Smiles, inconuminicalile simlesl 
Are radiant marks of man ; 

They cast a sudden glory round 
The illumined human face; 
And li;.;ht, in sons of honest Joy, 
Some beams of Moses' face. 

Is ReHii^nalion's lesson liardT 
Kxamin(;, we shall fmil 
That duty gives up little moro 
'I'han anguish of the mind. 

Resii^ii; and all the load of life 
That moment you remove, 
ItH heavy tux, ten thousand cares 
De\ olvc on One ubovo ; 



Who bids us lay our burden down 
On his Almighty hand, 
Soflens our duty to relief. 
To blessing a command. 

l''or joy what cause ! how every Kcnse 
Is courted from above, 
The year around, with presents rich 
The growth of endlcHS love! 

But must o'erlook the blessings pourod, 
forget the wonders done. 
And tcrininate, wra|>t \ip in senso, 
'I'heir prospect at the suu ; 

l"'rom that their /inal jxtint of view, 
From that their radiant goal, 
( )n travel in(iMile of thought. 
Sets out the nobler soul. 

Broke loose from Time's U-nacious ties, 
And earth's involving gloom. 
To raug(^ at large its vast domain, 
And talk with worlds to come: 

They let unmarked, and unemployed 
Life'M idle monuwits run ; 
And doing nothing for themselves, 
Imagint^ nothing done. 

Fatal mistake I their fate goes on. 
Their dread account proceeds. 
And their not-doing is set down 
Amongst their tlarkest deeds. 

Though man sits still, and takes his ease, 
God is at work on man : 
No means, no moments unem|)loycd. 
To blcKS him, if he can. 

I'ut man consents not, boldly bent 
To fashion his own fate; 
Man, a mere bungler in the trade, 
Uepents his crime too late. 

Honco loud laments. Let me thy cause, 

Indulgent l''atlier! plead; 

( )f all the wretcheH we deplore. 

Not one by thee was made. 

What is thy whole creation fair? 

Of love divine tlu! child: 

liove brought it forth, and, from its birth, 

lias o'er it fondly smiled. 

Now, and through jieriods distant far, 
fiOng ere the world began, 
Heaven is, and has in travail been, 
Its birth the good of man. 

Miin holds in consl.'int service bound 
The blusli'ring winds and seas; 
Nor suns disdain to travel hard. 
Their inaetur, man, to please, 



172 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



To final good tlui worst ovcnta 
Throiiijli sivrt't clmiiiit'lH run; 
Finish, li>r man, tlicir dcHtined course, 
As 'twas for man begun. 

One point (observed, perhaps, by few) 
Tins often snioti", luid smiti's 
My niiml, as di'iiionslraliim strong 
Tiiat heaven in man delijfhts. 

What's known fo man of things unseen, 
()f fiiliire worlds or fates? 
So mueh, nor more, than what to man's 
Sublime atfairs relates. 

What 's revelation tlieni a list, 
An inventory Just, 
(.)!' tlial poor insects goods so lato 
Called out of niglit and dust. 

What various motives to rejoice ! 
To render joy sineeiv, 
Has this no weiglil'! Our joy is felt 
Beyond this narrow sphere. 

Woxild wc iix heaven new heaven create, 

And doutile its tii-lighl I 

A smihng world, when lieavcn looks down. 

How pleasing in its sight! 

Angels 8ttx)p forward from the thrones 
'i'o hear its joyful lays; 
As incense sweet enjoy, and join, 
Its aromatic praise. 

Have we no cause to fear the stroke 

<^f heaven's avenging rod, 
When we presume to counteract 
A sympathetic Goil'J 

If we resign, our patience makes 
His rod an harndess wand; 
If not, it ilarls a serpent's sting, 
Like that in Moses' hand ; 

Like that it swallows up whate'er 
Karth's vain magicians bring, 
Whose ba tiled arts would boast below 
Of joys a rival spring. 

Consummate love! the list how large 
Of blessings from thy hand? 
To banish sorrow, and Ihi blessed, 
Is thy supremo conunand. 

Are such commands but ill ol>eyi\ll 
Of bliss shall we complain 1 
The man who dares to be awreteli 
Deserves still greater pain. 

Joy is our duty, glory, health; 
The sunshine of the soul ; 
Our lu'st eiicomiuin on the power 
Who sweetly plans tho whole. 



Joy is our Eden still j)ossesscd : 
Hcgonc, ignobK^ Cirief ! 
'Tis joy makes gods, and men exalts, 
Their nature our relief: 

Relief, for man to that must stoop, 
And his dut> distance know; 
Transport's the language of the skies. 
Content the stylo below. 

Content is joy ; and joy in pain 

Is joy and virtue too; 

Thus, whil.st good present wo iwssoss, 

Mon> precious we pursue. 

Of joy the more we have in hand 

The more have we to come ; 
.Toy, like our money, interest boars. 
Which daily swells tiie sum. 

" But how to smile, to stem tho tide 
Of nature in our veins; 
Is it not hard to weep in joy? 
What then to snule in pains 1" 

Victorious joy ! whieli breaks the clouds. 

And stnigsjles through a storm, 
Proclaims the mind as great as good. 
And bids it doubly charm. 

If doubly charming in our sex, 

A sex by nature bold, 

What then in yours ! 'tis diamond there. 

Triumphant o'er our gold. 

And should not this complaint rcprcsi 
And check the rising sigh'! 
Yet farliier opiate to your pain 
I labour to supply. 

Since sjiirits greatly damped distort 
Ideas of ilclight, 

Look through the medium of a friend, 
To set your notions right. 

As tears the sight, grief dims the soul; 
Its object dark appears ; 
True friendship, like a rising sun. 
The soul's horizon clears. 

A friend 's an o))tic to tlve mind 
With sorrow clouded o'er; 
And gives it stn>ngth of sight to see 
Redress unseen before. 

Reason is somewhat rough in man; 
l''.xtremely smooth and fair. 
When she, to grace her manly strength, 
Assumes a feuuile air. 

A friend you have,* and I the same, 
Whoso prudent soft address 



' MiTs. M- 



RESIGNATION. 



^H 



Will briiij; to liCf tlioHn liciiliiif; thouylitu, 
Wliicli (lied ill your dislroHH. 

Tliat fVipnd, the si)irit of my thome 
Extracliiijjr for your oum^, 
Will leave me to tins drecr, in thoughts 
Too coiiuiion, Huch uh tliehO. 

Lot thoMo liuiKMit, to whom full bowls 
Of 8|)nrklinj{ joys iiro fjivoii ; 
That (ri|)le haiK^ iiiehriateH life, 
liiibitterH deatli, and liii/.ardH iicavcn. 

Wo to liic Houl at ])erfeet case I 

'Tis hrewiiiff perfect pains; 

Lulled HeiiHoii sleepH, the Pulse is king; 

JJespotic Hcnly reif^ns. 

Have you no'rr pitied Joy's gay scenes, 
And deemed their glory dark'{ 
AhiH, poor l'',nvy ! hIio 'h hIoho blind, 
And quite njislakes her mark : 

Ilcr mark Hch hid in Sorrow's nhados, 
But sorrow well subdued ; 
And in ])rou(l l''oitiMie'H frown defied 
By meek, unborrowed good. 

By Resignation ; all in that 

A double friend may find, 

A wing to li<-av<^n, and, while on earth. 

The pillow of mankind. 

On pillows void of down for rest 
Our restless hopes wo i)lacc ; 
When hopes of heaven lie warm at least, 
Our lieartH repose in peace. 

That i)eaco which resignation yields. 
Who feel alone can guess : 
'Tis disbelieved by murmuring minds, 
They iimst conclude it leas. 

'J'he loss or gain of that alone 
Have we to hope or fear; 
That Fate controls, and can invert 
The seasons of the year. 

O ! tlie dark days, the year around. 

Of an impatient mind; 

Through clouds, an<i storms, a summer hrcaks. 

To shine on the resigned. 

While man, by that, of every grace 
And virtue is possessed. 
Foul Vice her Pandiomonium builds 
In the rel)ellious breast. 

By Resignation wo defeat 
The worst that can annoy, 
And Kufler witli far more reposo 
Than worldlings can enjoy. 



b'rom small experience Ibis 1 speak; 
() grant to those i love 
l';x|)eri(!nc(! fuller far, ye jwwcrs 
Who form our fates above! 

My love where due, if not to those 
Who leaving grandeur, came 
To shine on age in mean recess. 
And light me to my theme 1 

A theme tbemH(^lves! a thenu! how rare I 
The cliarms which tht^y display 
To triumph over captive heads. 
Are sot in bright array. 

With his own arms proud man's o'crcoine, 
Mis boasted laurels dii; ; 
Learning and (nuiiuw, wiser grown, 
To female bosoms (ly. 

This ri'volution, fixed by Fate, 
In fable was foretold ; 
The dark prediction pu/./.led witB, 
Nor could the learned unfold. 

But as those ladies'* works I read, 
They darted such a ray, 
The latent sense burst out at once. 
And shone in open day. 

So burst full ri])e disteniled fruits, 
When strongly strikers the sun; 
And from the purple grape unprcsscd, 
S[)Ontancous nectars run. 

I'allas, ('tis said) when Jove grew dull, 
Forsook his drowsy brain. 
And sprightly leapi^d into the throne 
Of Wisdom's brigbt(!r reign ; 

Her helmet took ; tiiat this, shot rays 
Of formidable wit; 
And lance, — or genius most acute, 
Which lines immortal writ ; 

And Gorgon sliield, — or, jtowcr to fright 
Man's (blly dreadful shonc! ; 
And many a blockhead (easy change!) 
Turned instantly to stone. 

Onr authors male, as tlien did Jove, 
Now Hcratrh a damaged IkwuI, 
And call for what once quartered there, 
But find the goddess lied. 

The fruit of knowledge, golden fruit! 
That once forliidden tree, 
Hedged in by surly man, is now 
To 13ritain'fl daughters free. 



.J 



' Mrs. Montague, Mrs. Carlor. 



174 



YOtJNG'S WORKS. 



In Eve (we know) of fruit so fair 
The noble thirst began ; 
And they, hke her, have caused a fall, 
A fall of fame in man. 

And since of genius in our sex, 

Addison ! with thee 
The sun is set, how I rejoice 
This sister lamp to sec ! 

It sheds, like Cynthia, silver beams 

On man's nocturnal state : 

His lessened light, and languid powers, 

1 show, wliilst I relate. 



PART 11. 



BcT what in either sex, beyond 
All parts, our glory crowns 1 
" In nitlling seasons to be calm. 
And smile while fortune frowns." 

Heaven's choice is safer than our own : 

Of ages past inquire. 

What the most formidable fate 1 

" To have our own desire." 

If, in your wrath, the worst of foes 
You wish extremely ill ; 
Expose him to the thunder's stroke, 
Or that of his own will. 

What numbers rushing down the steep 
Of inclination strong, 
Have perished in the ardent wish I 
Wish ardent, ever wrong ! 

*Tis Resignation's full reverse, 
Most wrong, as it implies 
Error most fatal in our choice, 
Detachment from the skies. 

By closing with tlie skies, we make 
Omnipotence our own ; 
That done, how formidable Ill's 
Whole army is o'erthrown ! 

No longer impotent and frail, 
Ourselves above we rise ; 
We scarce believe ourselves below ; 
We trespass on the skies. 

The Lord, and Soul, and source of all, 
Whilst man enjoys his ease, 
Is executing human will 
In earth, and air, and seas. 

Beyond us what can angels boast T 
Archangels what, require 1 
Whate'er below, above, is done. 
Is done as — we desire. 



What glory this for man so mean, 
Whose life is but a span 1 
This is meridian majesty ! 
This the sublime of man ! 

Beyond the boast of Pagan songj 
My sacred subject shines, 
And for a soil the lustre takes 
Of Rome's exalted lines. 

" All that the sun surveys subdued. 
But Cato's mighty mind" — 
How grand ! most true : yet far beneath 
The soul of the resigned. 

To more than kmgdoms, more than worlds, 
To passion that gives law : 
Its matchless empire could have kept 
Great Cato's pride in awe. ^ 

That fatal pride, whose cruel point 
Transfixed his noble breast ; 
Far nobler! if his fate sustained 
Had left to Heaven the rest : 

Then he the palm had borne away. 
At distance Caesar thrown : 
Ptt him off cheaply with the world. 
And made the skies his own. 

What can not Resignation do 1 

It wonders can perform : 

That powerful charm, " Thy will be done," 

Can lay the loudest storm. 

Come, Resignation ! then, from fields. 
Where, mounted on the wing, 
A wing of flame, blessed martyrs' souls 
Ascended to their King. 

Who is it calls thee 1 One whoso need 
Transcends the common size ; 
Who stands in front against a foe 
To which none equal rise : 

In front he stands, the brink he treads 
Of an eternal state ! 
How dreadful his appointed post ! 
How strongly armed by fate ! 

His threatening foe ! what shadows deep 
O'erwhelm his gloomy brow ! 
His dart tremendous ! — at fourscore 
My sole asylum thou. 

Haste then, O Resignation ! haste, 
'Tis thine to reconcile 
My foe and me ; at thy approach, 
My foe begins to smile. 

O for that summit of my wish. 
Whilst here I draw my breath, 
That promise of eternal life, 
A glorious smile in death. 



RESIGNATION. 



175 



What siglit, heaven's azure arch beneath, 
ITast most of Heaven to boast 1 
The man resigned, at once serene, 
And giving up the ghost. 

At doath'.s arrival they shall smile 
Who, not in lifeo'er-gay, 
Serious and frequent tliouglit send out 
To meet him in his way. 

My gay coevals ! (such there are) 
If happiness is dear, 
Approaching Death's alarming day 
Discreetly let us fear. 

The fear of death is truly wise, 
Till wisdom can rise higher; 
And, armed with pious fortitude. 
Death, dreaded once, desire. 

Grand climacteric vanities 

The vainest will despise ; 

Shocked when, beneath the snow of age, 

Man immaturely dies. 

But am not I myself the manl 
No need abroad to roam 
In quest of faults to be chastised ; 
What cause to blush at home ! 

In life's decline, when men relapse 
Into the sprts of youth, 
The second child outfools the first, 
And tempts the lash of Truth ; 

Shall a mere truant from the grave 
With rival boys engage 7 
His trembling voice attempt to sing, 
And ape the poet's rage 1 

Here, Madam! lot me visit one, 
My fault who partly shares, 
And tell myself, by telling him, 
What more becomes our years. 

And if your breast with prudent zeal 
For Resignation glows, 
You will not disapprove a just 
Resentment at its foes. 

In youth, Voltaire ! our foibles plead 

For some indulgence due ; 

When heads are white, their thoughts and aims 

Should change their colour too. 

How are you cheated by your wit I 
Old age is bound to pay, 
By Nature's law, a mind discreet. 
For joys it takes away. 

A mighty change is wrought by years, 

Reversing human lot ; 

In age 'tis honour to lie hid, 

'Tis praise to be forgot j 

25 2H 



The wise, as flowers, whicli spread at noon, 
And all their charms cx])ose. 
When evening damps and shades descend. 
Their evolutions close. 

What though your Muse has nobly soared, 
Is that our true sublime 1 
Ours, hoary friend! is to prefer 
Eternity to time. 

Why close a life so justly famed 
With such bold trash as thisl* 
This for renown] yes, such as makes 
Obscurity a bliss. 

Your trash, with mine at open war 
Is obstinately bent,t 
Like wits below, to sow your tares 
Of gloom and discontent. 

With so much sunshine at command. 
Why light with darkness mix"? 
Why dash with pain our pleasurcl why 
Your Helicon with Styxl 

Your works in our divided minds 
Repugnant passions raise. 
Confound us with a double stroke; 
We shudder, whilst we praise: 

A curious web, as finely wrought 
As genius can inspire. 
From a black bag of poison spun. 
With horror we admire. 

Mean as it is, if this is read 
With a disdainful air, 
I can't forgive so great a foe 
To my dear friend Voltaipe. 

Early I knew him, early praised, 
And long to praise him late ; 
His genius greatly I admire. 
Nor would deplore his fate : 

A flite how much to be deplored. 
At which our nature starts ! 
Forbear to fall on your own sword. 
To perish by your parts. 

"But great your name" — To feed on air 
Were then immortals bornl 
Nothing is great, of which more great. 
More glorious is the scorn. 

Can fame your carcass from the worm. 
Which gnaws us in the grave. 
Or soul from tliat which never dies. 
Applauding Europe save 1 

But fame you lose; good sense alone 
Your idol, praise can claim; 
When wild wit murders happiness. 
It puts to death our fiune. 



• Candid. 



t Second Part. 



176 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Nor boast our genius; talents bright 
E'en liuiices will desiiiso, 
If in your western beams is missed 
A genius for tho skios. 

Your taste, too, fails: what moat excels, 
True taste must relish most ; 
And what, to rival palms above, 
Can proudest laurels boast ■? 

Sound heads salvation's helmet* seek ; 
Resplendent are its rays :t 
Let that sud'ice; it needs no plume 
Of sublunary praise. 

May this enable eouched Voltaire 
To see that — all is rii;i»t. 
His eye, by (lash of wit struck blind. 
Restoring to its sijjht. 

If so, all's well: who mueh have erred, 
That much have been torj^iven ; 
I speak vvitli joy, witli joy he'll hear, 
" Voltaires are now in heaven." 

Nay, such philanthropy divine, 
So boundless in degree, 
Its marvellous of love extends 
(Stoop most profound!) to me. 

Let others cruel stars arraign. 
Or dwell on their distress; 
But let my l>age, for mercies poured, 
A grateful heart express. 

Walking, the present Gotl was seen. 
Of old, in Eden fair; 
Tho God as present, by plain steps 
Of providentiiU care, 

I behold passing through my life; 
His awful voice I hear; 
And conscious of my nakedness, 
Would hide myself for fear: 

But wliere the trees, or where the clouds, 
Can cover from his sight ! 
Naked tho centre to that eye 
To which tho sun is night. 

As yonder glittering lamps on hi^h 
Through night illumined n)ll; 
]May thougiils of him by whoin they shine 
Chase darkness from my soul ! 

My soul, wliich reads his hand as clca.T 

In my mimite affairs. 

As in his ami)le manuscript 

Of sun, and moon, and stars; 

And knows him not more bent aright 
To wield that vast machine, 



• Eph. vl. 17. 



I ^^'hk•Il his romaiKO ridicules. 



Than to correct one erring thought 
In my small world within. 

A world tiiat shall survive the fall 
Of all his wonders here ; 
Survive, when suns ten thousand drop, 
And leave a darkened sphere. 

A'on matter gross, how bright it sliincs! 
For time how great his care! 
Sure spirit and eternity 
Far richer glories share. 

Let those our hearts impress, on those 
Our contemplation dwell; 
On those my thoughts how justly thrown. 
By what I now shall tell ! 

When backward willi attentive mind 
Life's labyrinth 1 trace, 
I lind hiin far myself beyond 
Propitious to my peace : 

Through all the crooked paths I trod 
My folly he pursued ; 
My heart astray, to quick return 
Importunately wooed. 

Duo Resignation home to press 
On my capricious will. 
How many rescues did I meet 
Beneath the mask of ill ! 

How many foes in ambush laid 
l>eneath my soul's desire ! 
The deepest penitents arc made 
By what we most admire. 

Have I not sometimes, (real good 
So little mortals know !) 
Mounting the summit of my wish, 
Profoundly plunged in wol 

I rarely planned, but cause I found 
My plan's defeat to bless : 
Olt i lamented an event, 
It turned to my success. 

By sharpened appetite to give 
To good intense delight, 
Through dark and deep perplexities 
Ho led me to tho right. 

And is not this the gloomy path 
Wliich you are treading now? 
The path most gloomy leads to light. 
When our proud passions bow. 

When labouring under fancied ill. 
My spirits to sustain. 
He kindly cured with sovereign draughts 
Of unimaginod pain. 



RESIGNATIOxN. 



177 



Pained Sense from Fancy's tyranny 
Alone can set us free : 
A thousand miseries we feel, 
Till sunk in misery. 

Cloyed with a ghit of all we wish, 
Our wish we relish less : 
Success, a sort of suicide, 
Is ruined by success. 

Sometimes, he led mc near to death. 
And, pointing to the grave. 
Bid Terror whisper kind advice, 
And taught the tomb to save. 

To raise my thoughts beyond where worlds 

As spangles o'er us shine, 

One day he gave, and bid the next 

My soul's delight resign. 

We to ourselves, but through the means 

Of mirrors arc unknown ; 

(n this my fate can you descry 

No features of your own 1 

And if you can, let that excuse 
These self recording lines; 
A record modesty forbids. 
Or to small bound confines. 

In grief why deep ingulfed 1 you see 
You suffer nothing rare ; 
Uncommon grief for common fate ; 
That Wisdom can not hear. 

When streams flow backward to their source. 
And humbled flames descend. 
And mountains winged shall fly aloft, 
Then human sorrows end: 

But human prudence, too, must cease 
When sorrows domineer. 
When fortitude has lost its fire. 
And freezes into fear. 

The pang most poignant of my life 
Now heightens my delight ; 
I see a fair creation rise 
From Chaos and old Night. 

From what seemed horror and despair. 
The richest harvest rose, 
And gave me in the nod divine. 
An absolute repose. 

Of all the blunders of mankind. 
More gross, or frequent, none. 
Than in their grief and joy misplaced 
Eternally are shown. 

But whither points all this parade 1 
It says, that near you lies 
A book, perhaps, yet unpcrused. 
Which you should greatly prize. 



Of sclf-pcrusal, science rare ! 
Few know the mighty gain ; 
Learned prelates, sclf-uurcad, may read 
Their Bibles o'er in vain. 

Self-knowledge, whicli from heaven itself 
(So sages tell us) came. 
What is it but a daughter fair 
Of my maternal theme ] 

Unlettered and untravcled men 

An oracle miglit find. 

Would they consult their own contents, 

The Delphoa of tiic mind. 

Enter your bosom ; there you'll find 
A revolution new, 
A revolution personal. 
Which none can read but you. 

There will you clearly read revealed 
In your enlightened thought, 
By mercies manifold, through life, 
To fresh remembrance brought, 

A mighty Being ! and in him 
A complicated friend, 
A father, brother, spouse ; no dread 
Of death, divorce, or end. 

Who such a matchless friend embrace, 
And lodge him in their heart, 
Full well, from agonies exempt. 
With other friends may part. 

As when o'erloadcd branches bear 
Large clusters big with wine, 
We scarce regret one falling leaf 
From the luxuriant vine. 

My short advice to you may sound 
Obscure, or somewhat odd. 
Though 'tis the best that man can give, 
" E'en be content with God." 

Through love he gave you the deceased ; 
Through greater took him hence : 
This reason fully could evince. 
Though murmured at by Sense. 

This friend far past the kindest kind. 
Is past the greatest great ; 
His greatness let me touch in points 
Not foreign to your state. 

His eye, this instant, reads your heart, 
A truth less obvious hear, 
This instant its most secret thoughts 
Are sounding in his ear. 

Dispute you this'? O stand in awe, 
And cease your sorrow ; know, 
That tear, now trickling down, he saw 
Ten thousand years ago ; 



4? 



178 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



And twice ten thousand hence, if you 
Your tciii]H"r rt'concilo 
To Hfiisou'f) bound, will ho Iwhold 
Your prudence with a smile ; 

A fiinile which througii eternity 
Dill'usrH so bright niys, 
'Yhv (liiniufst. iloilifs e'en guilt, 
If guilt at last obeys. 

Your guilt (for guilt it is to moum, 
When sncli a Sovereign reigns) 
Your guilt (liininish, [)eiiee pursue; 
How glorious peace in pains ! 

Here, then, your sorrows cease, if not, 
Think how unhappy they 
"Who guiil increase by streaming tears, 
Which guilt should wash away. 

Of tears that gush profuse restrain; 
Wli('iu-<' burst tlu> dismal sighs'? 
They from the ll\robliing breast of one 
(Strange truth!) most happy rise. 

Not angels (hear it, and exult !) 
Enjoy a larger sliare 
Than is indulged to you, and yours, 
Of Goil's impartial care. 

Anxious for each, as if on each 
His eare for ail was thrown; 
F'or all Ills eare as absolute 
As all had been but one. 

And is he then so near 1 so kind 7 — 
How little then, and great. 
That riddle, man! O let me gate 
At wonders in his fate I 

His fate, who yesterday did crawl 
A worm from darkness dee|>, 
Anil shall, with brodier worms, beneath 
A turf, to-morrow sleep. 

How mean ! and yet if well olicyod 
His mighty master's call, 
The whole creation for mean man 
Is deemed a boon too small : 

Too small the whole creation deemed 
For enuuets in the ibist ! 
Account amazing! yot most true; 
My song is bold, yet just. 

Man born for infinite, in whom 
No period can destroy 
The power, in exquisite extremes 
To sutler, or enjoy. 

Give him eartli's empire (if no more) 
He 's beggared and undone ! 
Imprisoned in unbounded space! 
Benighted by the sun ! 



F^or what 's the sun's meridian blaze 
To tlie nuwt feeble ray 
Which glimmers in the distant dawn ^ 
Of uncreated day 1 

'Tis not the poet's rapture feigned 
Swells here, the vain to please: 
The mind most sober kindles most 
At truths sublime as these. 

They warm e'en me. — I dare not say 
Divine ambition strove 
Not to bless only, but confound, 
Nay fright us, with its love ; 

And yet so frightful what, or kind, 
As that the rending rock, 
The darkened sun, and rising dead, 
So formidably sjwko 1 

And are we darker than the sun? 
Than rocks more hard and blind 1 
We are; — if not to such a God 
In agonies resigned. 

Yea, e'en in agonies forbear 
To doubt almighty love; 
Whate'er endears eternity. 
Is mercy from above. 

What most imbitters time, that most 
Eternity endears; 
And thus by jilungiug in distress, 
Exalts us to the spheres : 

Joy's fountain-head ! where bliss o'er bliss, 
O'er wonilers wonders rise, 
And an Omniiiotence prepares 
Its banquet for the wise; 

Ambrosial banquet! rich in winea 
Neetareous to the soul ! 
What transports sparkle from the stream, 
As angels till the bowl ! 

Fountain ])rot\ise of every bliss! 
Gooil-will immense prevails: 
Man's line can't fathom its profound ; 
An angel's plummet fails. 

Thy love and might, by what they know 
Who judge, nor dream of more; 
They ask a drop, how deep the sea? 
One sand, how wide the shore? 

Of thy exulierant good-will, 
Ollended IVity ! 

The thousandth part who comprehends, 
A deity is He. 

TTow yonder ample a/.ure field 
With radiant worlds is sown ! 
How tubes astonish us with those 
More deep in ether tluown! 



RESIGNATION. 



11^ 



And tliosc beyond of brighter worldn 
Wliy not u (nillion morel 
In lion oi'aiiHWfr, Ivt uh all 
Fall prostrate and adore. 

Since thou art infinite in power, 
Nor thy in(hilijcncc Ichh; 
Since man, ({nili; iiiipolciit and blind, 
Ofl drops into diHtrcss; 

Saj', what is Resignation? 'Tis 
Man's weakness understood ; 
And Wisdom grasping, with a hand 
Far stronger, every good. 

Let rash re[)iners stand appalled, 
In thee who dare not trust; 
Who8(! abject souls, like demons dark, 
Arc inunn'ring in the dust. 

For man to murmur or repine 
At what by thee; is done, 
No less absurd tiian to complain. 
Of darknems in the sun. 

Who would not, with a heart at case. 
Bright eye, unclouded brow. 
Wisdom and Goodness at the helm, 
The roughest ocean plough 1 

What though I'm swallowed in the deep! 
Though mountains o'er me roar! 
Jehovaii reigns ! As Jonah safe 
I'm landed, and adore. 

Thy will is welcome, let it wear 

Its most tremendous form : 

Roar, Waves! rage, Winds! I know that thou 

Canst save me by a storm. 

From thee immortal spirits born. 
To tlice their (ouiitain flow. 
If wise, as curled around to theirs 
Meand'ring streams below. 

Not less compelled by Reason's call. 
To thee our souls aspire, 
Than to thy 8ki{^s, by Nature's law 
High mounts material lire : 

To thee aspiring they exult : 
I feel my s[)irits rise, 
I feel myself thy son, and pant 
For patrimotiial skies. 

Since ardent thirst of future good, 
And generous sense of past, 
To thee man's prudence strongly ties, 
And binds alFection fast. 

Since great thy love, and great our want, 
And men the wisest blind, 
And bliss our aim, i>ronounc« us all 
Distracted or resigned. 

2h* 



Resigned through duty, interest, shamo ; 
Dee|> shame! dare 1 eoMi|ilain, 
When (wondrous truth!) in heaven itself 
Joy owed its birth to puinl 

And pain for mo! forme was drained 
Gall's overdowiiig bowl ; 
And shall out: drop, to murmur bold 
Provoke my guilty soul 1 

If |)ardoned this, what cause, what crime, 
Can itidignatioM raiw; 1 
Tlu! sun was liglited u[) to shine. 
And man was born to praise: 

And when to pniise thee man shall cease, 
Or sun to strike the vi(^w; 
A cloud dishonours both, but man's 
The blacker of the two. 

For, oh! ingratitude iiow black! 
With most prol'ouiid ama/.o 
At love, wlii<;ii man, beloved, o'crlooks. 
Astonished angels gaze. 

Praise cheers and warms, like generous wine; 
Praise, more divine; than i)ray(!r : 
I'rayer points our ready path to licaven; 
Praise is already there. 

Let plausive R(!Bignation rise, 
AikI banish all complaint; 
All virtues tlironging into one, 
It finishes the saint ; 

Makes the man blest as man can be; 

Life's labours renders light; 

Uarts beams through Fate's incumbent gloom, 

And lights our sun by night. 

'Tis Nature's brightest ornament, 
The ricliest gift of Grace, 
Hival of angels, and supreme 
Proprietor of peace: 

Nay, [KJBce beyond no small degree 

Of rapture 'twill itn[)art; 

Know, Madam ! " when your heart's in heaven, 

" All heaven is in your heart." 

Rut who to heaven their hearts can raise? 

Denied divine support, 

All virtue dies; support divine 

The wise with ardour court: 

When prayer partakes the seraph's fire, 
'Tis mountcid on his wing. 
Hursts through hcavcai's crystal gates, and gaini 
Sure audience of its King. 

The labouring soul from sore distrcsB 
That blessed ex[)edient frees; 
I see you far advanced in peace; 
J Be« you on your knees. 



180 



YOUNG'S WORKb, 



How on tluit piwturc has tlio beam 
l")iviii(' lor ovt>r shone' 
All humhlo lu'urt.Cuul's oUuTeeat!* 
The rival of his tlirono. 

Anil sUxjps OmnipotiMico so low! 
A nil ronilfsci'iuls to lUvoll 
l'"l(>rni(y's inhahitant, 
Wi'll-jiloasoil in such a colli 

Such honour how shall wo repay 1 
How tri'at our jjuost ilivinol — 
The sacrifice supreme lie slain ! 
Let self-will die : Resign. 

Thus far, nt large on our disease ; 
Now let the cause be shown, 
Whence rises, and will ever rise, 
The dismal human groan. 

What our sole fountain of distrossl 
Strong passion for this scene ; 
That trilles make important, things 
Of mighty moment mean. 

When parth's dark maxims poison shed 
Ou our polluted souls, 
Out Iwiirts and interests fly as far 
Asunder as the poles. 

Like princes in a cottagt> nuirsed 
Unknown their royal race, 
With abject aims and sordid joys 
Chu' grandeur we disgrace. 

O for an Archiniides new 
CM" moral powers jiossesseil, 
The world to n»ove and quite expel 
That traitor from the breast! 

No small advantage may bo reoped 

From thought whence we descend ; 
From weighing well, and prizing, weighed, 
Our origin ami end ; 

From far alwve the glorious sun 
To this dim scene we came ; 
And may, if wise, for ever bask 
In great Jehovah's In^am : 

Let that bright l>eam, on reason roused, 
In awtul histrt" rise, 
Karth's giant ills are dwarfed at once. 
And all disquiet dies ; 

Earth's glories, ti>o, their splendour lose, 
Those phantoms charm no more, 
Knipirt> 's a feather for r fool, 
And Indian mines arc ]>oor: 

Then leveled quite, whilst yet alive. 
The monarch and bis slave; 

' IsaliUi Irll. 15, 



Nor wait enlightened minds to learu 
That lesson from the grave. 

A CJeorge the Third would then bo low 
As Lewis in renown, 
Co\dil he not Uiast of glory nioro 
Than sparkles from a. crown. 

When human glory rises high 

As human glory can ; 

Wiien, though the king is truly great, 

Still greater is the man : 

The man is dead whore virtue fails : 
And tlunigh the monarch jiroud 
In grandeur shines, his gorgeous robo 
Is but a gaudy shroud. 

Wisdom! where art thou*? None on earth, 
Though grasping wealth, fame, power, 
Hut what, O ncalh ! tlirough thy approach 
Is wiser every hour. 

Apprtwch how swill! how u neon fined ! 
Worms feast on viands rare : 
Those little epicures have kings 
To grace their bill oi' fare. 

From kings what resignation duo 

To that almighty Will, 

Wiiich thrones bestows, and, when thoy fail, 

fan throne them higher still ! 

Who truly great? the good and bravo, 

The masters of a mind 

The will divine to do resolved ; 

To sull'er it resigned. 

Madam! if that may give it weight. 
The tritle you ri'ceivo 
Is dated from a solenm scene, 
'I'iie Uirder of the grave; 

Where stnmgly strikes the trembling soul 
Kternity's dread power, 
As bursting on it tlirough the thin 
Partition of an hour. 

Hear this, Voltaire 1 but this from me 
Runs hazard of your frown ; 
However, spare it; eri' you die. 
Such thoughts will be your own. 

In mercy to yourself, forbear 
My notions to chastise, 
Lest unawares the gay Volt^iire 
Should blame Voltaire the wise. 

Fame's trumpet rattling in your ear 
Now makes us disagree ; 
When a tar Knider trumpet sounds. 
Voltaire will close with mo. 



RESIGNATION. 



181 



I low Hhockiiift in tlitil iiioduHly 
Wliicli kcr|)Fi Huiiio Iioiu'hI niuti 
I'Viiiu iiri;i"H what their hi-artH sugfjcst, 
When hiiivfd l>y r'ull^-H jicii, 

AHHiiiilliiiir trulliM, of wliicli in all 
1h Hown till) Hiicred Hced t 
( )iir (■(iirndtutiiiM 'h orthodox, 
And oloHCM vvitli our creed. 

Whiit then are Ihey wIiohh [>roud concoita 
8u|ierior wiHiloni iKuiHt? 
Wretches, who fi^ht their own l)eliof, 
And lidxiur to he hmt. 

Tlioufrh Vie-0 hy no BU]X)rior joys 
J ler I ierocH kee|iH in |iiiy ; 
'J'hroiii^li pure (hsinturutitod lovo 
Of ruin they ohey '! 

Strict tiieir devotion to t]w wrong, 
'F'hoiji^h leiri|pted hy n(» priw ; 
] liird tlieir coniniiindinenlM, und thuir creed 
A niiiira/.iiio ofiica 

From Faiicy'8 forge : gay Fancy sniiloa 
At ileiiHoii phiili lUid cool; 
i''iincy, wh()K(! cnriouH trade it in 
To make the finest fool. 

Voltaire! long life's the greatest curoo 

'I'hiit inortids ciui n^ceive, 
When they iniiigine the chief end 
(If living iH to live. 

Cluite thoughtleHH of their day of death, 

'I'hid. hirthdiiy of their sorrow; 
Kn(;wiiig it ni!iy i)e diHtiint far, 
IMor crush them till — to-morrow. 

These are cold, northern thoughts conceived 

lieneiitli an hunilile <;()t; 

Not mine your genius or your state) 

No Castle* iu my lot, 

But soon, (juite level shall we li(! : 
And wh.il. |iri(le most hemoans, 
Our jiurts, in rank ho distant now. 
Am level as their bones. 

I lear you that wound 1 alarming sound ! 
J're|iar(! to niiiet your fate 1 
On<! who writes _/j7iw to ovir works. 
Is knocking at the gate. 

Far other works will soon he weighed ; 
Far otlx'r judges sit : 
Far other crowns he lost, or won, 
Than fire ambitious wit : 

Their wit fur hri^^htest will he proved 
Who sunk it in good sense, 



' Loiter to Lord Lyuletun. 



And veneration most profound 
Of dread ( )inni|M)tence. 

"I'is that alone unloi-ks thi^ gate 
( )f l)leHse<l eternity ! 

niiiyVt thou never, never lose 
'I'hiit more than golden key!* 

WhateVr may seem too rough, excuse; 
Your good I hav(! at heart ; 
Since from my soul 1 wish you well, 
As yet we must not part : 

Shall yon and I, in lovii with life, 
Lili)'s futuH! schemes contrive, 
The world in wonder not unjust. 
That we are still alive 1 

What have we Icll'f how mt-an in man 
A shadow's shack! to crave 'I 
When life so vain ! in vainer still, 
'Tis time to take our leav(\ 

1 la|i|iier tliiin lui|i|>ieHt life his death, 
Who, falling in l\u- lield 

Of condict with his relxd will. 
Writes Vki on his shield. 

So falling man, immortal heir 
Of an (Eternal prize, 
Undaunted at the gloomy grave, 
Desccinds into tlie skies. 

how disordered our machine. 
When contriidict ions mix I 

Wlu!n Nature strikes no less than twelve. 
And folly points at six I 

To tnend the moveitienls of your heart, 

1 low great is my delight 1 
(ienlly to wind your morals up. 
And set your hand aright ! 

IMiiit hand wITudi spread your wisdom wide 
'I'o poison distant lands : 
Repent, recant : the tainted ago 
Yviir antidote demands. 

To Satan dreailfully resigned 
Whole herds rush down the steep 
Of ]'\illy, hy lewd wits [lossesscd, 
And perish in the deeji. 

Men's [)rHise your vanity pursues: 
'Tis well, pursue it still ; 
liut let it heof nu^n deceased. 
And you'll resign the will ; 

And how PU[)eriorthcy to those 
At whose Mp|jlnuH() you aim, 
I low very far sujierior they 
In number and in name I 



' Alluding to Frutwla. 



182 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



rOSTSCRIPT. 

ThuH liavo 1 written, wIkmi to write 
No mortal nlioiild prt'Huine ; 
Or only write, wiiiit none hIiouM bloinc, 
Hicjaccl — for Wis tomb. 

Thouffh public frowns, and censures loud, 
My imcrili' (Miiploy : 
Tlioiiijii jiiKt tlu! censure, if you sniilo, 
The Bciindiil 1 enjoy. 

But sinir no more — no more I sing, 
Or re-uHsuiiie tlie lyre, 
UnlcHH vouclisiifed an bumble part 
Wiiere Rapiiael leads tlio cboir. 

Whnt inyriadu wwell the concert loud! 
Their froidt^n iiarpH resound 
Hi^h as the footntool of the throne. 
And deep as bell profound : 

Hell (horrid contrast!) chord and song 
Of miilured anfi;els drowns 
In self-will's p(ml of blasphemies, 
And hideous burst of groans ; 

But drowns them not to me ; I hoar 
Harmonious tliund(M°s roll 
(In languajfo low of men to speak) 
From eehoinijf jiole to polo! 

Whilst this ^rraiul chorus shakes the skies — 
" Aliove, beiiealh tlii^ sini, 
Throuirh boundless nffo, by men, by gods, 
Jehovah's will be done." 

'Tiw done in heaven ; whence headlong hurled 

Self-will, with Satan fell; 

And must from earth be banished too 

Or earth's another hell. 

Madam ! self will iullicts your pains: 
Self-will's the deadly foe 
Which deepens all the dismal shades, 
And points the shads of wo. 

Your debt to Nature fully paid, 
Now Virtue claims her due; 
But Virtue's cause I need not plead, 
'Tis safe ; 1 write to you. 

You know that Virtue's basis lies 
In ever judfjiujr ri<;ht; 
And wipiufj b'-rror's clouds away. 
Which dim the mental si<rht. 

Why mourn the dead 1 you wrong the grave, 
From storui tbi\t safe resort; 
We are stiH tossiu;; out at sea, 
Our admiral in \iott. 



Was death denied, this world a scene 
llow dismal and forlorn! 
'To death we owe, that 'tis to man 
A blessing to be born. 

When every other blessing fails, 
Or sai)|)ed by slow dt^cay, 
Or stormed by suddcMi blasts of fate. 
Is Bwillly hurled away ; 

llow happy ! that no storm, or time. 
Of death can rob the just ! 
None jiluck from tlieir unaching heads 
Soil pillows in the dust ! 

Well j)Ieased to bear heaven's darkest frown, 
Your utmost power j-mploy ; 
"I'is noliitt chymistry to turn 
Necessity to joy. 

Whate'er the colour of my fate. 
My fate shall be my choice; 
Determined am I, whilst I breathe, 
To praise and to rt'joice. 

What amjilc cause 1 triumphant hoixj ! 

rich eternity ! 

1 start not at a world in flames, 
Charmed with one glimpse of thee. 

And tlioul its great inhabitant! 

1 low glorious dost thou shine ! 

And dart through sorrow, danger, death, 

A beam of joy divine. 

The void of joy (with some concern 
The truth severe I tell) 
Is an impenitent in guilt, 
A tool or inlidel. 

Weigh this, ye pupils of Voltaire 1 
From joyless murmur free ; 
Or, let us know, which character 
Shall crown you of the three. 

Resign, resign ; this lesson none 
Too deeply can instil ; 
A crown has been resigned by more 
Than have resigned the will. 

Though will resigned the meanest makes 

Superior in renown, 

And richer in celestial eyes 

Than ho who wears a crown. 

ricnco in the bosom of cold ago 
Is kindled a strange aim 
'I'o shine in song, and bid mo boost 
The grandeur of my theme: 

But, oh I how far presumption fidls 
Us lol>y theme below I 
Our thougbis in life's December frce7«. 
And numbers cease to flow. 



RESIGNATION. 



183 



First ! Greatest ! Best ! grant what I wrote 

For otliers, ne'er may rise 

To brand tlie writer; thou alone 

Canst make our wisdom wise. 

And how unwise, how deep in guilt, 
JIow infamous the fault, 
" A teaclier throned in pomp of words, 
In deed beneath the taught !" 

Moans most infallible to make 
The world an infidel, 
And with instructions most divine 
To pave a way to hell. 

O for a cleai^and ardent heart! 
O for a soul on fire ! 



Thy praise, begun on earth, to sound 
Where angels strike the lyre ! 

How cold is man ! to him how hard, 
(Hard what most easy seems) 
" To set a just esteem on that 
Which yet he most esteems." 

What shall we say, when boundless bliss 

Is offered to mankind. 

And to that offer when a race 

Of rationals is blind 1 

Of human nature, ne'er too high 
Are our ideas wrought ; 
Of human merit, ne'er too low 
Depressed the daring thought. 



i^(!5CClU«rOU!0i |)CCCCS5*» 



ON THE 

DEATH OF QUEEN ANNE, 

AND THE 

ACCESSION OF KING GEORGE. 

INSCRIBED TO 

JOSEPH ADDISON, ESQ. 

Secretary to their Excellencies tlie Lords Justices. 



-Guadia curia. — ITor. 



Sir ! I have long, and with impatience, sought 
To case the fulness of my grateful thought, 
My fame at once and duty to pursue. 
And please the public by 'inspect to you. 

Though you, long since beyond Britannia known, 
Have spread your country's glory with your own, 
To me you never did more lovely shine, 
Than when so late the kindled wrath divine 
Quenched our ambition in great Anna's fate. 
And darkened all the pomp of human state. 
Though you are rich in fame, and fame decay, 
Though raised in Ufe, and greatness fade away, 
Your lustre brightens ; virtue cuts the gloom 
"With purer rays, and sparkles near a tomb. 

Know, Sir ! the great esteem and honour due 
I choose, that moment, to profess to you. 
When sadness reigned, when Fortune so severe 
Had warmed our bosoms to be most sincere. 
And when no motive could have force to raise 
A serious value, and provoke my praise. 
But such as rise above, and far transcend. 
Whatever glories with this world shall end. 
Then shining forth, when deepest shades shall blot 
The sun's bright orb, and Cato be forgot. 



I sing .'—but, ah I my theme I need not tell ! 
See every eye with conscious sorrow swell ; 
Who now to verse would raise his humble voice, 
Can only sliow his duty, not his choice. 
How great the weight of grief our hearts sustain ! 
We languish, and to speak is to complain. 

Let us look back, (for who too oft can view 
That most illustrious scene, for ever new !) 
See all the seasons shine on Anna's throne, 
And pay a constant tribute not their own. 
Her summer heats not fruits alone bestow, 
They reap the harvests and subdue the foe ; 
And when black storms confess the distant sun, 
Her winters wear the wreaths her summers won : 
Revolving pleasures in their turns appear. 
And triumphs are the product of the year. 
To crown the whole, great joys in greater cease, 
And glorious victory is lost in peace. 

Whence this profusion on our favoured isle 1 
Did jiartial Fortune on our virtue smile ] 
Or did the sceptre, in great Anna's hand, 
Stretch forth this rich indulgence o'er our land ? 
Ungrateful Britain ! quit thy groundless claim; 
The queen and thy good fortune are the same. 

Hear, with alarms our trumpets fill the sky ; 
'Tis Anna reigns ; the Gallic squadrons fly. 
We spread our canvass to the southern shore ; 
'Tis Anna reigns! the South resigns her store. 
Her virtue sooths the tumult of the main, 
And swells the field with mountains of the slain ; 
Argyle and Churchill but the glory share. 
While millions lie subdued by Anna's prayer. 

How great her zeal ! how fervatit her desire! 
How did her soul in holy warmth expire! 
Constant devotion did her time divide ! 
Nor set returns of pleasure or of pride ; 



184 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Not want of rest, or the sun's parting ray, 
But finished duty, limited the day. 
How sweet succeeding sleep ! what lovely themes 
Smiled in her thoughts, and softened all her dreams! 
Her royal couch descending angels spread, 
And join their wings, a shelter o'er her head. 

Though Europe's wealth and glory claimed apart, 
Religion's cause reigned mistress of her heart ; 
She saw, and grieved, to see the mean estate 
Of those who round the hallowed altar wait ; 
She shed her bounty piously profuse. 
And thought it more her own in sacred use. 

Thus on his furrow see the tiller stand. 
And fill with genial seed his lavish hand ; 
He trusts tlie kindness of the fruitful plain. 
And providently scatters all his grain. 

What strikes my sight ! does proud Augusta rise 
New to behold, and awfully surprise ! 
Her lofty brow more numerous turrets crown. 
And sacred domes on palaces look down ; 
A noble pride of piety is shown. 
And temples cast a lustre on the throne. 
How would this work another's glory raise ; 
But Anna's greatness robs her of the praise : 
Drowned in a greater blaze it disappears. 
Who dried the widow's and the orphan's tears'? 
Who stooped from high to succour the distressed, 
And reconcile the wounded heart to rest 1 
Great in her goodness, well could we perceive, 
Whoever sought, it was a queen that gave. 
Misfortune lost her name : her guiltless frown 
But made another debtor to the crown, 
And each unfriendly stroke from fate we bore, 
Became our title to the regal store. 

Thus injured trees adopt a foreign shoot, 
And their wounds blossom with a fairer fruit. 

Ye Numbers, who on your misfortunes thrived. 
When first the dreadful blast of Fame arrived. 
Say, what a shock, what agonies you felt. 
How did your souls with tender anguish melt ! 
That grief which living Anna's love suppressed, 
Shook Uke a tempest every grateful breast. 
A second fate our sinking fortunes tried ; 
A second time our tender parents died 1 

Heroes returning from the field we crown, 
And deify the haughty victor's frown ; 
His splendid wreath too rashly we admire, 
Catch the disease, and burn with equal fire. 
Wisely to spend is the great art of gain ; 
And one relieved transcends a million slain. 
When time shall ask where once Ramillia lay. 
Or Danube flowed that swept whole troops away. 
One drop of water, that refreshed the dry, 
Shall raise a fountain of eternal joy. 

But ah ! to that unknown and distant date 
Is Virtue's great reward pushed off by Fate; 
Here random shafts in every breast are found, 
Yirtue and merit but provoke the wound. 



August in native worth and regal state, 
Anna sat arbitress of Europe's fate ; 
To distant realms did ev'ry accent fly. 
And nations watched each motion of her eye. 
Silent, nor longer awful to be seen. 
How small a spot contains the mighty Clueen ! 
No throng of suppliant princes mark the place, 
Where Britain's greatness is composed in peace: 
The broken earth is scarce discerned to rise. 
And a stone tells us where the monarch lies. 

Thus end maturest honours of the crown ! 
This is the last conclusion of renown ! 

So when, with idle skill, the wanton boy 
Breathes through his tube, he sees, with eager joy, 
The trembling bubble, in its rising small, 
And by degrees, expands the glittering ball ; 
But when, to full perfection blown, it flies 
High in the air, and shines in various dyes, 
The little monarch, with a falling tear. 
Sees his world burst at once, and disappear. 

'Tis not in sorrow to reverse our doom ; 
No groans unlock the inexorable tomb ; 
Why then this fond indulgence of our wo ! 
What fruit can rise, or what advantage flow ! 
Yes, this advantage from our deep distress, 
We learn how much in George the gods can bless. 
Had a less glorious princess left the throne, 
But half the hero had at first been shown; 
And Anna falling all the King employs. 
To vindicate from guilt our rising joys : 
Our joys arise, and innocently shine, 
Auspicious monarch ! what a praise is thine ! 

Welcome, great Stranger! to Britannia's throne' 
Nor let thy country think thee all her own. 
Of thy delay how oft did we complain ! 
Our hopes reached out, and met thee on the main. 
With prayer we smoothed the billows for thy fleet. 
With ardent wishes filled thy swelling sheet; 
And when thy foot took place on Albion's shore, 
We bending blessed the gods, and asked no more. 
What hand but thine should conquer and com- 
pose. 
Join those whom int'rest joins, and chase our 

foes'? 
Repel the daring youth's presumptuous aim. 
And by his rival's greatness give him fame ! 
Now in some foreign court he may sit down, 
And quit, without a blush, the British crown, 
Secure his honour, though he lose his store. 
And take a lucky moment to be poor. 

Nor think, great Sir ! now first, at this late hour, 
In Britain's favour you exert your power : 
To us, far back in time, I joy to trace 
The num'rous tokens of your princely grace. 
Whether you choose to thunder on the Rhine, 
Inspire grave councils, or in courts to shine: 
In the more scenes your genius was displayed, 
The greater debt was on Britannia laid : 



miscellajneous pieces. 



185 



They all conspired this mighty man to raise, 
And your new subjects proudly shares the praise. 

All share: but may not we have leave to boast, 
That we contemplate and enjoy it most? 
This ancient nurse of arts, indulged by Fate 
On gentle Isis' bank, a calm retreat, 
For many rolling ages justly famed. 
Has through the world her loyalty proclaimed ; 
And often poured (too well the truth is known!) 
Her blood and treasure to support the throne; 
For England's church her latest accent strained, 
And freedom with her dying hand retained ; 
No wonder then her various ranks agree 
In all the fervencies of zeal for thee. 

What though thy birth a distant kingdom boast, 
And seas divide thee from the British coast "? 
The crown 's impatient to enclose thy head; 
Why stay thy feet ! The cloth of gold is spread. 
Our strict obedience through the world shall tell, 
That king 's a Briton who can govern well. 



VERSES. 

I Occasioned by that famous piece of the 

CRUCIFIXION. 

DONE BY MICHAEL ANGELO.* 

While his Redeemer on his canvass dies, 

Stabbed at his feet his brother weltering lies; 

The daring artist, cruelly serene. 

Views the pale cheek and the distorted mien ; 

He drains off life by drops, and, deaf to cries, 

Examines every spirit as it flies : 

He studies torment ; dives in mortal wo ; 

To rouse up every pang, repeats his blow ; 

Each rising agony, each dreadful grace. 

Yet warm, transplanting to his Saviour's face. 

O glorious theft ! O nobly wicked draught ! 

With its full charge of death each feature fraught ! 

Such wondrous force the magic colours boast, 

From his own skill he starts, in horror lost. 



AN HISTORICAL EPILOGUE 
TO THE BROTHERS. 

BY THE AUTHOR. 

An Epilogue through custom is your right. 
But ne'er perhaps was needful till this night. 
To-night the virtuous falls, the guilty flies ; 
Guilt's dreadful close our narrow scene denies. 



In liistory's authentic record read 
What ample vengeance gluts Demetrius' shade ! 
Vengeance so great, that, when his tale is told. 
With pity some e'en Perseus may behold. 
Perseus survived, indeed, and filled the throne, 
But ceaseless cares in conquest made him groan: 
Nor reigned he long ; from Rome swift thunder 

flew. 
And headlong from his throne the tyrant threw : 
Thrown headlong down, by Rome in triumph led, 
For this night's deed his perjured bosom bled: 
His brother's ghost each moment made him start. 
And all his father's anguish rent his heart. 
When, robed in black, his children round him 
hung, 
And their raised arms in early sorrow wrung; 
The yonger smiled, unconscious of their wo. 
At which thy tears, O Rome ! began to flow. 
So sad the scene : What then must Perseus feel, 
To see Jove's race attend the victor's wheel ? 
To see the slaves of his worst foes increase 
From such a source! — an emperor's embraced 
He sickened soon to death; and, what is worse, 
He well deserved, and felt the coward's curse ; 
Unpitied, scorned, insulted his last hour. 
Far, far from home, and in a vassal's power. 
His pale cheek rested on his shameful chain, 
No friend to mourn, no flatterer to feign. 
No suit retards, no comfort sooths his doom, 
And not one tear bedews a monarch's tomb. 
Nor ends it thus — Dire vengeance to complete, 
His ancient empire falling, shares his fate. 
His throne forgot! his weeping country chained! 
And nations ask — where Alexander reigned 1 
As public woes a prince's crimes pursue. 
So public blessings are his virtue's due. 
Shout, Britons! shout; — auspicious fortune bless ! 
And cry. Long live — our title to success ! 



EPITAPH 

ON LORD AUBREY BEAUCLERK,* 

In Westminster Abbey, 1740. 
Whilst Briton boasts her empire o'er the deep, 
This marble shall compel the brave to weep: 



• Who obtained leave to treat a malefactor, condemned to be 
broke upon the wheel, as he pleased for this purpose. The 
man being extended, this wonderful artist directed that he 
should be stabbed in such parts of the body as he apprehended 
would occasion the most excruciating torture, that he might 
represent the agonies of death in the most natural manner. I 



* Lord Aubrey Beauclerk was the eighth son of the Duke 
of Sl Alban's, who was one of the sons of King Charles the 
Second. He was born in the year 1711, and being regularly 
bred to the sea-service, in 1731 he was appointed to the com- 
mand of his Majesty's ship the Ludlow Castle ; and he com- 
manded the Prince Frederick at the attack of the harbour of 
Carthagena, March 24, 1741 . This young nobleman was one 
of the most promising commanders in the King's seiTice. 
When on the desperate attack of the castle of Bocca Chica, at 
the entrance of the said harbour, he lost his life, both his legs 
being first shot off; The prose part of the inscription on hb 
monument, was the production of Mrs. Mary Jones, of 0%- 
ford, who also wrote a Poem on his death, printed in her Mis- 
cellanies, 8vo. 1753. 



186 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Ab mon, as HriloiiP, nnd iw Holdidrs, imnini ; 
*Ti« (Iimiitli'SM, loyiil, virluoiiM ni'iiucIcrk'H urn. 
Svvi'ct wtTc liiH iiiiinni'rs, iin liin hduI wmh i^rcat, 
7\iul r\\H\ Ills worth, tlioiii^l\ iiiimiituro his liilo; 
Kadi U'IkIit jjrnco lliiil joy iiiul love iiispiro, 
],iviiiir lir iiiiiiijIiMl wilh his iiiiirtiiil tiro: 
Dyiii^, \w liiil I'ritiiiiiiiii'H thiiiulci'H ronr; 
And Siiiiiii dtill It'll liiiii, when ho hroiilliod iiuiiiorc. 



TO Mil. ADDISON, 

ON Till", 'I'HAdK.DY OP CATO. 

What do wo hco— is Ciilo IhciibocoHjo 
A ^riMil.<T iiiimo ill IJriliiiii timii in Koiiio? 
I)o('H iiiaiikiiid now »(hniri' liis virtiicH more 
Thoiiirh Luciiii, lloi'iici', Vii'ijil wroto holoni"} 
How will [iiiHti'iity this tnitli oxpliiin'? 
" (^nto hc'^iuM lo livo in Amiii's rciijii," 
Tilt' world's ;»i'out chifl', in fouiicil or in arms, 
Iliso ill your linoa wltli iiioro oxaltod chariim: 
lihiHlrioiis deeds in dislniU iiiilions wroiiLrht, 
Ami virdu'S hy t!i>|mrl('d heroes (luijjhl, 
Ilaiso in your soul a piiro iiiiinortal llaiiio, 
Adorn your life, and consocralo your fainti; 



To your ronowii all ajfoiK you suhduo, 
And (^awar fought, and Cato bled lor you. 
All Soul's Coll. Oxun. 



ElMTAril 

AT WEhWYN, IlKnTFORnSHIKR, 

Ir Ibiid of what isrnro, attend t 

Here lies an lionrmt man^ 

C)f jierltrt. jiiety, 

Of lami> like palienee, 

IVIy friend, .Iannis Ivarker; 

To whom I pay this mean memorial, 

For what deserves the greatest. 

An oxampli) 

Wiiioh Rhone thronj;h idl Itie clouds of forfuno, 

Industrious in low «'stat(>, 

The If'Rson and reproach of tlioso above him. 

'I'o lay this little slolio 

Is my ambition; 

Whilo others rear 

Tho polished marbles of the {jrrnt! 

Vain pomp! 

A turf oVr virtue charms us more. 

E. Y. 17 ID. 



AS rERFOllMED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN. 



PROLOGUE 

11 Y A riUKNU. 

(>n l\«s the buskined muse wilh action me;in, 
Deliased the ;;lory of the trai^ic scene: 
While puny villains, drcst in purple pride, 
With crimes obscene the heaveii-born rajjo belied, 
'i'o her belonijs to numru the hero's late, 
1"o trace the errors of tiie wi.se and >;reat ; 
To mark tho excess of passions too relined. 
And paint the tumults of a '^<.i'\ like mind; 
Whert', moved wilh rH)i;e, exalted I houijhts combine, 
And darkest deeds with lu'auteous colours shine. 
So liu;hls and shades in a well-minj^led drauidit, 
Ry curious touch of artful pencils wrouf;hl, 
With soil i\wjc\l amuse the doubtful eye, ^ 
Pleased with thecoiillict of the various dye. 
'J'hus, throufjh the followiufj scenes, wilh sweet 

surjirise, 
Virtue and ffuilt in dnnid confusion rise, 



And love, and hoto, at once, and grief and joy, 
Pity and rage, their mingled Ibn-e employ. 
1 1 ere the soil virgin, sees, wilh secret shame, 
I Icr charms excelled by frit>ndshii>'s purer lliunc, 
l''orced wilh reluctaiil virtues to approve 
The generous hero who rejects her love. 
l>ehold him there, with gloomy passions stained, 
A wife suspected, and an injured frieiul ; 
Vet such the toil where innocence is catight. 
That rash suspicion seems without a fault. 
We dread awliile lest beauty should succeed, 
And almost wish e'en virtue's self may bk'cd. 
Mark well the bliiek nwengo, tho cruel guile, 
'V\w Iraitor-lleud, trampling the lovely sjwil 
Of iH'auly, truth, and imiocence opprest. 
Then let the rage of furies fire your br«<ast. 
Yet may his mighty wrongs, his just disdain, 
1 lis bleeding country, his loved I'alher slain, 
1 lis martial pride, your admiration raist<, 
And crown him with involuntary praise. 



THE REVENGE. 



187 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE. 

Don Ai.onzo, 
Don Caui.oh, 
Don Alyakkz, 
Don Manuki., 

ZAN(iA, 

IjKONOHA, 

ISADI'U.LA. 

Scene — Spain. 



THE REVENGE. 

ACT I. 

BCENE I — BATTLKMENTS, WITH A SEA PHOSPECT. 

Kntor ZANQA, 

Zan. Whether firHt nature, or long want of 
pcafo, 

Has wrontrht my uiitid to tli'iR, I cim not tell; 
But horrors now are not diHiilciisitij; to inv.: 

[Chu7idcr. 
I like thin rockinij of the hiittlements. 
Rnirc, on, yewindH, liurnt, elouds, niid waters, roar! 
You l)eur a juMt. reseiiil)!aiice of iny fortune, 
And suit the gloomy haliit of my houI. 

Enter IrtABELLA. 

Who's there ? my love I 

Isa. Why have you hift my hed"? 
Your nl)Hence more ndriifhts nu: than tlio storm. 

Zan. The dead alone in Huch a niffht can rest, 
And I induli;e my nifdilationrt hero. 
Woman, away. 1 chooxe to ho alone. 

Jsa. I know you do, and therclbrc will not leave 
you; 
Exr.URc me, Zanija, therefore dare not leave you. 
Is this n nijjht for walks of coiitemiilation? 
Homethiriif niiUMiial hanjjs upon your heart 
And I will know it: by our loves I will. 
To you I sacriheed my virf.Mn fame. 
Ask I too inuch to share in your distress ? 

Zan. In t(!ars 1 thou Ibol ! tiien hear me and he 
plunged 
In hell's abyss, if ever it escape thee. 
To strike thee with astonishment at onco, 
I hate Alonzo. First recover that, 
And then thou shalt hear farther. 

Isa. Hate Alonzo I 
I own, I thon;^ht Alonzo most your friend, 
And that he lost the master in that name. 

Zan. Hear then. 'Tis twice three years since 
that great man. 
Great let me call him, for ho conquered mo, 
Made me the captive of his arm in fight. 
He slew my father, and threw chains o'er mo. 
While I with pious rage pursued revenge. 
1 then was young, he placed me n<!ar his person, 



And Ihought me not diMlioiionred by his service. 
Oili- diiy, may tliiil returning day be night, 
Tile slain, the curse of each suaieeding year! 
l''or Hoiiiething, or for nothing, in his prido 
He struck me. VV^iile I tell it, do 1 live! 

He smote me on the cheek 1 ilid not stab him ; 

I''or that wen^jHior nwenge e'er since, hiei folly 

1 las strove to bury it beiieatii a heap 
Of kindnesses, and thinks it is lbr<Tot. 
Insolent tlionght ! and like a second blow! 
Affronts are innocent, where men arc worthlesa; 
Anil such alone can wisely drop nweiigo. 

Im. Hut with more teuipir,'Zanga, tell your story; 
To see your strong emotions starthis im'. 

Ziin. Yes, woman, with tlu^ temper thatbefitnit. 
Has the dark adder venom ! so have 1 
When trod ujain. i'roud Spaniard, thou shalt 

feel me I 
For from (hat day, that day of my dishonour, 
I from that day have curst the rising sun. 
Which never failed to tell meof my nhame. 
I from that day have blest the coming night. 
Which proniised to coiicnal it; but in vain; 
The blow returned for ever in my dream. 
Y(!t on I toiled, and groaned for an oex-.asion 
Of am])le vrmgeanciv, none is yet arrived. 
Howe'cT, at prescint I conceive; warm hopes 
Of what may wound him sore, in his ambition, 
I.ifi; of his life;, and dearer than his soul. 
I'y nigiitly march he purposed to surprise 
The Moorish camp; but 1 have taken caro 
They shall be n^ady to receive his favour, 
l''aiiing in this, a cast of utmost momtuit, 
Would darken all the concjuests Ik; has won, 

/so,. Just as I enten^d an (express arrived. 

Zan. To whom 7 

/vrt. His (Vii'Mil, Don (jarlos. 

Zan. Ho ])ropitious, 
t)h, Mahomet, on this important hour. 
Anil giv(! at length my fiunishc^d sold revenge! 
What is nwiMige, but courage to irall in 
Our honour's debts, "and wisdom to convcirt 
Other's 8(!lf-lov(! into our own protection'/" 
Hut see, th(^ morning dawns; 
I '11 Book Don Carlos and in(juirc my fate. 

\^lCxcunl. 

KCENK II — ■rilK, I'AI.ACE. 

Enter DON MANUAL and DON CAUI.OH. 

Man. My Lord, D(m Carlos, what brings your 
cixpn^ssl 

Car. Alonzo's glory, and the Moors' defeat. 
Th(! field is stri'wed with twice ten thousand slain. 
Though he suspe(-tH his mirasunis were, betrayed. 
1 1(! 'II soon arrive. Oh, how I long to embrace 
The first of heroes, and the iM'st of IViendsl 
1 loved lair Leonora long before 
The chance of battle gave me to the Moora, 



188 



VOUNG'S WORKS. 



From whom so Into Alonzo sot mo free ; 
And wliilo 1 ifroivnod in boiulaifo, I doputod 
This i;iv:it Aloir/.o, whom hiM- liither honours, 
To bo n»y jjontlo advocnto in lovo, 
To stir her hourt, nml (an its liri's for mo, 

ATan. And what sncoossf 

Cnr. Alas, tho oniol maid 

Indood hor fathor, who, tlunigli high at court, 
And jioworl'ul with tho kinir, has woaUli at heart 
To i\Ciil his dovastation from the Nhiors, 
Knowinj; 1 'm rii'i\ly troi-vhtod from tho oast, 
My lloot now sailinjj in tho sijjht of Spain, 
llonvon ijnard it safe throu<;h such a dreadful 

storm ; 
Carossos mo, and ur<j»>9 hor to wed. 

^f(1n. llor a<^od father, soo. 
Lends lior this way. 

Car. Siio looks like radiant truth, 

lirouijht (inward by tho hand of hoary time 

You to tho port with spvd, 'tis possiUlo 
8omo vessel is arrived. Heaven sjrant it bring 
TiJinjjs which Carlos may receive with joy ! 

Enler DON ALV.VKEZ niul LEONORA. 

Ali\ Don Carliv, 1 am labouring in your favour 
With all a parent's soft authority, 
A ud earnest counsel. 

Car. Angels second you! 
For all my bliss or misery hangs oTi it. 

Air. Daughter, tho happiness of life depends 
On our discn>tion, and a pruilout choice; 
Look into those they call unfortunate, 
Aiul closer viewed, you "11 tind they arc unwise: 
yoMte tlaw in their own conduct lies Ivuoath, 
And 'tis tho trick o( fools to save tlieir credit, 
Which brought another language into use. 
!")on Carlos is of ancii-nt, noble bloixl, 
And then his wealth might mend a prince's fortimo. 
For hini the sun is labouring in tJvo mines, 
A t'ailhl'nl slave, and tvu'ning earth to gold. 
His keels are iVeighted witli that sacnnl power. 
By which even kings and omjHMoiis hi"p mudo. 
Sir, vou have niy gootl wishes, and I ho|H' (/o Car.^ 
l\ly (laughter is not indispiwcil to hear you. [K.rit. 

Car. Oh, Leonora! why art thou in tears .' 
Because 1 am less wretched than I was'? 
before your father gave mo leave to woo you, 
Hushoil was your bosom, and yovir eye serene. 
Will you for over help mo to now pains, 
And keep reserves of torment in your hand, 
To let them KH>se on every dawn of joy ? 

Lion. 'J'hink you my father tvx) iiululgent tome, 
That ho cJniins no dominion o'er my tears ] 
A daUirliter smv may be right dutit'ul, 
Whtxso tears alone are t'nv fmm a restraint. 

Car. Ah. my torn heart ! 

7/<c)H. Kegard not me, my Lord, 
I shall obov my father. 



Car. Disobey him, 
lvatli«-r than come thus coldly, than come tlius 
With absent eyes and alienated mien, 
Sulfering addirss, tho victiuj of n\y love. 
(>h, let mo 1)0 undone (he common way, 
And have the conunon comfort to be pitied. 
Anil not bo rninoil in tho mask of bliss, 
And so bo envied, and be wretched too! 
Love calls for love. Not all tho pride of beauty, 
Tlioso eyes that fell us what the sun is made of. 
Those lips, whoso (ouch is (o bo bought with life, 
ThiWiO hills of driven snow, which seen are felt ; 
All (hoiso iwssossed, are nought, but as (hey arc 
Tlit> proof, tho substance of an inward passion. 
And the rich plunder of a taken heart. 

Ijfon. Alas, my lord, wo are too delicate; 
And when wo grasp (he happiness we wished, 
AN'o call on wit to argue it away : 
A plainer man would not feel half your pains: 
l>u( some have U\i nuich wisdom (o bo happy. 

Car. Had I known (his before, it had been well: 
I had not then solicited your father 
To ndil to my distress ; as you behave, 
Vonr I'adier's kindness s(abs mo to the heart. 

liive mo your hand nay, give it, Leonora: £4 

You give it not — nay, yet you give it not- 

I ravish it. 

Ijcon. I pray, my Lord, no more. 

Car. Ah, why so sadi you know each sigh 
does shake mo : 

Sighs then\ are tempests hero. 

1 'vo hoanl, bad men would bt> unblost in lionvon : 
What is my guilt, that makes me so with you 1" 
Have I not lanixuishod prostrate at thy foot? 
Have I not lived whole days ui>on thy sight ? 
Have I not seen thee where thou hast not Iveni 
And, mad with the idea, dasixxl the wind 
And doated upoti nothing 1 

Lt'on. Court me not, 
GiHul Carliw, by recounting of my faults, 
.'\nd telling how ungmteful 1 have Ih^mi. 
/Mas, my lord, if (alking would prevail, 
I oould suggest much better arguments 
Than tlu^e n>ganls yon threw away on mo ; 
Your valour, honour, wisdom, praisixl by all. 
Hut bid physicians talk our veins to temper, 
And with an argument now-set a pulse ; 
Then think, my Lord, of rt>asi>ning into love. 

Car. Must I despair then? do not shake methus: 
Mv temper- beaten heart is cold to death. 
Ah, turn, and let mo warm me in thy iH'aufies. 
I leavens ! what proof 1 gave, but two nights past, 
Oi' matchless love ! to (ling me a( thy foot, 
I slighted friendship, and I (low from fame ; 
Ntu' hoanl (ho smnmons of tho next day's battJc: 
Knt darting headlong to thy arms, 1 lotl 
The promised fight, I loft Alonzo Ux>, 
To stand tlie war and quell a world alone. 

(. Trumpets.^ 



THE REVENGE. 



189 



Leon. The victor comes My lord, I must witli- 
draw. 

Car. And must you go 7 

Tjcon. Why Hlicmld yo" wish me Htayl 
Your rriiMid's arrival will briii;^ comt'ort to you, 
IVIy prt'HPiice none; it jmins you niid niyRclf; 
l-'or l)oth our Bakes |)criiiit mo to withdraw. [ Kxit. 

Car. Sure, there's no peril hut in love. (Jii, how 
My foes would boast to sec njc look so pale. 

Enter DON AI.ONZO. 

Car. Alonzo ! 

Alon (Jarlos ! 1 am whole again ; 

Clasped in tiiy arms, it makes my heart entire. 

Car. Wiioia dare 1 thus embrace! the conqueror 
Of M'ric. 

Alon. Yes, much more — Don Carlos' friend. 
The eon(iuest of tlu^ world would cost me dear, 
Should it beifetoiie thoUj^iit of distaiiee in thee. 
I rise in virtues to come ll^^arer to thee. 
I conquer with Don Ciirios in my eye. 
And thus I claim my victory's revvanl. 

{^(•mhracing him.) 

Car. A victory indeed ! your (jodlike arm 
-Has m.ado one spot the jiravc of Africa; 
Such numbers fell! and tlu; survivors (led 
As IVii^hted j)assenirers from oil" the strand. 
When tlie tenqiestuous sea comes roaring on them. 

Alon.. 'Twas Carlos conquered, 'twas his cruel 
chains 
Inflamed mo to a rage unknown before. 
And tiirew my former actions far behind. 

Car. 1 love fair Leonora. I low I love her! 
Yet still I fnid, I know not how it is, 
Another heart, another soul for thee. 
Thy friendship warms, it raises, it transports 
Like music, pure the joy, without allay, 
Whose very rapture is trancjuillily : 
But lovo, like wine, gives a tumultuous blifis. 
Heightened indeed beyoixl all mortal pliMisures; 
But mingles pangs and madness in the bowl. 

Enter ZANGA. 

Zan. Manuel, my lord, returning from the port, 
(In business both of moment and of haste, 
Humbly begs leave to s[)(Md{ in private with you. 

Car. In private! ha! Alonzo, I'll return; 
No business can detain me long from theo. [exit, 

Zan. My lord Alonzo, I obeyed your orders. 

Alon. Will the fair Leonora pass this way 1 

Zan. She will, my lord, and soon. 

Alon. Come near me, Zanga ; 
For I dare to open all my heart to thee. 
Never was such a day of triumph known. 
There 's not a wounded captive in my train. 
That slowly followed my proud chariot wheels, 
With half a life, ami beggary, and chains. 

But is a god to me : 1 am most wretched. 

In his captivity, thou know'st, Don Carlos, 



My friend, and never was a friend more dear, 

Di'pulcd me his advocate in love, 

To talk to Leonora's heart, and make 

A tender party in her thoughts for him, 

What (lid 1 do'! — I loved myself Indeed, 

One thing there is might lessen my ollt-nce, 

If such ollencc adnuts of being Ickscmk^iI, 

I thought him dead; for, by what fate I know not, 

His letters never reached me. 

Zan. Thanks to '/aiiga. 
Who thence contrived, that evil which has liap- 
]iened. frt.w/c) 

Alon. Yes, curst of heaven ! 1 loved myself, and 
now. 
In a lat(5 action, rescued from the Moors, 
1 have brought home iriy rival in my friend. 

Zan. We hear, my lord,lhiit in that action too, 
Your interposing arm preserved his life. 

Alon. It dill — with more than the expense of 
mine ; 
l''or, oh, tiiis day is nuMitioned for their nuptials. 
But sec, she comes — I'll take my Ictive, and die. 

Zan. ] Tad'st tiiou a thousand lives, thy death 
woulil please me. 
Uidiappy fate 1 my country overcome! 

My six years hop(U)f vengeance (jnite expired ! 

Would nature were 1 will not fall alone: 

But others' groans shall tell the worhl my death. 

\asidc and exit. 

Enter LEONOIIA. 

Alon. When nature ends with anguish like to 
this. 
Sinners shall take their last leave of the sun, 
And bid his light adieu. 

Leon. The mighty conqueror 
Dismayt'd! 1 thought you gave the foe your sor- 
rows. 
Alun. Oh, cruel insult 1 arc those tears your 
sport, 
Which nothing but a love for you could draw? 
A fric i quelled, in hope by that to purchase 
Your h'ave to sigh unscorned ; but I complain not; 
'Twas but a world, and you arc — Leonora. 

Leon. That passion which you boast of is your 
guilt, 
A tr(^ison to your friend. You think mean of mc, 
To plead your crimes as motives of my love. 
Alon. You, madam, ought to thank those crimes 
you blame : 
'Tis they iKTmit you to be thus irdumian. 

Without the censure both of earth and heaven 

I fondly thouglit a last look might be kind. 

Farewell, for ever. This seven; Ix^haviour 

Has, to my comfort, made it sweet to die. 
Leon. Farewell, lor ever! — sweet to die! — oh, 
heaven ! [aside] 

Alonzo, stay; you must not thus escape mcj 
But hear your guilt at large. 



190 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Aluii. Oh, Leonora! 
What coiilil 1 do J in duly to my IVicnd, 
1 Biiw you ; and to sec is to udiniro. 
For Carlos did i |i1(nu1, and most sinc( rely. 
Witness the tliousand a;;onies it cost inc. 
You know I did. i 8ou>j;lit but your osteem ; 
If tliat is i;uiit, an aiiifel had heon KU''*-.V- 
"1 olVen siifjieil, nuy, \vej)t, but could not help it : 
And sure it is no crime to bis in pain. 
But ifrant my crime was ijreat ; I'm irrratly curst ; 
What would you more ! am 1 not most undone! 
This nsa^e is like stumpinij on the murdered, 
When lili- is lied; most barbarous and inijust. 

Leon. If from your guilt none suilered but your- 
self, 
't miifht be so farewell. [going] 

Alon. Who sulVers with mel 

Leon. iMijoy your iifuorance, and let mo jjo. 

Alon. Alas! what is there 1 can fear to know, 
Since I already know your hatel your actions 
Have loiiif sinee told me that. 

Leon. 'J'hey llattered you. 

Alon, How llattered me? 

Ijcon. 0\\, search in tate no farther ! 
I hate thoe — oh, Alon/.o! how 1 hato thee! 

Alon. Indeed! and do you wee]) for hatred too! 
Oh, what a doubtful torment heaves my heart ! 
1 ho])e it most, and yet 1 dreail it more. 
Should it be so — should her tears llow from thence; 
How woulil my soul blaze up in ecstacy 1 
Ah, nol how sink into the depth of horrors! 

Leon. Why would you toree my stay 1 

Alon. What mean these tears'? 

Leon. I weep by chance : nor have my tears a 
menniuij. 
But, oh, when fu'st I saw Alonzo's tears, 
I knew their moanin>; well. 

[Alonzo falls piissionalehj on his knees, and kisses 
Iter hand.] 

Alon. Heavens! what is this? that excellence, 
for which 
Desire was planted in the heart of man ; 
Virtue's supreme reward on this side heaven ; 

The cordial of my soul; and this destroys me 

Indeed, 1 llattered me that thou did'st hato. 

Leon. Alonzo, pardon me the injury 
Of loving you. 1 struggled with my passion. 
And struggleil long: let that be some excuse. 

Alon. Unkind! you know I think your love a 
blessing 
Beyond all human blessings : 'tis the price 
Of sighs and groans, and a whole year of dying. 
But, oh the curse of curses ! oh, my friend ! 

Leon. Alas! 

Alon. What says my lovol s|H>ak, Leonora. 

Li'on. Was it for you, my lord, to bo so quick 
In fnuling out objtTtions to our love ? 
Think you so. strong my love, or weak my virtue. 
It was unsafe to leave that part to mo. 



Alon. Is not the day then tixed for your eajwusals? 

Leon. Indeed my father once had thought that 
way: 
Hut marking how the marriage ]iained my heart, 
1 iong he stood doubtful ; but at last resolved, 
Your counsel, which detennines him in all, 
Should linish the debate. 

Alon. (.)h, agony! 
Must 1 not only lose her, but be made 
My.self the instrument? not only die, 
r.ut plunge the dagger in my heart myself] 
'I'll is is retining on ealaniily. 

Leon. What, do you tremble lest you should bo 
mine '! 
I'or what else can you treml)le? not fi>r that 
iMy lather places in your power to alter. 

Alon. What's in my power? oh, yes, to stab 
my friend ! 

Leon . 'I'o slab your friend were barbarous indeed ! 
Spare him — and murder me. I own, Alonzo,,, 
\'ou well may wonder at such worils as these ; 
1 start at them mysi>lf ; they fright my nature. 
Ljreat is my fault; but blame not me alone; 
Give him a little bhune who took such puins 
To make me guilty. 

Alon. Torment ! 

Leon, [lifter a pause] Oh, my shame 1 
I sue, and sue in vain : it is most just, 
When women sue, tliey sue to be denied. 
You hate me, you despise me ! you do well ; 
For what I've done I hate and scorn myself. 
Oh, night, tall on me! I shall blush to death. 

Alon. i'irst perish all ! 

Leon. Say, what have you resolved ? 
IVly father et>mes ; what answer will you give himi 

Alon. What answer? let me look upon that liice, 
And rend it there. — Devote thee to another ! 
Not to be borne ! a second look undoes me. 

Ijeon. And why undo you ! is it then, my lord, 
So terrible to yield to your own wishes. 
Because they hajipen to concur with mine? 
Cruel ! to take such pains to win a heart, 
Which you was conscious you nmst break with 
parting. 

Alon. No, Leonora, I am thine for ever. 

[runs and embraces her. 
In spite of Carlos — ha! who's that? my friend? 
[i-^ar/s wide from her. 
Alas! I see him pale! I hear his groan ! 
He li>ams, he tears his hair, he raves, he bleeds, 
I know him by myst^lf, he dies distracted ! 

jAon. How dreadful to be cut from what we love ! 

Alon. Ah, speak no more ! 

Leon. And tied to what we hate I 

Alon. Oh! 

Leon. Is it possible 1 

Alon. Death! 

Ia'ou. Can you ? 

Alon. Oh— 



THE REVENGE. 



191 



Yes, take a liiiib; but let my virtue 'scape. 
Alas, my soul, this moment I die for thee ! 

[breaks away. 

Leon. And are you perjured then for virtue's 
sake? 
IIow often iiave you sworn ! — but go, for ever. 

[swoons. 

Alon. Heart of my heart, and essence of my joy ! 
Where art thou ! oh, I um thine, and thine forever! 
The groans of friendship shall be heard no more. 
For whatsoever crime 1 can commit, 
I've lelt the pains already. 

Leon. Hold, Aloii/.o, 
And hear a maid whom doubly thou hast conquered. 
I love thy virtue as I love thy p(>rson. 
And 1 adore lliec for the pains it gave me ; 
Hut as 1 felt the pains, I'll reaj* the fruit; 
I'll shine out in my turn, and show the world 
Thy great examjilc was not lost upon me. 
Be it enough that I have onc(! been guilty; 
(n sight of such a pattern, to persist, 
ill suits a person honoured with your love. 
My otiier titles to that bliss are weak ; 
1 must deserve it by refusing it. 
Thus then I tear me from thy hopes for ever. 
Shall I contril)ut(! to Alonzo's crime 1 
No, though the life blood gushes from my heart. 
You shall not bo ashamed of Leonora ; 
Or that late time may put our names together. 
Nay, never shrink ; take back the bright example 
Vou lately lent ; oh, take it wlulo you may. 
While 1 can give it you, and be immortal, [exit. 

Alon. She's gone, and I shall see her face no 
more ; 
3ut pine in absence, and till death adore. 
When with cold dew my fainting brow is hung. 
And my eyes darken, from my faltering tongue 
rier name will tremble with a feeble rnoan, 
i .nd love with fate divide my dying groan, [exit. 



ACT II. 



SCENE I — CONTINUES. 

Enter DON MANUEL and ZANGA. 

.Zan. If this be true, I can not blame your pain 
Foi wretched Carlos; 'tis but humane in you. 
Bui when arrived your dismal news? 

Man. This hour. 

ji,an. What, not a vessel saved ? 

Man. All, all the storm 
Dcv jureil ; and now o'er his late envied fortune 
Tilt dolphins bound, and watery mountains roar. 
Triumphant in his ruin. 

Xun. Is Alvarez 
Detci'mined to deny liis daughter to him ? 
Thai treasure was on shore ; must that too join 
The common wreck 1 

26 2i» 



Man. Alvarez pleads, indeed, 
That Leonora's heart is (iisinclined, 
And pleads that only ; so it was this morning, 
When he concurred; the tempest broke the match, 
And sunk his favour, wiien it sindc the gold. 
The love of gold is double in his heart. 
The voice of age, and of Alvarez too. 

Zan. How does Don Carlos bear it 1 

Man. Like a man 
Whose heart feels most a human heart can feel, 
And reasons best a human heart can reason. 

Zan. But is he then in absolute des|)air'} 

Man. Never to see his Leonora more. 
And, quite to ((uench all future hoi)e, Alvaroa 
Urges Aloiizo to es|)ouso his daughter 
This very day ; for he has learnt their lovca. 

Zon. Ha! was not that received with ecstacy 
By Don Alonzo? 

Man. Yes, at first ; but soon 
A damp came o'er him, it would kill his friend. 

Zan. Notif his friend consented! and since now 
He can't himself es[)ouso her 

Man. Yet, to ask it 
Has something shocking to a generous mind j 
At l(!ast, Alonzo's s[)irit startles at it. 
Wide is the distance between our despair, 
And giving up a mistress to another. 
But I must leave you. Carlos wants support 
In his severe alilietion. [exit. 

Zan. Ha ! it dawns I 

It rises to me like a new found world 

To mariners long time distrest at sea, 

Sore from a storm; and all their viands spent; 

Or like the sun just rising out of chaos. 

Some dregs of ancient night not quite purged off. 

But, shall I finish it? hoa Isabella! 

Enter ISAIIEI.LA. 

I thought of dying ; better things come forward ; ' 
Vengeance is still alive ; from her dark covert, 
With all her snakes erect upon her crest. 
She stalks in view, and fires me with her charms. 
When, Isabella, arrived Don Carlos here? 

Isa. Two nights ago. 

Zan. That was the very night 

Before tlie battle memory set down that; 

it has tiie essence of tiie crocodile. 

Though yet but in the shell— I'll give it birth. 

What time did he return? 

Isa. At midnight. 

Zan. So-. — 

Say, did he see that night his Leonora ? 

Isa. No, my good lord. 

Zan. No matter tell me, woman. 

Is not Alonzo rather brave than cautious? 
Honest than subtle, above fraud himself, 
Slow, therefore, to suspect it in anotherl 

Isa. You best can judge; but so tlio world thinks 
of him^ 



193 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Zan. Wliy, tlvut wus well — go letch my tables 
liithor. [Exit ha. 

Two iiiirlils iif^o my fathers sacred sliailo 
Thrico stalUeil around iny bed, aiid smiled upon 

mo; 
IIb smiled a joy then little imdevstood — 
It imwt be BO — and if bo, it is vengeance 
Wortii waking of the doud for. 

Ro-onler ISAIIELI-A with ilin Uililc.i— ZANGA wrlto% then 
rt'ad'iaH tu liiiiitjoir. 

Thus it stands 



Tiie father's fixt Don Carlos can notwod 

Alon/.o may — but that will hurt his friend 

Nor can he ask his leave — or, if Ik^ did, 

He mijflit not ijiun it — it is hard to jriwi 

Our consent to ills, thouivh wo must bear them. 

Were it not then a master-piece, worth all 

The wi.sdom I can boiist, first to persuade 

7\lon/.o to reiiuest it of his friend, 

His friend to grant — then from that very grant. 

The strongest proof of friendship man can give, 

i\nd otlier motives, to work out a cause 

Of jealousy, to rack Alon/.o's peaci>? 

1 have turned o'er the catalogue of human woes, 

Which sting the heart of man, and find none 

e()ual. 
It is the hytlra of calamities. 
The seven-fold death ! the jealous arc the damned. 
Oh, jealousy, each oilier pnssion's calm 
To thee, thou conlliigration of the soul! 
Thou king of torments, thou grand counterpoise 
I<'or all the transports beauty can inspire! 

ha. A lonzo comes this way. 

Za,n. Most opportunely. 
Withdraw. {K.i-it ha.) "Ye subtle demons, 

which reside 
In courts, and do your work with bows and smiles. 
That little enginery, more mischievous 
Than fleets and armies, and the camion's murder, 
Teadi me to look a lie; give me your maze 
Of gloomy thought and intricate design. 
To catch the man I hate, and then devour." 

Enter DON ALONZO. 
My lord, I give you joy. 

Alon. Of what, good Zangal 
Zan. Is not the lovely Leonora youral 
Alon. What will become of Carlos'? 
Zan. He's your friend ; 
And since he can't esjwuse the fair himself, 
Will take some comfort from Alonzo's fortune. 

Alon. Alas, thou little know 'st the force of love! 
Love n-igns a sultan with unrivalled sway; 
I'uts all relations, friendship's self to death. 
If once he's jealous of it. 1 love Carlos; 
Yet well 1 know what pangs 1 felt this morixing, 
At his intended nuptials. For myself 
1 then felt |)ains vvliich now for him 1 feel. 
Zan. You will not wed her tlicnl 



Alon. Not instantly. 
Insult his broken heart the very moment! 

Zan. I understand you: but you'll wed her 
hercaller. 
When your friend's gone, and his first pain as- 
suaged. 

Alon. Am I to blame in thatl 

Zan. My lord, 1 love 
Your very errors: they are born from virtue. 
Your friendship, and what noliler passion claims 
The heart? does lead yon blindfold to your ruin. 
Consider, wherefore did Alvarez break 
Don Carlos' match, and wherefore urge Alonzo's? 
'Twas the same cause, the love of wealth. To- 
morrow 
May see A lonzo in Don Carlos' fortune ; 
A higher bidder is a better friend, 
And there are princes sigh for Leonora. 
When your friend's gone, you'll wed ; why, when 

the cause 
Which gives you Leonora now will cease, 
t^iirlos has lost her; should you lose her too, 
Why, then you heap new torments on your friend, 
By tliat resi)ect wliicii laboured to relieve him — 
'Tis well he is disturbed; it makes him pause. 

{aside.) 

Alon. Think'st thou, my Zanga, should 1 ask 
Don Carlos, 
Ilis goodness would consent that I should wed 
her? 

Zan. 1 know it would. 

Alon. But then the cruelty 
To ask it, and for mc to ask it of him! 

Zan. Metliiuks you are severe upon your 
friend. 
Who was it gave him liberty and life ? 

Alon. That is the very reason which forbids it. 
Were 1 a stranger 1 could freely speak: 
In me it so resembles a demand. 
Exacting of a debt, it sliocks my nature. 

Zan. My lord, you know the sad alternative. 
Is Leonora worth one pang or not ? 
It hurts not me, my lord, but as I love you: 
Wannly as you I wish Don Carlos well; 
But 1 am likewise Don Alonzo's friend: 
There all the diirerence lies between us two. 
In me, my lord, you hear another self: 
And, give me leave to add, a better too. 
Cleared from these errors, which, though caused 
by virtue. 

Are such as may hereafter give you pain 

Don Lopez of Castile would not demur thus. 

Alon. Perish the name! what, sacrifice the fair 
To age and ugliness, because set in gold? 
I'll to Don Carlos, if my heart will let me. 
I have not seen him since his sore atlliction; 
But shunned it, as too terrible to bear; 
How shall 1 bear it now ! I'm struck already. 

[Exit. 



THE REVENGE. 



l'J3 



Zan. rialf of my work is done. I muHt secure 
Doti Carlos, ere Alonzo spoiik witli liiiii. 

[He gifcs a 7ni\isa/:(c lo a scrva7it, then rr/jtrw.v] 
Froud liiitp<i S|uun, oil<lr('i\i'lu!il in Moorish blood ! 
Dost lliou not feci a deadly {\v\ williin l,lio»!'! 
(Shako not the towers wluire'er 1 pass along. 
Conscious of ruin, and their great destroyer? 
Shake to the centre if Aloii/.o's dear. 
Look down, oh holy rro|)het! mv uie torture 
This Christian i\u^, thisinlidi^l, which dares 
To smite (hy votaries, and s|)urn thy law; 
And yet hopes |)leasur<^ froni two radiant eyes, 
"Wlii<-h look as they wore lighted up for thee t 
Shall he enjoy thy |)aradis(! below 1 
IMast tlio bold tliouf^ht, and curse him with her 

charms! 
]5ut see, the melancholy lov<'r comes. 
Eiilur DON ("AKI,03. 

Car. Hope, thou hast told mo lies from day to 
day, 
For more than twenty yt'ars ; vile promiscr 1 
None here are happy, but the very fool, 
Or very wise: and I wasn't fool enoujjh 
To smile in vanilies, and hui^ a shadow; 
Nor hav(^ I wisdom to elaborate 
An artificial hap|)inessfroin pains: 
Even joys are jwdns, because they can not last. 

[sighs] 
Yet nmch is talked of bliss: it is the art 
Of such as have the world in their poBsession, 
'J'o ifive it a good name tliiit fools may envy: 
I'\ir envy to small mimls is; lliittery." 
]1()W many lill the head, look gay, and smilo 
A'j.dnKt their consciences! and this we know, 
Yet knowing, disbelieve, and try again 
What we have tried, and struggle with conviction. 
Each !iew ex|)erience gives the former credit; 
And revereiul gray threescore is but a voucher, 
Th.ittliirly told us true. 

Zan. My noble lord, 
I mourn your fate: but arc no hopes surviving? 

Car. No hopes. Alvarez has a heart of steel. 
''J"is lixt — 'tis imst — 'tis absolute despair I 

Zan. You wanted not to have your heart made 
tender, 
By your own pains, to fee! a friend's distress. 

(ait. I understand you well. Alonzo loves; 
I [)ity him. 

Zan. 1 dare bo sworn you do. 
Yet he has other thoughts. 

Car. What can'st thou mean 1 

Zan. Iixlecd he has; and fears to ask a favour 
A Ktninger from a stranger might recjuest; 
What costs you nothing, yet is all to him: 
Nay, what indeed will to your glory add, 
For notliing more than wisliiiig your friend well. 

Car. I pray be plain ; his ha|>piness is nnne. 

Zan. lie loves to death ; but so reveres his 
friend, 



He can't i)ersuade his heart to wed the maid 
Without your leave, and that he fears to ask. 
In perfect tenderness I urged him to it. 
Knowing the deadly sickness of ids heart, 
Your overdowing goodness to your friend. 
Your wisdom, and despair yoursi^lf to wed her, 
I wrung a [jromise from him Ik! would try: 
And now I come, a nmtual frienii to both. 
Without his privacy to let you know it, 
And to prepare you kindly to receive him. 

Car. I la ! if he weds 1 am undone indeed : 
Not Don Alvarez' self can relievo me. 

Zaii. A las, my lord, you know iiis Imart is steel ; 
'Tis lixt, 'tis |)ast, 'tis aiisolute despidr. 

Car. Oh, cruel heaven ! and is it not enough 
That I must never, never see her more? 
Say, is it not enough that I nuist di(; ; 
But 1 nmst b(! tormented in the gravt! 1 — 
Ask my consent ! nui.st I then give her to him 1 
Lead to his nuptial sheets the blushing maid? 
Oh! Leonora! never, never, never! 

Zan. A storm of plagues upon him ! he refuses. 

[a.'iidC, 

Car. What, wed licr ! — and to-day ! 

Zan. To-day, or never. 
To-morrow nuiy some wealthier lover bring, 
And then Alonzo is thrown out like you ; 
''i'lien whom shidl he condemn for his misfortune? 
(Carlos is an Alvarez to his love. 

Car. Oh, torment I whither shall I turn? 

Zan. To |)eace. 

Car. Wiiich is the way? 

Zan. His happiness is yours 

I dnre not disbelieve you. 

Car. Kill my friend ! 

Or worse alas I and can there be a worse? 

A worse there is; nor can my nature bear it. 

Zan. You have convinced mo 'tis a dreadful 
task. 
1 find Alonzo's quitting Xw.t this morning 
For Carlos' sake, in tcmderness to you, 
Hetrayed me to beli('ve it less severe 
Than 1 perceive it is. 

Car. Thou dost upbraid me? 

Zan. No, my good lord ; but since you can't 
comply, 
'Tis my mislbrtunc that I mentioned it; 
For had I not, Alonzo would indecid 
Have died, us now, but not by your decree. 

Car. By my decree I do 1 decn^e his death 7 

I do shall I then lead her to his arms '{ 

Oh, which side shall I take? be stabbed, or stab ? 
''I'is eipial death ! a choi(^e of agonies ! 
Ah, no! — all other agonies arc ease 

To on(! oh, Leonora! never, never! 

(io, '/anga, go, defer the dreadful trial. 

Though but a day, somethhig, perchance, may 

happen 
To Botlcn all to friendship and to love. 



194 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Go, stop my friend, let me not see him now ; 
But save us from an interview of death. 

Zan. My lord, I'm bound in duty to obey you — 
If 1 do not bring hirn, may Alonzo prosper. 

[aside and exit. 
Car. What is this world 1 — thy school, oh, 
misery ! 
Our only lesson is to learn to suffer; 
And he who knows not that, was born for nothing. 
Though deep my pangs, and heavy at my heart, 
My comfort is, each moment takes away 
A grain, at least, from the dead load that's on me, 
And gives a nearer prospect of the grave. 

But put it most severely — should I live 

Live long alas, there is no length-in time ! 

Nor in thy time, oh, man ! — what's fourscore years? 
Nay, what, indeed, the age of time itself, 
Since cut out from Eternity's wide round ! 
Away, then, to a mind resolved and wise, 
There is an impotence in misery, 
Which makes me smile, when all its shafts are in 

me. 
Yet Lconora- 



-she can make time long, 



Its nature alter, as she altered mine. 
While in the lustre of her charms I lay, 
Wliole summer suns roll unperceived away; 
I years for days, and days for moments told, 
And was surprized to hear that I grew old. 
Now fate does rigidly its dues regain. 
And every moment is an age of pain. 

As he IB going out, enter ZANGA and DON ALONZO. 
ZaNGA stops DON CARLOa 

Zan. Is this Don Carlos? this the boasted 
friend ? 
How can you turn your back upon his sadness? 
Look on him, and then leave him if you can. 
Whose sorrows thus depress him ? not his own ; 
This moment he could wed without your leave. 

Car. I can not yield ; nor can I bear his griefs. 
Alonzo! [goiiig to him and taking his hand.] 

Alon. Oh, Carlos! 

Car. Pray, forbear. 

Alon. Art thou undone, and shall Alonzo smile? 
Alonzo, who perhaps, in some degree 
Contributed to cause thy dreadful fate? 
I was deputed guardian of thy love ; 
But, oh, [ loved myself! pour down afflictions 
On this devoted head; make me your mark; 
And be the world by my example taught. 
How sacred it should hold the name of friend. 

Car. You charge yourself unjustly : well I know 
The only cause of my severe affliction. 
Alvarez, curst Alvarez ! — so much anguish 
Felt for so small a failure, is one merit 
Which faultless virtue wants. The crime was 

mine, 
Who placed thee there, where only thou could'st 
fail; 



Though well I knew that dreadful post of honour 
I gave thee to maintain. Ah ! who could bear 
Those eyes unhurt ? the wounds myself have felt; 
Which wounds alone should cause me to condemn 

thee. 
They plead in thy excuse ; for I too strove 
To shun those fires, and found 'twas not in man. 

Alon. You cast in shades the failure of a friend, 
And soften all ; but think not you deceive me ; 
I know my guilt, and I implore your pardon. 
As the sole glimpse I can obtain of peace. 

Car. Pardon for him, who but this morning 
threw 
Fair Leonora from his heart all bathed 
in ceaseless tears, and blushing for her love ! 
Who, like a rose-leaf wet with morning dew, 
Would have stuck close, and clung for evertliere! 
But 'twas in thee, through fondness for thy friend, 
To shut thy bosom against ecstacies ; 
For which, while this pulse beats, it beats to thee: 
While this blood flows, it flows for my Alonzo, 
And every wash is leveled at thy joy. 

Zan. [toAlonzol My lord, my lord, this is your 
time to speak. 

Alon. [to Zanga] Because he's kind ? it there- 
fore is the worst ; 
For 'tis his kindness which I fear to hurt. 
Shall the same moment see him sink in woes, 
And me providing for a flood of joys. 
Rich in the plunder of his happiness ? 
No, I may die ; but I can never speak. 

Car. Now, now it comes ; they are concerting it: 
The first word strikes me dead — oh, Leonora ! 
And shall another taste her fragrant breath ? 
Who knows what after-time may bring to pass ? 
Fathers may change, and I may wed her still. 

[aside \ 

Alon. [to Zanga] Do I not see him quite pos- 
sessed with anguish. 
Which; like a demon, writhes him to and fro; 
And shall I pour in new? no fond desire. 
No love : one pang at parting, and farewell. 
I have no other love but Carlos now. 

Car. Alas, my friend, why with such eager grasp 
Dost press my hand, and weep upon my cheek ? 

Alon. If, after death our forms, as some believe, 
Shall be transparent, naked every thouglit. 
And friends meet friends, and read each other's 

hearts, 
Thoul't know one day that thou wast held most dear. 
Farewell. 

Car. Alonzo, stay — hecannotspeak— [AoZdsAtm] 
Lest it should grieve me — shall I be outdone ? 
And lose in glory, as I lose in love ? [aside] 
I take it much unkindly, my Alonzo, 
You think so meanly of me, not to speak. 
When well I know your heart is near to bursting. 
Have you forgot how you have bound me to youl 
Your smallest friendship's liberty and life. 



THE REVENGE. 



195 



Alon. There, there it is, my friend, it cuts me 
there. 
Tlow (Iri'adful it is to a gcnrrous iiiiiiJ 
To ask, when sure he can not be denied ! 

Car. How greatly thought ! in ail he towers 
above me. [a-sic/y] 
Then you confess you would ask something of mel 

Alon. INo, on my soul. 

Zan. [to Alonzo] Then lose her. 

Car. Glorious fi[)irit ! 
Why, what a pang has he run through for this! 
By heaven, I envy him his agonies. 
Wliy, was not mine the most illustrious lot, 
Of starting at one action from below, 
And iluiKiiiiT up into consummate greatness? 
Ila! an<^i'ls strengthen me! — it sliall be .so — 
1 can't want strengtli. Great actions, once con- 
ceived, 
Strengthen like wine, and animate the soul, 
And call themselves to being, [aside] My Alonzo, 
Since thy great soul disdains to make request, 
Receive with favour that I make to thee. 

Alon. What means my Carlos 1 

Car. Pray observe me well. 
Fate and Alvarez tore her from my heart, 
And plucking up my love, tiiey had well nigh 
Plucked up life too, for they were twined together. 
Of that no more — what now does reason bid 7 
I can not wed — farewell my happiness ! 
But, O, my soul, with care provide for hers ! 
In life how weak, how hcl[)less is woman! 
Soon hurt; in happiness itself unsafe. 
And often wounded while she plucks the rose ; 
So properly the object of afiliction, 
That heaven is pleased to make distress become her, 
And dresses her most amiably in tears. 
Take tiicn my heart in dowry with the fair, 
r>e tiiou her guardian, and tliou must be mine. 
Shut out the thousand pressing ills of life 
With thy surrounding arms — do this, and then 
Set down the liberty and life thou gavest me, 
As little things, as essays of thy goodness, 
And rudiments of friendship so divine. 

Alon. There is a grandeur in thy goodness to me, 
Which with thy foes would render thee adored. 
But have a care, nor think I can be pleased 
With any thing that lays in pains for thee. 
I'hou dost dissemble, and thy heart's in tears. 

Car. My heart's in health, my spirits dance their 
round, , ' ' 

And at my eyes pleasure looks out in smiles. 

Alon. And canst thou, canst thou part with Leo- 
nora 1 

Car. I do not part with her, I give her thee. 

Alon. O, Carlos! 

Car. Don't disturb me, I'm sincere. 
Nor is it more than simple justice in me, 
Tliis morn didst thou resign her for my sake; 



I but perforin a virtue learnt from thee; 
Diseiiarge a debt, and pay her to thy wishes. 
Alon. Ah, how 7 but think not words were ever 
made 
For such occasions. Silence, tears, embraces, 
Are languid eloquence; PU seek relief 
In al).sence from the pain of so nmch goodness, 
There thank the blest above, thy sole superiors, 
Adore, and raise my thoughts of them by thee. 

[cvit. 
Zan. Thus far success has crowned my boldest 
hope. 
My next care is to hasten these new nuptials. 
And tiien my master-work begins to play. [asWe} 
Why this was greatly done, without one sigh, 

[to Car^ 
To carry such a gloi-y to its period. 

Car. Too soon thou praisest mc. He's gone, 
and now 
I must unshiice my overbnrthened heart. 
And let it How. 1 would not grieve my friend 
Witii tears, nor interrupt my great design ; 
Great sure as ever human breast durst think of. 
But now my sorrows, long with pain supprest, 
Burst their conftnement with impetuous sway, 
O'er-swell all bounds, and bear e'en life away. 
So till the day was won, the Greek renowned 
With anguish wore the arrow in his wound, 
Then drew the shaft from out his tortured side, 
Let gush the torrent of his blood, and died. 

[exe,Vi,nl. 



ACT III. 

Enter ZANGA. 

Zan. O joy, thou welcome stranger ! twice throe 
years 
I have not felt thy vital beam ; but now 
It warms my veins, and plays around my heart 
A fiery instinct lifts me from the ground, 

And I could mount the spirits numberless 

Of my dear countrymen, which yesterday 
Left their j)0or bleeding bodies on the field. 
Are all assemljjed here, and o'er-inform me. 
O, bridegroom! great indeed thy present bliss; 
Yet e'en by me unenvied ; for be sure 
It is thy last, thy last smile, that which now 
Sits on thy cheek; enjoy it while thou niayest; 
Anguish, and groans, and death, bespeak to-morrow. 

Enter ISABELLA. 

My Isabella I 

Isa. What commands, my Moor 1 
Zan. My fair ally ! my lovely minister ! 
'Twas well Alvarez, b^ my arts imi)elled. 
To plunge Don Carlos in the last despair, 
And so prevent all future molestation, 



106 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Fiiiislu'il the Muptinls soon as ho resolved tlicm; 

Thin roiidiut' ripened nil for nic, and ruin. 

Scarce had tiie priest tlie lu>ly rite performed^ 

When I, l>y sacred inspiration, lory;ed 

Tiiat letter, which 1 trusted to thy hand; 

That letter, which in {jlowinj; terms conveys, 

From hap])v < 'arlos, to I'liir Leonora, 

'I'he most proliiund ackno\vleily;ment of lieart, 

For wondrous tranaporta which he never knew. 

This is a lijood snl)servient arlillce, 

I'o aid the nohler vvorkint;s ot' my l)ruin. 

Isa. 1 quickly dropt it in the bride's apartment, 
As you coimnanded. 

Xan. Willi a hickv hand; 
For SQon Alonzo found it ; I observed him 
From out my seci-i't sl;ind. Tie took it up; 
Kut scarce was it unfolded to his sijjht, 
When he, na if an arrow pierced his oyo. 
Started, and tremblin^f, dropt it on the jiround. 
I'ale and ajjliast awhile my victim stood, 
Pisijui.sed a si^rji or two, and [tulli'd them from him; 
Then rubbed his brow, and took it up aijain. 
At first h(> looked as if he meant to reail it; 
l?ut checked by risinjj fears, he crushed it — thus — 
And thrust it, like an adder, in his bosom. 

Isa. But if he read it not, it can not sting him, 
At least not mortally. 

Zan. At first 1 tiioufri\l so; 
But farther thou;:rht informs mc otherwise, 
And turns this disappointment to account. 
lie more siiull credit it, bei-aiisi^ iniseen, 
If 'tis unseen, as thou anon inaycst lind. 

Isa. That vvoidd indeed commend my Zanga's 
skill. 

Zan. This, Isabella, is Don Carlos' picture ; 
Take it: and so dispose of it, that found, 
It may rise up a witness of her love ; 
Under her [lillow, in her cabinet. 
Or elsewhere, as shall best promote our end. 

Isa. I'll weigli it as its consequence requires. 
Then do my utmost to deserve your smile, [exit. 

Zan. Is that Alonzo prostrate on the !;jround'! — 
Now he starts up, like fliunes from sleeiung cm- 
bora. 
And wild distraction glares from cither eye. 
If thus a slight surmise can work his soul, 
How will the fulness of the tempest tear him'? 

Knirr Don AI-ONZO. 

Alon. And yet it can not bo — I am deceived — 
I injure her; she wears the face of heaven. 

Zan. He doubts. [retires. 

Alon. 1 dare not look on tliis again. 
If the first glance, which gave suspicion only, 
Had such elVect; so smote my heart and brain, 
1"he certainty would ilash me all in pieces. 
It can not — ha ! it must, it must lie true, [starts. 

Z(Ui. Hold there, oJiJ we succeed. Ho has 
Ut'scricd mo. 



And, for he thinks 1 love him, will uidoid 
I lis aching heart, and rest it on my counsel. 
I'll seem to go, to make my stay more sure. 

[aside. 

Alon. IJold, '/anga, turn. 

Zan. My lord. 

Alon. Shut close the doors, 
Tiiat not a spirit find an entrance here. 

Zan. My lord 's obeyed. 

Alon. I see that thou art frighted. 
If thou dost love me, 1 shall fill ihy heart 
With scorpions' slings. 

Zan. If I do love, my lord'? 

Alon. Come near me, let me rest upon thy bo- 
som. 
What pillow like the bosom of a friend'? 
b'or 1 am sick at heart. 

Zan. Sjicak, sir, O speak. 
And take me from the rack. 

Alon. And is there need 
Of words ? behohl a wonder ! see my tears ! 

Zan. I feel 'em too. Heaven grant my senses 



fail 



me ! 



I rather would lose tliem, than have this real. 
Alon. Co, take a round through all things in 
thy thought. 
And lind that ont>, for there is only one. 
Which could extort my tears; lind that, and tell 
Thyself my misery, and spare mo the pain. 

Zan. Sorrow can think but ill — 1 am bewil« 
dered ; 
I know not where I am. 

Alon. Think, think, no more. 
It ne'er can enter in an honest heart. 

I'll tell thee, then 1 can not yet I do 

By wanting force to give it utterance. 
Zan. Sju'ak, ease your heart; its throbs will 

break yoin- bosom. 
Alon. 1 am most happy ; mine is victory, 
Mine the king's favour, mine the nation's shout, 
And great men make tlieir fiirtnnes of my smiles. 
(.> curse of curses! in the lap of blessing 

To be most curst! my Leonora 's false! 

Zan, Save' me, my lord! 
Alon. My Leonora 's Itilso! 

Ig^ives him the letter.] 
Zan. Then l»eaven has lost its imagjjjiere on 
earth. 
[while Zanga reads the letter, he trembles and 
shows the titmost coiicern.] 
Ahn. Good-natured man! ho makes my paina 
his own. 
I durst not read it ; but I read it now 
In thy concern. 

Zan. Did you not read it then 7 

Alon. Mine eye just touched it, and could bear 

no more. 
Zan. Thus perish all that gives Alonzo pain ! 

[tears the letter. \ 



THE REVENGE. 



197 



Alon. Why dul'st thou tear if? 
Zan. Think of it no more. 
'Twnsyour mistake, and groundless arc your fears. 
Alon. And did'st thou tremble then for my mis- 
take 1 
Or give the whole contents, or by the panjrs 
That feed upon my heart, thy life 's in danirer. 

Xan. Is thin Alonzo's language to hi.s Zanga? 
Draw forth your sword, and find the secret here. 
For whose sake is it, think you, I coneeal if? 
Wherefore this rage? because I seek your peace? 
I have no interest in suppressing it. 
But what good natured tenderness for you 
Obliges me to have. Not mine the heart 
That will be rent in two. Not mine the fame 
That will be damned, though all the world should 
know it. 
Alon. Then my worst fears are true, and life is 

past. 
Zan. What has the rashness of my passion ut- 
tered ? 
I know not what ; but rage is our destruction, 

And all its words are wind yet sure I think, 

1 nothing owned but grant I did confess, 

What is a letter? letters may be forged. 
For heaven's sweet sake, my lord, lift up your 
heart. 

Some foe to your repose 

Alon. So, heaven look on me. 
As I can't find the man I have ofiended. 

jSan. Indeed! [aside] our innocence is not our 
shield ; 
They take offence, who have not been offended ; 
They seek our ruin too, who speak us fair. 
And death is often ambushed in their smiles. 
" We know not whom we have to fear." 'Tis cer- 
tain 
A letter may be forged, and in a point 
Of such a dreadful con.scquence as this. 
One would rely on nought that might be false- 



Think, have you any other cause to doubt her? 
Away, you can find none. Resume your spirits; 
All's well again. 

Alon. O that it were! 

Zan. It is ; 
For who would credit that, which credited, 
Makes hell superfluous by superior pains. 
Without such proofs as can not be withstood ; 
Hiis she not ever been to virtue trained ? 
Is not hor fame as spotless as the sun. 
Her sex's envy, and the boast of Spain? 

Alon. O, Zanga! it is that confounds mc most, 
That full in opposition to appearance 

Zan. No more, my lord, for you condemn your- 
self 
What is absurdity, but to believe 
Against appearance ! — you can't yet, I find, 
Subdue your passion to your better sense; — 
And, truth to tell, it does not much displease mc. 



'Tis fit our indiscretion should be checked 
With some degree of pain. 

Alon. What indiscretion? 

Zan. Come, you must bear to hear your faults 
from me : 
Had you not sent Don Carlos to the court 
Th(! night before the battle, that foul slave, 
Who forged the senseless scroll which gives you 

pain. 
Had wanted footing for his villany. 

Alon. I sent him not. 

Zan. Not send him ! — ha I — that strikes mo. 
I thotight he came on message to the king. 
Is there another cause could justify 
His shunning danger, and the promised fight? 
But I pcrhajis may think too rigidly; 
So long an absence, and impatient love 

Alon. In my confusion that had quite escaped 
me. 
By heaven, my woundcid soul does bleed afresh; — 
'Tis clear as day — lor Carlos is so brave. 
He lives not but on fame, he hunts for danger, 
And is enamoured of tiic face of (h^ath. 
How then could he decline the next day's battle? 

But for the transports ! Oh, it must be so — 

Inhuman! by the loss of his own honour, 
To buy the ruin of his friend ! 

Zan. You wrong him : 
He knew not of your love. 

Alon. Ha ! 

Zan. That stings home, [aside.] 

Alon. Indeed, he knew not of my treacherous 
love — 
Proofs rise on proofs, and still the last the strong- 
est. 
The eternal law of things declares it true, 
Which calls for judgment on distinguished guilt. 
And loves to make our crime our punishment. 
Love is my torture, love was first my crime ; 
For she was his, my friend's, and ho, O, horror ! 
Confided all in mc. O, sacred faith ! 
How dearly I abide thy violation! 

Zan. Were then their loves far gone? 

Alon. The father's will 
There bore a total sway ; and he, as soon 
As news arrived that Carlos' fleet was seen 
From off our coast, fired with the love of gold, ' 
Determined, that the very sun which saw 
Carlos' return, should see his daughter wed. 

Zan. Indeed, my lord; then you must pardon 
me, 

If I presume to mitigate the crime. 
Consider, strong allurements soften guilt ; 
Xiong was his absence, ardent was his love. 
At midnight his return, the next day destined 
For his esfmusals — 'twas strong temptation. 

Alon. Temptation ! 

Zan. 'Twas but gaining of one night. 

Alon. One night! 



198 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Zan. That crime could ne'er return again. 

Alon. Again ! by heaven thou doat insult thy 
lord. 
Temptation ! one night gained 1 O stings and death ! 
And am I then undone '] alas, my Zanga ! 
And dost thou own it too 1 deny it still, 
And rescue me one moment from distraction. 

Zan. My lord, I hope the best. 

Alon. False, foolish hope. 
And insolent to me ! thou know'st it's false ; 
It is as glaring as the noon-tide sun. 
Devil ! — this morning, after three years coldness, 
To rush at once into a passion for me ! 
'Twas time to feign, 'twas time to get another, 
When her first fool was sated with her beauties. 

Zan. What says my lord 1 did Leonora then 
Never before disclose her passion for you "? 

Alon. Never. 

Zan. Throughout the whole three years ? 

Alon. O never ! never ! 
Why, Zanga, shouldst thou strive 1 'tis all in vain : 
Though thy soul labours, it can find no reed 
For hope to catch at. Ah ! I'm plunging down 
Ten thousand thousand fathoms in despair. 

Zan. Hold, sir, I'll break your fall — wave every 
fear, 
And be a man again — had he enjoyed her. 
Be most assured, he had resigned her to you 
With less reluctance. 

Alon. Ha ! resign her to me ! 

Resign her ! — who resign her 1 — double death ! 
How could I doubt so long 1 my heart is broke. 
First love her to distraction ! then resign her ! 

Zan. But was it not with utmost agony'? 

Alon. Grant that, he still resigned her; that's 
enough. 
Would he pluck out his eye to give it me 1 
Tear out his heart 7 — she was his heart no more — 
For was it with reluctance he resigned her ; 
By heaven, he asked; he courted me to wed. 
I thought it strange ; 'tis now no longer so. 

Zan. Was't his request ? are you right sure of 
thaf? 
I fear the letter was not all a tale. 

Alon. A tale ! there's proof equivalent to sight. 

Zan. I should distrust my sight on this occasion. 

Alon. And so should I ; by heaven, I think I 
should. 
^What ! Leonora, the divine, by whom 
We guessed at angels ! oh ! I'm all confusion. 

Zan. You now are too much ruffled to think 
clearly. 
Since bliss and horror, life and death hang on it, 
Go to your chamber, there maturely weigh 
Each circumstance : consider, above all, 
That it ifi jealousy's peculiar nature 
To swell small things to great ; nay, out of nought 
To conjure miich, and then to lose its reason 
Amid the hideous phantoms it has formed. 



Alon. Had I ten thousand lives, I'd give them all 
To be deceived. I fear 'tis doomsday with me. 
And yet she seemed so pure, that I thought heaven 
Borrowed her form for virtue's self to wear, 
To gain her lovers with the sons of men. 
O, Leonora ! Leonora ! [exit. 

Enter I.SABELLA. 

Zan. Thus far it works auspiciously. My pa- 
tient 
Thrives underneath my hand in misery. 
He's gone to think ; that is, to be distracted. 

Isa. I overheard your conference, and saw you, 
To my amazement, tear the letter. 

Zan. There, 
There, Isabella, I out-did myself. 
For tearing it, I not secure it only 
In its force; but superadd a new. 
For who can now the character examine 
To cause a doubt, much less detect the fraud 1 
And after tearing it, as loth to show 
The foul contents, if I should swear it jiow 
A forgery, my lord would disbelieve me. 
Nay, more, would disbelieve the more I swore. 
But is the picture happily disposed of? 

Isa. It is. 

Zan. That's well — ah ! what is well 1 O, pang 
to think ! 
dire necessity ! is tliis my province 1 
Whither, my soul ! ah ! whither art thou sunk 
Beneath thy sphere 1 ere while, far, far above 
Such little arts, dissembling, falsehoods, frauds, 
The trash of villany itself, wliich falls 
To cowards, and poor wretches wanting bread. 
Does tliis become a soldier 1 this become 
Whom armies followed, and a people loved 1 
My martial glory withers at the thought. 
But great my end ; and since there arc no other. 
These means are just, they shine with borrowed 

light. 
Illustrious from the purpose they pursue. 

And greater, sure, my merit, who, to gain 

A point sublime, can such a task sustain ; 

To wade through ways obscene, my honour 
bend, 

And shock my nature, to attain my end. 

Late time shall wonder ; that my joys will raise: 

For wonder is involuntary praise. [exeunt. j 



ACT IV. 

SCENE I. 

Enter DON ALONZO and ZANGA. 

Alon. Oh, what a pain to think ! when every 
thought. 
Perplexing thought, in intricacies runs, 
And reason knits the inextricable toil, 
In which herself is taken ! I am lost. 



THE REVENGE. 



199 



Poor insect that I am, I am involved, 
And buried in the web myself have wrought! 
One argument is balanced by another, 
And reason reason meets in doubtful fight. 
And proofs are countermined by equal proofs. 
No more I'll bear this battle of the mind. 
This inward anarchy; but find my wife, 
And to her trembling heart presenting death, 
Force all the secret from her. 

Zatu O, forbear! 
You totter on the very brink of ruin. 

Alon. What dost thou meanl 

Zan. That will discover all. 
And kill my hopes. What can I think or dol 

[aside] 

Alon. What dost thou murmur 1 

Zan. Force the secret from her! 
What's perjury to such a crime as thisi 
Will she confess it then 1 O, groundless hope ! 
But rest assured, she'll make this accusation, 
Or false or true, your ruin with the king; 
Such is her father's power. 

Alon. No more, I care not; 
Rather than groan beneath this load, I'll die. 

Zan. But for what better will you change this 
load? 
: Grant you should know it, would not that be 
worse 1 

Alon. No, it would cure me of my mortal pangs; 
By hatred and contempt I should despise her, 
And all my love-bred agonies would vanish. 

Zan. Ah! were I sure of that, my lord — 

.4^071. What then I 

Zan. You should not hazard life to gain the 
secret. 

Alon. What dost thou mean 1 thou know'st I'm 
on the rack. 
I'll not be played with; speak, if thou hast aught, 
Or I this instant fly to Leonora. 

Zan. That is, to death. My lord, I am not yet 
duite so far gone in guilt to suffer it. 
Though gone too far, heaven knows — 'tis I am 

guilty 
I have took pains, as you, I know, observed, 
To hinder you from diving in the secret, 
And turned aside your thoughts from the detection. 

Alon. Thou dost confound me. 

Zan. I confound myself. 
And frankly own it, though to my shame I own it; 
Nought but your Ufe in danger could have torn 
The secret out, and made me own my crime. 

Alon. Speak quickly ; Zanga, speak, 

Zan. Not yet, dread sir: 
First, I must be assured, that if you find 
The fair one guilty, scorn, as you assured me, 
Shall conquer love and rage, and heal your soul. 

Alon. Oh, 'twill, by heaven. 

Zan. Alas! I fear it much, 
And scarce can hope so far; but T of this 

2K 



Exact your solemn oath, that you'll abstain 
From all self-violence, and save my lord. 

Alon. I trebly swear. 

Zan. You'll bear it like a manl 

Alon. A god. 

Zan. Such have you been to me, these tears 
confess it. 
And poured forth miracles of kindness on me: 
And what amends is now within my power, 
But to confess, expose myself to justice, 
And as a blessing claim my punishment 1 
Know then, Don Carlos 

Alon. Oh! 

Zan. You can not bear it. 

Alon. Go on, I'll have it, though it blast man- 
kind ; 
I'll have it all, and instantly. Go on. 

Zan. Don Carlos did return at dead of night — 

Enter LEONORA. 

Leon. My lord Alonzo, you are absent from u«, 
And quite undo our joy. 

Alon. I'll come, my love: 
Be not our friends deserted by us both ; 
I'll follow you this moment. 

Leon. My good lord, 
I do observe severity of thought 
Upon your brow. Aught hear you from the 
Moors 1 

Alon. No, my delight. 

Leon. What then employed your mind 7 

Alon. Thou, love, and only thou: so heaven 
befriend me. 
As other thought can find no entrance here. 

Leon. How good in you, my lord, whom na- 
tions' cares 
Solicit, and a world in arms obeys. 
To drop one thought on me ! 

[he shows the utmost impatience] 

Alon. Dost thou then prize it 1 

Leon. Do you then ask it? 

Alon. Know then to thy comfort, 
Thou hast me all, my throbbing heart is full 
With thee alone, I've thought of nothing else ; 
Nor shall I, from my soul beheve, till death. 
My life, our friends expect thee. 

Leon. I obey. [Exit. 

Alon. Is that the face of curst hypocrisy? 
If she is guilty, stars are made of darkness, 
And beauty shall no more belong to heaven — 
Don Carlos did return at dead of night- 
Proceed, good Zanga, so thy tale began. 

Zan. Don Carios did return at dead of night; 
That night, by chance, ill chance for me, did I 
Command the watch that guards the palace gate. 
He told me he had letters for the king, 
Dispatched from you. 

Alon. The villain lied! 

Zan. My lord, 



soo 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



I pray, forbear — transported at his sight, 
After so long a bondage, and your friend, 
Who could suspect him of an artifice ? 
No farther I inquired, but let him pass, 
False to my trust, at least imprudent in it. 
Our watch relieved, I went into the garden. 
As is my custom, when the night's serene. 
And took a moon-light walk : when soon I heard 
A rustling in arbour that was near me. 
I saw two lovers in each other's arms. 
Embracing and embraced. Anon the man 
Arose and falling back some paces from her. 
Gazed ardently awhile, then rushed at once, 
And throwing all himself into her bo§om, 
There softly sighed; 'oh, night of ecstasy! 
When shall we meet again V — Don Carlos then 
Led Leonora forth. 

Alon. Oh, oh, my heart! [he sinks into a chair] 

Zan. Groan on, and with the sound refresh my 
soul! 
^Tis through his heart, his knees smite one another. 
'Tis through his brain, his eye-balls roll in anguish. 

[aside] 
My lord, my lord, why do you rack my soul 1 
Speak to me, let me know that you still live. 
Do not you know me, sir? pray, look upon me : 
You think too deeply — I'm your own Zanga, 
So loved, so cherished, and so faithful to you. — 
Why start you in such furyl — nay, my lord. 
For heaven's sake sheathe your sword ! what can 

this mean 1 
Fool that I was, to trust you with the secret. 
And you unkind to break your word with me. 
Oh, passion for a woman 1 — on the ground ! 
Where is your boasted courage? Where your scorn. 
And prudent rage, that was to cure your grief, 
And chase your love-bred agonies away V 
Rise, sir, for honour's sake. Why should the 

Moors, 
Why should the vanquished triumph 1 

Alon. Would to heaven 
That I were lover still ; oh, she was all ! 
My fame, my friendship, and my love of arms. 
All stooped to her, my blood was her possession. 
Deep in the secret foldings of my heart 
She lived with life, and far the dearer she. 
But — and — no more — set nature on a blaze, 
Give her a fit of jealousy — away — 
To think on't is the torment of the damned, 
And not to think on't is impossible. 
How fair the cheek that first alarmed my soul! 
How bright the eye that set it on a flame ! 
How soft the breast on which I laid my peace 
For years to slumber unawaked by care ! 
How fierce the transport! how sublime the bliss! 
How deep, how black, the horror and despair !" 

Zan. You said you'd bear it like a man. 

Alon. I do. 
Am I not ahnost distracted 7 



Zan. Pray be calm. 

Alon. As hurricanes :— be thou assured of that. 

Zan. Is this the wise Alonzo 1 

Alon. Villain, no! 
He died in the arbour — he was murdered there ! — 
I am his demon though — my wife ! — my wife ! — 

Zan. Alas ! he weeps. 

Alon. Go, dig her grave ! 

Zan. My lord ! 

Alon. But that her blood's too hot, I would ca- 
rouse it 
Around my bridal board ! 

Zan. And I would pledge thee, [aside] 

Alon. But I may talk too fast. Pray let me 
think. 
And reason mildly. — Wedded and undone 
Before one night descends. — Oh, hasty evil ! 
What friend to comfort me in my extreme ! 
Where's Carlos 1 why is Carlos absent from mel 
Does he know what has happened ? 

Zan. My good lord ! 

Alon. Oh, depth of horror! he! — my bosom 
friend ! 

Zan. Alas, compose yourself, my lord. 

Alon. To death! 
Gaze on her with both eyes so ardently ! ^ 

Give them to the vultures, tear them all in pieces! 

Zan. Most excellent ! [aside] 

Alon. Hark ! you can keep a secret. 
In yonder arbour bound with jasmine — 
Who's that? what villain's that ? unhand her?— 

murder! 

Tear them asunder murder how they grind 

My heart betwixt them ! — oh, let go my heart I 
Yet let it go — ' embracing and embraced !' 
Oh, pestilence ! — who let him in ? — a traitor. 

[Goes to stab Zanga, he prevents him.] 
Alas ! my head turns round, and my limbs fail nie. 

Zan. My lord ! 

Alon. Oh, villain, villain, most accurst ! 
If thou didst know it, why did'st let me wed ? 

Zan. Hear me, my lord, your anger will abate. 
I knew it not: — I saw them in the garden; 
But saw no more than you might well expect 
To see in lovers destined for each other ; 
By heaven I thought their meeting innocent. 
Who could suspect fair Leonora's virtue, 
Till after proofs conspired to blacken it ? 
Sad proofs, which came too late, which broke not 

out. 
Eternal curses on Alvarez' haste ! 
Till holy rites had made the wanton youra : 
And then, I own, I laboured to conceal it, , 
In duty and compassion to your peace. 

Alon. Live now, be damned hereafter — for I 

want thee. 

' Oh, night of ecstacy !'— ha! was't not so? 
I will enjoy this murder. — Let me think — 
The jasmine bower— 'tis secret and remote' 



THE REVENGE, 



SOI 



Go wait me there, and take my dagger with thee. 

[Exit Zanga. 
How the sweet sound still sings within my ear I 
When shall we meet again ? to-night, in hell. 

As he is going, enter LEONORA. 



Ha I I'm surprised ! 
Oh, angel-devil! 



I stagger at her charms ! 
-shall I stab her now 1 



No it shall be as I at first determined. 

To kill her now were half my vengeance lost. 

Then must I now dissemble — if I can. 

Leon. My lord, excuse me ; see a second time 
I come in embassy from all your friends. 
Whose joys are languid, uninspired by you. 

Alon. This moment, Leonora, I was coming 
To thee, and all — but sure, or I mistake, 
Or thou can'st well inspire my friends with joy. 

Leon. Why sighs my lord 1 

Alon. I sighed not, Leonora. 

Leon. I thought you did; your sighs are mine, 
my lord. 
And shall I feel them all. 

Alon. Dost flatter me 1 

Leon. If my regards for you are flattery, 
Full far indeed I stretched the compliment 
In tliis day's solemn rite. 

Alon. What rite "? 

Leon. You sport me. 

Alon. Indeed I do; my heart is full of mirth. 

Leon. And so is mine — I look on cheerfulness 
As on the health of virtue. 

Alon. Virtue ! — damn 

Leon. What says my lord 1 

Alon. Thou art exceeding fair. 

Leon. Beauty alone is but of little worth; 
But when tlie soul and body of a piece. 
Both shine alike, then they obtain a price, 
And are a fit reward for gallant actions. 
Heaven's pay on earth for such great souls as yours ; 
If fair and innocent I am your due. 

Alon. Innocent ! [aside.] 

Leon. How, my lord ! I interrupt you. 

Alon. No, my best life ! I must not part with 
thee — 
This hand is mine — oh ! what a hand is here ! 
So soft, souls sink into it, and are lost! 

Leon. In tears, my lord 1 

Alon. What less can speak my joy 1 
I gaze, and I forget my own existence ; 
'Tis all a vision — my head swims in heaven. 
Wherefore! oh, wherefore this expense of beauty? 

And wherefore, oh ! 

Why, I could gaze upon thy looks for ever, 
And drink in all my being from thine eyes; 
And I could snatch a flaming thunderbolt, 
And hurl destruction ! — 

Leon. How, my lord ! what mean you 1 
Acquaint me with the secret of your heart, 
Or cast me out for ever from your love. 



Alon. Art thou concerned for me 1 

Leon. My lord you fright me. 
Is this the fondness of your nuptial hour 1 
I am ill-used, my lord, I must not bear it. 
Why, when I woo your hand, is it denied me 1 
Your very eyes, why are they taught to shun me"? 
Nay, my good lord, I have a title here 

[taking his hand. 
And I will have it. Am I not your wifel 
Have I not just authority to know 
That heart which I have purchased with my ownl 
Lay it before me then ; it is my due. 
Unkind Alonzo ! though I might demand it ; 
Behold I kneel ! see, Leonora kneels ! 
And deigns to be a beggar for her own ! 
Tell me the secret, I conjure you tell me. 
The bride foregoes the homage of her day, 
Alvarez' daughter trembles in the dust. 
Speak then, I charge you speak, or I expire. 
And load you with my death. My lord, my lord I 

Alon. Ha, ha, ha! 
[he breaks from her, she sinks upon thejloor. 

Leon. Are these the joys which fondly I con- 
ceived 7 
And is it thus a wedded fife begins? 
What did I part with, when I gave my heart? 
I knew not that all happiness went with it. 
Why did I leave my tender father's wing, 
And venture into love ! the maid that loves, 
Goes out to sea upon a shattered plank. 
And puts her trust in miracles for safety. 
Where shall I sigh? — where pour out my com- 
plaints 
He that should hear, should succour, should re- 
dress, 
He is the source of all. 

Alon. Go to thy chamber; 
I soon will follow; that which now disturbs thee 
Shall be cleared up, and thou shalt not condemn 

me. [exit Leonora. 

Oh how Uke innocence she looks! — what, stab her! 
And rush into her blood ! — I never can ! 
In her guilt shines, and nature holds my hand. ' 
How then? why, thus — no more ! it is determined. 

Enter ZANGA. 

Zan. I fear his heart has failed him. She must 

die. 

Can I not rouse the snake that's in his bosom. 

To sting out human nature and eflfect it ? [aside. 

Alon. This vast and solid earth, that blazing sun, 

Those skies through which it rolls, must all have 

end. 
What then is man ? the smallest part of nothing. 
Day buries day, month month, and year the year, 
Our life is but a chain of many deaths ; 
Can then death's self be feared? our life much 

rather. 
Life is the desert, life the solitude, 



fm 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Death joins us to the great majority ; 
'Tis to be borne to Platos, and to Caesars ; 
'Tis to be great for ever ; 
'Tis pleasure, 'tis ambition then to die. 

Zan. I think, my lord, you talked of death. 

Alon. I did. 

Zan. I give you joy, then Leonora's dead. 

Alon. No, Zanga, the greatest guilt is mine. 
'Tis mine who might have marked his midnight 

visit, 
Who might have marked his tameness to resign 

her; 
Who might have marked her sudden turn of love : 
These, and a thousand tokens more ; and yet, 
For which the saints absolve ray soul ! did wed. 

Zan. Where does this tend 1 

Alon. To shed a woman's blood 
Would stain my sword, and make my wars in- 
glorious ! 
But just resentment to myself, bears in it 
A stamp of greatness above vulgar minds. 
He who, superior to the checks of nature, 
Dares make his life the victim of his reason, 
Does in some sort that reason deify, 
And takes a sight at heaven. 

Zan. Alas, my lord, 
'Tis not your reason, but her beauty finds 
Those arguments, and throws you on your sword. 
You can not close an eye that is so bright, 
You can not strike a breast that is so soft. 
That has ten thousand ecstacies in store — 
For Carlos? — no, my lord, I mean for you. 

Alon. Oh, through my heart and marrow S pr'y- 
thee spare me; 
Nor more upbraid the weakness of thy lord. 
1 own, I tried, I quarrelled with my heart 
And pushed it on, and bid it give her death ; 
But, oh, her eyes struck first, and murdered me. 

Zan. I know not what to answer to my lord. 
Men are but men ; we did not make ourselves. 
Farewell then, my best lord, since you must die. 
Oh, that I were to share your monument. 
And in eternal darkness close these eyes 
Against those scenes which I am doomed to suflfer I 

Alon. What dost thou mean 1 

Zan. And is it then unknown 1 
Oh, grief of heart to think that you should ask it ! 
Sure you distrust that ardent love I bear you. 
Else could you doubt when you are laid in dust — 
But it will cut my poor heart through and through. 
To see those revel on your sacred tomb. 
Who brought you thither by their lawless loves. 
For there they'll revel, and exult to find 
Him sleep so fast, who else might mar their joys. 

AUm. Distraction ! — but Don Carlos well thou 
knowest. 
Is sheathed in steel, and bent on other thoughts. 

Zan. I'll work him to the murder of his friend. 
Yes, till the fever of his blood returns, 



While her last kiss still glows upon his cheek. 

[aside. 
But when he finds Alonzo is no more, 
How vrijl he rush like lightning to her arms ! 
There sigh, there languish, there ppur out his 

soul; 
But not in grief — sad obsequies to thee ! 
But thou wilt be at peace, nor see, nor hear 
The burning kiss, the sigh of ecstacy. 
Their throbbing hearts, that jostle on« another; 
Thank heaven, these torments will be all my own. 

Alon. I'll ease thee of that pain. Let Carlos die, 
O'ertake him on the road, and see it done, 
'Tis my command. [<§■*"£* his signef. 

Zan. I dare not disobey. 

Alon. My Zanga now, I have thy leave to die. 

Zan. Ah, sir! think, think again. Are alimen 
buried 
In Carlos' grave? you know not womankind. 
When once the throbbing of the heart has broke 
The modest zone with which it first was tied. 
Each man she meets will be a Carlos to her. 

Alon. That thought has more of hell than had 
the former. 
Another, and another, and another ! 
And each shall cast a smile upon my tomb. 
I am convinced ; I must not, vnll not die. 

Zan. You can not die ; nor can you murder her. 
What then remains? in nature no third way, 
But to forget, and so to love again. 

Alon. Oh! 

Zan. If you forgive, the world will call you good ; 
If you forget, the world will call you wise; 
If you receive her to your grace agam. 
The world will call you very, very kind. 

Alon. Zanga, I understand thee well. She dies, 
Though my arm trembles at the stroke, she dies. 

Zan. That's truly great. What think you 'twas 
set up 
The Greek and Roman name in such a lustre, 
But doing right in stem despite to nature. 
Shutting their ears to all her little cries. 
When great, august, and godUke justice called ? 
At Aulis, one poured out a daughter's life. 
And gained more glory than by all his wars; 
Another slew his sister in just rage ; 
A third ; the theme of all succeeding times, 
Gave to the cruel axe a darting son. 
Nay more, for justice some devote themselves, 
As he at Carthage, an immortal name! 
Yet there is one step left above them all. 
Above their history, above their fable : 
A wife, bride, mistress unenjoyed — do that, 
And tread upon the Greek and Roman glory. 

Alon. 'Tis done ! — again new transports fire my 
brain : 
I had forgot it, 'tis my bridal night. 
Friend, give me joy, we must be gay together ^ 
See that the festival be duly honoured. 



THE REVENGE. 



S03 



And when with garlands the full bowl is crown- 
ed, 
And music gives the elevating sound, 
And golden carpets spread the sacred floor, 
And a new day the blazing tapers pour, 
Thou, Zanga, thou my solemn friends invite, 
From the dark realms of everlasting night. 
Call vengeance, call the furies, call despair. 
And death, our chief invited guest, be there; 
He with pale hand shall lead the bride, and 

spread 
Eternal curtains round our nuptial bed. 

[exeunt. 



ACT V. 



SCENE I. 



Enter ALONZO. 



Alon. O, pitifial ! oh, terrible to sight ! 
Poor mangled shade ! all covered o'er with wounds. 
And so disguised with blood ! — who murdered thee? 
Tell thy sad tale, and thou shalt be revenged. 
Ha! Carlos 1— horror! CarlosT — oh, away! 
Go to the grave, or let me sink to mine. 
I can not bear the sight — what sight 1— where am I ! 
There's nothing here — if this was fancy's work, 
She draws a picture strongly — 

Enter ZANGA. 

Zan. Ha ! — you're pale. 

Alon. Is Carlos murdered 1 

Zan. I obeyed your order. 
Six ruffians overtook him on the road; 
He fought as he was wont, and four he slew, 
Then sunk beneath an hundred wounds to death. 
His last breath blest Alonzo, and desired 
His bones might rest near yours. 

Alon. Oh, Zanga! Zanga! 
But I'll not think : for I must act, and thinking 
Would ruin me for action. Oh, the medley 
Of right and wrong ! the chaos of my brain ! 
He should and should not die — you should obey 
And not obey. It is a day of darkness, 
Of contradictions, and of many deaths. 
Where's Leonora, thenl quick, answer me; 
I'm deep in horrors, I'll be deeper still. 
I find thy artifice did take effect. 
And she forgives my late deportment to her. 

Zan. I told her from your childhood you was 
wont 
On any great surprise, but chiefly then 
When cause of sorrow bore it company. 
To have your passion shake the seat of reason; 
A momentary ill, which soon blew o'er, 
Then did I tell her of Don Carlos' death. 
Wisely suppressing by what means he fell. 
And laid the blame on that. At first she doubted : 
But such the honest artifice I used, 

2 k* 



And such her ardent wish it should be true, 
That she, at length, was fully satisfied. 

Alon. 'Twas well she was. In our late interview 
My passion so far threw me from my guard, 
Methinks 'tis strange that conscious of her guilt, 
She saw not through its thin disguise my heart. 

Zan. But what design you sir, and how 1 

Alon. I'll tell thee. 
Thus I've ordained it. In the jas'mine bower, 
The place which she dishonoured with her guilt, 
There will I meet her; the appointment's made; 
And calmly spread, for I can do it now, 
The blackness of her crime before her sight, 
And then with all the cool solemnity 
Of public justice, give her to the grave. [exit 

Zan. Why, get thee gone ! horror and night go 
with thee. 
Sisters of Acheron, go hand in hand. 
Go dance around the bower, and close them in ; 
And tell them that I sent you to salute them. 
Profane the ground, and for the ambrosial rose, 
And breath of jas'mine, let hemlock blacken, 
And deadly nightshade poison all the air. 
For the sweet nightingale may ravens croak. 
Toads pant, and adders rustle through the leaves ^ 
May serpents winding up the trees let fall 
Their hissing necks upon them from above. 
And mingle kisses — such as I should give them. 

[exit. 



SCENE II. — THE BOWER — LEONORA SLEEPING. 

Enter ALONZO. 

Aton. Ye amaranths ! ye roses like the morn ! 
Sweet myrtles, and ye golden orange groves ! 
Why do you smile 1 why do you look so fair 1 
Are ye not blasted as I enter in 1 
Yes, see how every flower lets fall its head 
How shudders every leaf without a wind 
How every green is as the ivy pale ! 
Did ever midnight ghosts assemble here "? 
Have these sweet echoes ever learned to groan? 
Joy-giving, love-inspiring, holy bower ! 
Know, in thy fragrant bosom thou receivest 

A murderer ! oh, I shall stain thy lilies. 

And horror will usurp the seat of bliss. 

So Lucifer broke into paradise. 

And soon damnation followed. [advances.\ Ha 1 

she sleeps — 
The day's uncommon heat has overcome her. 
Then take, my longing eyes, your last fall gaae. 
Oh, what a sight is here! how dreadful Mr! 
Who would not think that being innocent 1 
Where shall I strike 1 who strikes her, strikes 

himself. 
My own life-blood will issue at her wound. 
Oh, my distracted heart! oh, cruel heaven! 
To give such charms as these, ajod then call maD^ 



904 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Mcro man, to W your oxociitioiu'r. 
Wai it bi'cauHi' it wus ton haril lor you 1 
Hut Bro, k1i(< HiniloHl I iiovcr sliall Hiiiilo inoro. 
It etroii^ly tciiijHH luo to a |)iutiii}; kisH. 

\ffoiiiff, ularts back. 
Hil ! Hliiilc ii;rniii. Slio (Irciinin ol' him hIio Iovoh. 
CurHOUU her I'lmrnml I'll Hlnb lior llirouj^h tl.oiii all. 
[an he is going to striAc, she wa/<cs. 

Ticnu. My lord your si ay waHlonjj, ;uul yonder lull 
Ol railing \valvrn <(>in|il(Hl iiu> (o rcHt, 
Dispirited witU noou's cxceHsivo heat. 

Alon. Ye iiowera! with what nn eye alio nicndn 
the day 1 
While they wero closed 1 bIiouUI have jjivcn the 

Mow. V 

Oh, tor a hint cnihraeo ! and then lor justice : 
ThuH heaven and 1 ithall iKith lie sntiHlied. [aside. 

Ja'oii. Wi)a(HayHniy lord { 

Alon. Why thin Alon/o says; 
T("love were endlenH, men were jjods); 'lis that 
Does eonnterbalanee travel, danj{er. i)ain — 
'Tis heaven's expedient to make mortals hear 
The li^jht, and elieiil lliem ol ll\e pcm-i'l'iil itrave. 

Ij<-ou. 7\laH, my lord ! why talk you of the grave! 
Your friend is dead ; in friendship yuu sustain 
A niiirhly Iohs; repair it wilh my love. 

Alon. Thy love, lliou pieee of witchcrart ! I 
wiuild say, 
Thou livii»lilesl aufjell T eoiild jja/.e lor ever. 
Where limisl lliou this, enehanlress, tell me where, 
Wliieh with a (oueh works miraeles, boils up 
Aly blood lo tnn\ullK, and turns romid my brain? 
Men now thou swim'st before nu\ 1 sliall lose Ihei^ — 
ISo, I will make Ihc'e sure, and elasp thee all. 
AVho tnrneil this slender waist with so much art. 
And shut perfection in so sntall arinj; t 
Who sjivead that pure exp.ins(< of white above. 
On which the da/./.liHl sijiht can find no rest; 
IJut, drunk with iM'auty, wanders up nnd down. 
For ever, and lor ever finds nmv c!\arms' 
Hut oh, those <'yes! tliose nnirdcrcrs! oh, whence. 
Whence didst thou steal their huruing orbs fi-oni 

heaven I 
Thou didst ; and 'tis n'lijfion to adore them. 

Leon. My In'st Alon/.o, moderate yourtlKnights. 
JKxtnMues still frifjht me, tl(oiii:;h of love itself. 

Alon. Mxtrcmcs indecil ! il hurried me away; 
Wut 1 come horn<< again — and now lor justice — 
And now l"or death — it is iiujiossilde^ — 
iS»ir«< such were made by heaven guiltless to sin, 
Or in their ^uilt to laugh at punisiunont. 
1 leave lier to jvist heaven. 

[</»(»fK« the tlaggcr, and goes oJT. 

Jifon. Tla, a dajjgcr! 
What dost tliou say, thou ministejr of death"? 
What dn<adful tale dost tell mol let mc think — 
KiKrr 7.AN(U. 

Zan. Dcntli to my towering hu^)oa: oh, fall from 
high I 



My close lonjj-lahoured scheme at once is blasted. 
That dajUfjer, li)und, will cause her to inquire; 
Incpiiry will discover all; my hopes 
Of vcnj;<Mince j)erish; 1 myself am lost — 
Curse on the coward's heart 1 wither his hand 
Wbii'li held tin" steel in vain. — What can bedone? 
Where can 1 lix ! — that's soimihing still — 'twill 

brwd 
l-'ell rajje and bitterness betwixt their souls. 
Which may, p«Mvlianc(<, jjrow up to greater evil; 
If not, 'tis all 1 can — it shall be so^ [asi'i/c. 

Leon. Oh, '/anga, I am sinking in my fears! 
Alon/.o dro[iped this dagifcr as he lell me, 
A lid lell mo in a strange disorder too. 
What can this mean '! angels preserve his life! 

y,an. ^'oiirs, madam, yours. 

Ijcon. What, Zaiiga, ilost thou say'! 

Zan. Carry yovn* goodness, then to such ex- 
tremes. 
So blinded to the faults of him you lovo, 
That you pen-eive not he isjeidous ! 

Leon, lleavens ! 
And yet a thousand things recur that swear it. 
What villain could inspire him wilh that thought'} 
It is not of tho growth of his own nature, 

Zan. Some villain, who, hell knows ; hut ho is 
jealous. 
And 'tis most fit a heart so pure as yours 

00 itself justice and assert its honour, 

And make him conscious of its stab of virtue. 

Iicon. Jealous! it sickens at my heart. Unkind, 
Ungenerous, groundless weak, and insolent I 
Why, wheret'ore, and what siiadow of occasion! 
'Tis fascination, 'tis the warmth of heaven 
l''or the collected crimes of all his r.ve. 
Oh, how the great man lessens to my thought! 
Mow could so mean a vice as jealousy, 
Unnalural child of ignorance and guilt, 
Which teal's and feeds ujion its jiaivnt's heart, 
Live ill a throng of such exalted virtues ! 

1 scorn and hate, yet love him and adore, 
I can not, will not, dare not think it true, 

Till from himself 1 know it. [e.xit. 

Zan. This succeeds 
Just to my wish. Now she, with violence. 
Upbraids him; he, well knowing she is guilty, 
Kagcs no less ; and if on either side 
Tho wavx'8 run high, there still lives hopes of ruin. 

Enter ALONZa 
My lord 

Alon. Oh, Zanga, hold thy peace! 1 aiu no 
eowanl ; 
Hut heaven it.self did hold my hand; I felt it, 
My the well In-iiig of my soul, I did. 
I'll think of vengeance at another season, 

Zan. My lord, her guilt — 

Alon. IVnlitionon tluH>, Mtwr, 
For that one word ! &h, do not luusc that thought I 



THK IlKVI'-NCa-:, 



908 



I hnvo o'crwliclinud it nn niiii-li an |ioMiiblo : 

J\wiiy, llirn, let iw tiilk of oilier lliiii^M. 

1 tell tlicc, Moor, 1 lovd lii-r to iliHtriuitioii. 

If 'tin my Hlininc, why, lin it mo — I lovo liiir; 

Norcnii I lii'lp il ; 'IIm iiiipoHcd ti|i(iii iiiu 

J!y Hoino Kii|H<rior uiui rcttiHllcHH power. 

1 coiiKI not hurt her to bo lord oi'(<artli; 

It Hh(H'l(M Miy imtiirc liko ii. KtroUe from h»Mivcn. 

y\ii;4('lH <lcli'iiil her, iiH it innocent. 

Butni^H my LootioracotnuH — l)o>{oi»o. [exit Xunga. 

Krilor M''.()N(»ltA, 
Oh, Hpmi for ever, yet l(>r ever new! 
'I'iie conipiered thou doHt conquor u'ur again, 
InfliclinK wonnd on wound. 

hf.on. AImh, my lord ! 
Wiiiit need of thin tome 'I 

Alon. I la! doHt thou weepl 

Lr.on. I lavu 1 no riuiHd't 

Alon. If love in thy eoncern, 
Thou IwiHt no cauHe : noun ever loved like inu. 
Hut wherefore thiw'? is it to break my heart, 
Whieli limeH ho much blood for every toarl 

l/inn. Ih it HO tender'/ 

Alitn. Ih it not? oil, heaven! 
Jloulit (if my love! why, I am nothiiifr else; 
]t i|uite aliHorliM my every oilier |iiuiKi<iri. 
Oh, that tliinone embrace would limt for ever! 

Leon, (/'ould tluH man ever mean to wrong my 
virtue '! 
Toidd thJH man e'er dcHi^rn upon my iifel 
lm|ioHHililel I tiirow away tiie tlioutrlit. \(iiiidr.. 
ThcHc Learn dechire how much I iwU', the joy 
( )|' lieiuir Icilded in yoiir iirtuH and heart; 
]V1y univerMC docH lie within that npocu. 

Thiw daKK*'' ^'O"*" f'l'**" witneas. 

AInii. I la, my dnjjjjer ! 
It roUHcH horrid imaj{eH. Away, 
Away with it, and li^t us talk of lovo, 

I'linijM' (iurMelv(« deep into the HWeet iiluHion, 
And lode UM there from (^very ollx^r thought. 

Leon. It touch<!H you. 

Alim. I.et'w talk of lovn 

Lron. ( )f dealli! 

Alnn. Ah thou lovVt happincHU — ■ 

Leon. ( >f MUirder I 

Alon. KhhIi, 
IIuhIi woman I yet forbear. 

Leon. Approve my wronjjHl 

Alon. Then muHt I lly, forlhynakoandmy own. 

Leon. Nay, by my injurie«, you lirHt must hear 
me ; 
Stall me, then tiiink it nnich to hear my groan I 

Alon. I leaven Kirike mi' deaf! 

Lron. It well may Httn|r you homo. 

Alon.. AI;iH, thou quite niistakoHt my cause of 
]iain ! 
Yet, yet diHmiHM me ; I am all in flamcfi. 

Leon. Who hau moitt cuumc, you or inysiclf'I 
what act 



Of my whole life encouraged you to thiHf 

Or of your own, what guilt Iuih drawn it on youl 

Vou find me kind, and think me kind to all; 

The weak, unyenerouM error of your Hex. 

Wliiit i-iiulil iiiMpire liie lliiiut{lit '! we (iII'iichI judjjo 

i''r<iin our own hearlH ; und in yiiurH I hen ho I'ruil, 

Il promptH you to conceive thuH ill of met 

I le lliiil cnii Hliiop III Iwirbdur hucIi a llioiight, 

I )eHerveH In linil II true. [lioltlinf( him | 

Alon. ( )h. Hex, sex, sex! [fuming on lirr] 
The laii^ua(;e of you all. Ill fated wiimall! 
Why IiiihI lliiiu Inreed me liiick inlii I be jriilf 
Of agonieH i had blocked up from thouirbt'l 
I know llie raime; thou hiiw'hI me impotent 
Mre while to hurt thee, therefore thou tiirnimt on 

me: 
lint, by the panirH I Kulli'r, to thy wo; 
For, Hiiice thou bant rejilunged mo in my torture, 
I will be Hidinfied. 

Lron. lie HatiKlled I 

Alon. Yes, thy own mouth shall witness it 
afMiiliHt tliee. 
I will be HaliHiied. 

Lron. Of whatl 

Alvn. Of what! 
I low da rent I lion awk that question? woman, woman, 
Weak and nHHured at oiicel thus 'tis for ever. 
Who told thee that thy virtue wan HimpectedT 
Who told thee I deHigned upon thy lib' '{ 
Ydii found llie dag,</er; but tiial could not speak; 
Nor did 1 tell thee ; who did tell thee then i 
Ciiiilt, coiiHciouH guilt I 

I iron. TbJK Id my face! oh, heaven! 

Alon. 'J'liiM lo thy very houI. 

Lron. Thou'rt not in earneHt'? 

Alon. KerioiiM an death. 

I,rnn. Then heaven have mercy on tllOO. 
'Till now I Hiruggled not to think it true; 
I Hoiiirbl. ciinviclion, and would mil. believe it; 
And diiKl Ibou lorce me? tluH hIiiiII nol, be liurno; 
Thou Hhalt repent this iiiHiilt. [goii>g\ 

Alon. jVIadam, stay. 
Your piiHiiion'H wiwe; 'tis a (liHguise for guilt: 
'Tis my turn now to (ix you here a while; 
You and yiur thousand artn hIuiII not eseapn mo, 

Leon. Arts! 

Alon. Ann. t'onbHH; for death is in my hand, 

Lron. 'TiH in your words, 

Alon. Confess, confess, confess! 
Nor tear my veins wilJi pnmiori to com|M'l then. 

Lron. I Hcorii toanHWer l,bee,preKUm|ituoiismttnI 

Alon. Deny, then, and incur a i'uuler shurno. 
Where did I (iiid tiuH picture! 

Lron. I la, l)(in Onrlos! 
By my best hopes, more welcome than thy own. 

Alon. I know it; but is vici- so very rank, 
That Ibou Kbonid'Ht dare to ilaHli it in my hoc 1 
Nature is nick of tiiee, abandoned womanl 

Ijcon. Uepeiit, 



906 



YOUNG'S WORKS. 



Alon. Fh tliut (or itiol 

Jii'tm. Fall, iiMk my piinloii. 

Alon. AHtoniNhiiK^ntl 

Leon. Dar'Hl tli(Hi|M^rHirtt to think 1 amdiHlioneHt'l 

Alun. 1 know tlitu' no. 

Leon. Thin, blow, then, to thy lieiirt 

[ahe stabs hersrtf—he nulcavonrs to prevent hrr. 

Alon. lion, 'Anugnl JHiilicllii! lioal mIh' IiIi'ciIh ! 
I)oHCOii(l, yo liloHHtxl aiiKi'lM, to uHHint Iht ! 

Leon. 'I'IiIh in tho only way I would woiinil tlii'r, 
Tlioujih inoHt inijimt. Now think uio {guilty ntill. 

Bnl«r 1H\111CI.LA. 

Alon. Boar her to inHttint holp. Tiic world to 

Hiivti lii^r. 
Jjeon. lJnlia|)|)y nuiii! wnll inay'ut thoU gazo 
and trpuiblo: 
But fix (liy terror and iniin'/.tMUrnt rijjht; 
INot on my hlood, lull on tiiy own diHtraction. 
■WhntlmHttlioudonol whomnMiHurod ( — Lronora! 
Wlion tluui Inid'Mt ccuHuri'd, tliou would'Ht savehor 

lilc ; 
Oh, incoartiHtout ! hIiouIiI 1 livt* in Hlmmo, 
Or Hti>oi> to any olhor mcann l)u( thirt 
'i"o artHcrt my virtue ( no; hIu- who diH|)Utort, 
iVdmiIri it poHrtilili' h!ii> mij^ht hti fjuilty. 
Wliilo ttUf^ht hut truth could bo my indiicomontto 

it, 

While it mii;;hl look like uii excune to tliPP, 

1 Heorned to vindicate my innoeonco ; 

But, now, 1 let thy raahnenH know, tho wound 

Wiiich least I feel, iM-lhat my daij;ijtT made. 
[hahtlla Iftitl.i out Li'onora. 
Alon. IIu! — was this woman guilty 1 — and, if 
not — 

How my thoui^htH darken that way I grant, kinil 
heuven. 

That Hhe prove <!;uilty ; or my beinij end. 

l.H that my ho|i(\ then f - HUriMlie Haered dunt 

Of her that bor<< me, lrenil>le« in its urn. 
1h it in man the Nore diHln^NH to bear, 
WhiMi hiipt^ ilHelt is blark(Mu^d todeHi)air, 
When all the IiIimh I jiant for, Ih to "jain 
la hell, u rel'ujje Irom severer pain 7 [f.vit. 

Kuior /..\N<JA. 

yAin. How HtandH tho great account 'twixt n>o 
and vengeanco'? 
Thoup;h much is piiiil, yet nlill it owes mo much, 
And I will not abatti u wingle groan — 
Ha! that woro well — but that woro fatal too — 
Why, be it so. — llovenge ho truly great, 
Would come too cheap, if bought with lews than 

lili^ 
Come, death, come, hell, then; 'lis rcHolvcd, 'tis 
done. 

Kntor lS\mU.I.A. 

Isa. Ah, Tjvnga, Hce nu' tremble! has not yet 
Thy cruel heart it a lill I jioor Leonora — 



Zun. Welters in hlood, and gasps for hrr last 
breath. 
What then 7 wo ail must die. 

/«<(. Alonzo raves, 
And in (he temiiest of his grief, has thrico 
Atlenipd'd on his li(i\ At length (lisarmed, 
lie calls bis friends that save him his worst foes, 
And importun<'s tho skies for swi(l perdition. 
Thus in his Klorin of sorrow, a(ter pause, 
I le started uj), and called aloud for '/anga, 
b'or '/anga raved ; and see, he se(Ots you hero, 
'I'o liMirn tluM ruth which most lie dreads to know. 

j^un. Megone. Wow, now, my sold, consum- 
mate all. [exit Isa. 

Enter AL0N7.0. 

Alon. Oh, Zanga! 

j^an. |)o not trembhi so; hut spoak. 

Alon. I dare not. |_/(t//.v on him] 

Z(in. You will drown me with your tears. 

Alun. Have I not cause 7 

Zan. As yet you hav(i no cause. 

Alon. Dost thou, Iik), ravel 

Xun. Your anguish is to come: 
You much have been abused. 

Alon. Abused, by whomY 

Xnn. To know were little comfort. 

Alon. Oh, 'twere much. 

Xan, Indeed! 

Alon. Hy heaven! oh, give him to my fury! 

Zan. Born for your use, I live but to oblige you, 
Know then, 'twas — I. 

Alon. Am I awake ! 

Zan. For over. 
Thy wift^ is guiltless— that's one transport tome; 
And I, let thee know it — that's another. 
I urged Don Carlos to resign his mistress, 
I forged the letter, I disposed tho picture ; 
I haled, 1 despist^d, and I destroy ! 

Mon. Oh! (sirii(»;i.<| 

Zan. Why, this is vvtdl — why, this is blow for 
blow I 
Where are youl crown me, shadow me with 

laurels, 
Ye spirits which delight in just revenge I 
Let I'luropii and her pallid sons go weep; 
Let Afric and her humlrcd (hrones rejoice; 
Oh, my dear countrymen, look down and boo 
I Tow I bestride your prostrate compierorl 
I tread on haughty Spain and all her kings. 
I5ut this is metcy, this is my indulgence; 
'Tis peace, '(is refuge fn>m my indignation. 
1 nmst awake him into horrors. 1 loa ! 
Aloii'/.o, boa ! tlui Moor is at the gate I 
Awake, invincible, onmipotent! 
'I'hou who dost all subdue! 

Alon. lidiuman slave! 

Zan. Fallen christian, thou mistak'tft my chs- 
racter. 



THE REVENGE. 



S<07 



Look on me. Who am 1? I know, thou say'st 
The Moor, a slave, an abject, beaten slave : 
Eternal woes to him that made me so ! 
Hut hwk again. Has six yearH cruel bondage 
Extinguished majesty so far, that nought 
Shines here, to give an awe to one al)Ove thee 1 
When the great Moorish king, Abdaliah, fell, 
Fell by thy hand accurst, I fought fast by him. 
His son, though through his fondness, in disguise, 
Less to expose me to the ambitious foe, — 
Ha ! does it wake thee ? — o'er my father's corse 
I stood astride, till I had clove thy crest; 
And then was made the captive of a squadron, 
And sunk into thy servant — but, oh! what. 
What were my wages! hear nor heaven norearth! 
My wages were a blow ! by heaven a blow ! 
And from a mortal hand I 

Alon. Oh, villain! villain! 

Zan. All strife is vain, [showing a dagger.] 

Alon. Is thus my love returned f 
Is this my recompense 1 make friends of tigers I 
Lay not your young, oh, mothers, on the breast, 
For fear they turn to serpents as they lie, 
And pay you for their nourishment with death! — 
Carlos is dead and Leonora dying! 
Both innocent, both murdered, both by me. 
That heavenly maid, who should have lived for 

ever. 
At least, have gently slept her soul away! 
Whose life should have shut up as evening flowers 
At the departing sun— was murdered! murdered! 
Oh, shame! oh, guilt! oh, horror! oh, remorse! 
Oh, punishment! had Satan never fell, 
Hell had been made for me. Oh, Leonora! 

Zan. Must I despise thee too, as well as hate thee? 
Complain of grief, complain thou art a man. — 
Priam from fortune's lolly summit fell ; 
Great Alexander 'midst his conquests mourned; 
Heroes and demigods have known their sorrows : 
Ca;sars have wept; and I have had my blow; 
But 'tis revenged, and now my work is done. 
Yet ere I fall, be it one part of vengeance 
To make thee to confess that I am just. — 
Thou seest a prince, whose father thou hast slain. 
Whose native country thou hast laid in blood, 
Whose sacred jjcrson — oh !— thou hast profaned. 
Whose reign extinguished — what was left to me. 
So highly bornl no kingdom, but revenge ; 
No treasure, but thy tortures and thy groans. 
If men should ask who brought theo to thy end. 
Tell them the Moor, and they will not despise thee. 
If cold white mortals censure this great deed, 
Warn them, they judge not of superior beings, 
Souls made of fire and children of the sun, 
With whom revenge is virtue. Fare thee well — 
Now, fully satisfied, I should take leave; 
But one thing grieves me, since thy death is near, 
I leave thee my example how to die. 
27 



Ab lie is going to stab liimnftlf, Alonzo riishps upon liim U> 
prevent tiim. In ihc niciin lime, enter DON ALVAREZ, 
attended. They diNarm and seize Zanga. Alonzo puts the 
dagger in Ids bosom. 

Alon. No, monster, thou shalt not escape by deaJth. 
Oh, father ! 

Alv. Oh, Alonzo! — Isabella, 
Touched with remors(! to sec her mistress' pangs, 
Told all the dreadful tale. 

Alon. What groan was that? 

Zan. As I have been a vulture to thy heart, 
So will I be a raven to thine ear. 
As true as ever snuffed the scent of blood, 
As ever flapt its heavenly wing against 
l"he window of the sick, and croaked despair. 
Thy wife is dead. 
[Alvarez goes to the side of the stage, and returns. 

Alv. Tjie dreadful news is true. 

Alon. Prepare the rack ; invent new torments for 
him! 

Zan. This, too, is well. The fixed and nobia 
mind 
Turns all occurrence to its own advantage; 
And I'll make vengeance of calamity. 
Were I not thus reduced, thou would'st not know, 
That, thus reduced, I dare defy thee still. 
Torture thou may'st, but thou shalt ne'er despise me. 
The blood will follow where the knife is driven, 
The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear. 
And sighs and cries by nature grow on pain. 
But these are foreign to the soul : not mine 
The groans that issue, or the tears that fall ; 
They disobey me: on the rack I scorn thee, 
As when my falchion clove thy helm in battle. 

Alv. Peace, villain! 

Zan. While I live, old man, I'll speak; 
And well I know thou dar'st not kill me yet. 
For that would rol) thy blood-hounds of their prey. 

Alon. Who called Alonzo'' 

Alv. No one called, my son. 

Alon. Again? — 'tis Carlos' voice, and I obey. — 
Oh, how I laugh at all that tiiis can do ? 

[showing the dagger. 
The wounds that pained, the wounds that murder- 
ed rne. 
Were given before; I am already dead; 
This only marks my body for the grave. 

[stabs himself. 
Afric, thou art revenged.— Oh, Leonora, [dies. 

Zan. Good rufTiaiis give me leave; my blood is 
yours. 
The wheel's prepared, and you shall have it all. 
Let me but look one moment on the dead. 
And pay yourselves with gazing on my pangs. 
[he goes to Alamo's body. 
Is this Alonzo ? w^here's the haughty mien ? 
Is that the hand which smote me? heavens, how 
pale! 



208 



YOUNG'S WORKS 



And art thou dead 1 — so is my enmity— 

I war not with the dust. The great, the proud, 

The conqueror of Afric was my foe, 

A lion preys not upon carcasses. 

This was thy only method to subdue me. 

Terror and doubt fall on me ; all thy good 

Now blazes — all thy guilt is in the grave. 

Never had man such funeral applause; 

If I lament thee, sure thy worth was great. — 

Oh, vengeance, I have followed thee too far, 

And to receive me, hell blows all her fires. 

[he is borne off. 
Alv. Dreadful effects of jealousy! a rage 
In which the wise with caution will engage ; 
Reluctant long, and tardy to believe. 
Where, swayed by nature, we ourselves deceive. 
Where our own folly joins the villain's art, 
And each man finds a Zanga in his heart. 



EPILOGUE. 

Our author sent me, in an humble strain, 
To beg you'll bless the offspring of his brain ! 
And I, your proxy, promised in your name. 
The child should live, at least six days of fame. 
I like the brat, but still his faults can find; 



And by the parent's leave will speak my mind. 
Gallants, pray tell me, do you think 'twas well, 
To let a willing maid lead apes in hell ] 
You nicer ladies, should you think it right, 
To eat no supper on your wedding night 1 
Should English husbands dare to starve their wives, 
Be sure they'd lead most comfortable lives ! 
But he loves mischief, and with groundless fears, 
Would f;un set loving couples by the ears ; 
Would spoil the tender husbands of our nation. 
By teaching them this vile outlandish fashion. 
But we've been taught, in our good-natured clime. 
That jealousy, though just, is still a crime ; 
And will be still; for, not to blame the plot, 
That same Alonzo was a stupid sot. 
To kill a bride, a mistress uncnjoyed — 
'Twcre some excuse, had the poorman been cloyed; 
To kill her on suspicion, ere he knew 
Whether the hideous charge were false or true — 
The priest said grace, she met him in the bower, 
In hopes she might anticipate an hour 
Love was hererrand, but the hot-brained Spaniard, 
Instead of love — produced — a filthy poignard — 
Had he been wise, at this their private meeting, 
The proof o' the pudding had been in the eating; 
Madam had then been pleased, and Don contented, 
And all this blood and murder been p Tevented. 



THE END OF YOCNG'S WORKa 



THE 



OP 



THOMAS GRAY. 



IV- 



Conteutfij* 



Pase. 



Life of the Author, v 

LETTERS. 

i From Mr. West. Complains of his friend's sUence, 1 

2 To Mr. West. Answer to the former ; a translation of 

some lines from Statius, ib. 

3 From Mr. West. Approbation of the version; ridicule 

oaihe Cambridge Collection of Verses on the Mar- 
riage of the Prince of Wales, 2 

4 To Ml'. West. On the little encouragement which he 

finds given to classical learning at Cajiibridge ; his 
aversion to metaphysical and mathematical studies, ib. 

5 Fromftlr. West. Answer to the former; advises his 

correspondent not to give up poetry when he ap- 
plies himself to the law, ib. 

6 To Mr. Walpole. Excuse for not writing to him, &c. 3 

7 From Mr. West. A poetical epistle adilressed to his 

Cambridge friend, taken in pait from Tibullus, and 
a prose letter of Mr. Pope, ib. 

8 To Mr. We&t. Thanks him for his poetical epi.st!e ; 

complains of low spirit.?; Lady Walpole's death, 
and his concern for Mr. 11. Walpole, 4 

9 To Mr. Walpole. How he spends his own time in the 

country; meets with Mi". Southern, the dramatic 
poet, 5 

10 To Mr. Walpole. Supposed manner in which Mr. 

Walpole spends his time in the country, ib. 

11 To Mr. Walpole. Congratulates him on his new place; 

whimsical description of the quadrangle of Peter- 
House. 6 

12 To Mr. West. On his own leaving the University, ib. 

13 To his Mother. His voyage from Dover; description 

of Calais; Abbeville ; Amiens; face of the country, 
and dress of the people, ib. 

14 To Mr. West. Monuments of the kings of France at St. 

Dennis, &c. ; French opera and music ; actors, &c. 7 
25 To Mr. West. Palace of Versailles; ils garden and 

waterworks ; iiastallation of the Knight-s du St. Esprit, 8 
16 To his Mother. Rheims; its Cathedral; disposition 

and amusements of its inhabitants, 9 

]" To his Father. Face of the country between Rheims 

and Dijolin; description of the latter; monastery 

of the Carthusians and Cistercians, 10 

18 To Mr. Wtet. Lyons ; beauty of its environs ; Roman 

antiquities, ib. 

19 From Mr. West His wishes to accompany his friend ; 

his retired life in London ; address to his Lyre, in 
I^atin Sapphics, on the prospect of Mr. Gray's 
return, 11 

iO To his Motlier. Lyons ; excursion to tlio Grande Char- 
treuse; solemn and romantic approach to it; his 
reception there, and commendation of the monas- 
tery, ib. 

21 To his Father. Geneva; advantage of a free govern- 
ment exiiibited in the very look of the people; 
beauty of the lake, and plenty of its fish, 12 

i2 To his Mother. Journey over the Alps to Turin ; sin- 
gular accident in pa.ssing them; method of travel- 
ing over Mount Ccnis, 13 

23 To Mr. West Turin; its carnival; more of ihe views 
and scenery on the road to the Grande Chartreuse ; 

2L 



Letter. Page, 

wild and savage prospects amongst the Alps, agree- 
able to Livy's description. 14 

24 To Mr. West. Genoa ; music ; the Doge ; churches 

and the Palazzo Doria, ib. 

25 To his Mother. Paintings at Modena ; Bologna; beau- 

ty and riches of Lombardy, 15 

26 To liis Mother. The Appenines ; Florence and its gal- 

lery, 16 

27 To Mr. West. Journey from Genoa to Florence ; ele- 

giac verses occasioned by the sight of the plains 
where the battle of Trebia was fought, it. 

28 To his Mother. Death of the pope ; intended depar- 

ture for Rome; first and pleasing appearance of an 
Italian spring, 17 

29 To his MoUier. Cathedral of Sienna; Viterbo; distant 

sight of Rome ; the Tiber ; entrance into the city ; 
St. Peter's ; introduction of the Cardinal d'Auvergne 
into the conclave, ib.- 

30 To his Mother. Illumination of St. Peter's on Good 

Friday, &c. 18 

31 To Mr, West. Comic account of the Palace of the 

duke of Modena at Tivoli ; the Anio ; its cascade ; 
situation of the town ; villas of Horace and Maece- 
nas, and other remains of antiquity ; modern aque- 
ducts, and grand Roman ball, ib. 

32 To Mr. West. Ludicrous allusion to ancient customs ; 

Albano and its lake; Castel Gondolfo, prospect 
from the palace ; an observation of Mr. Walpole's 
on the views in that part of Italy ; Latin inscrip- 
tions, ancient and modern, 20 

33 To his Mother. Road to Najiles ; beautiful situation 

of that city ; its bay ; of Baias, and several other 
antiquities ; some account of the first discovery of 
an ancient town not known to be Herculaneum, 21 

34 To his Father. Departure from Rome, and return to 

Florence; no likelihood of the conclave's rising; 
some of the cardinals dead; description of the Pre- 
tender, his sons, and court ; procession at Naples ; 
sight of the king and queen; mildness of the air at 
Florence, ib 

35 From Mr. West. On his quitting the Temple, and 

reason for it, 22 

36 To Mr. West. Answer to the foregoing letter ; some 

account of Naples and its environs, and of Mr. Wal- 
pole's and his return to Florence. ib. 

37 To his Mother. Excursion to Bologna ; election of a 

pope ; description of liis person, with an odd speech 
which he made to the cardinals in tlie conclave, 24 

38 To his Father. Uncertainty of the route he shall take 

in his return to England; magnificence of tlie Ita- 
lians in their reception of strangers ; and piursimony 
when alone; the great applause which the new 
pope meets witli ; one of his l/on nwls, ib. 

39 To his Father. Total want of amusement at Florenr«, 

occasioned by the late emperor's funeral not being 
public ; a procession to avert the ill cfTccts of a late 
inundation; intention of going to Venice; an inva- 
sion from the Neapolitans apprehended; the inha- 
bitants of Tuscany dissatisfied with the govern- 
ment, 25 

40 ToMr. Weet, The time ofhis departure from Florence 



IV 



CONTENTS. 



Lottor. l'»go. 

(Irtormlinid; nltnmllon in his temper nntl Bpirits; 
dllli'i'oiu'o l)vl.wnon ai\ luillitn fair iiiiil iiii Kii^IIhIi 
Olio; 11 fiutnvoll to Kloniiico iiiul its pwspectis in Iji- 
tin lirxnnuitors; imitation, in tlio Biimo liuiguiigo, 
ot'an Itiilian Hoiinot, 25 

41 From Mr. VVoat. His spirits not ns yet Improved by 

country nir ; haa l)Ogun to toaii Tacitus, but not to 
nilish liim, 26 

42 To Mr. West. Karnrsit lioiws for liis friend's better 

lu-iUlli, 118 ilio will ni woallier ronios on ; dolence of 
Tacitus, and liis cliaracier ; of ttie now Ihmoiad; 
Bonds liim II H|H>ccli fiiim tlio liret sccno of liis A- 
grippiiin, 27 

43 From Mr. West. Criticisms on his friend's tragic 

stylo ; ImU\ lioxamotors on tils own cousli, ib 

•43 To Dr. Wharton. On taliing liis ilegroo of^ Uacholor 

of Civil Law, 28 

44 To l>r. Wliariiin. lUdinilo on university Inz.incss; of 

Dr. Akonsido's piK^m on llio I'loasurosof Imagina- 
tion, ib. 

45 To Rlr. Walpolo. Ludicrous description of tho Scot- 

tisli aiiny's approacli to tlio capital; aiiimadvor- 
sioiis on l*(ipt<, 29 

46 To Dr. Wliarton. Ilia nmusomenl.s In town; reflec- 

tions on rleliea ; ctiaractor of Aristotle, ib. 

47 To Mr. Walinilo. Olisorvations on his tmijody of A- 

grippiiiii; admlialilo picture of Inio Pliilosopliy, 30 
43 To Mr. Walpolo. Ludicrous c.oniplimont of cmnlolonco 
on tho lionlh of his favourite cat, enclosing un odo 
on that subject, 31 

49 To Ur. Wliunoii. Loss by flro of a house in Cornhill ; 



Letter, Page, 

on Diodorus Siculus ; M. Orossei's Poems ; Thom- 
son's Ciustie of Indolence; Odo to a Water Nymph, 
with a character of its author, 31 

50 To Dr. Wharton. Ludicrous account of tho duke of 

Newcastle's inslallalion at (.'ambrldge; on tho odo 
then porlbrmed, and more concerning tlio author 
of it, ib. 

51 To Ills Mother. Consolatory on tho death of her sister, 32 

52 To Mr. Waliwlo. Encloses his Elegy in a ('ountry 

Cliurcliyaixl, ib. 



ODES. 

I. On the Spring, .... 
II. On the deiith of a favourite Cat, 

III. On a disiiini prospect of Eton College, 

IV. To Adrei-sity, 

V. Tlie progress of Poesy, . 

VI. Tlio Ifcird, 

VII. Tlio Fatal Sisters, • 
Vlll. The descent of Odin, 
IX. The triumph of Owen, ... 
X. Tlio death of IIwl, .... 
XI. For Music, on tho installation of tho duke 
Grafton, Chancellor of tlie University, 

MISCELLANIES. 



of 



33 

ib. 
3'i 
35 
36 

•37 
39 

• 40 
41 
42 

ib. 



A Long Story, 

Elegy written in a Country Churcliyard, 
Epitaph on Mrs. Clarke, 
Tiimslations from Statius, ... 
Urayof liiinself, 



44 
45 
47 
Ib 
ib. 



Efit aifr of 2rtioma«3i (K^tajj. 



Thomas Gray was born in Cornliill, in the city 
of London, on the 2Gth of December, 1710. IliH 
fRtiicr, Phili|) Gray, wan a tnoncy-Hcrivcnor, but 
bein^r of an indolent and profuHo diKpuHition, he 
rather dirninialked than iniprovcil his paternal for- 
tune. Our author received hia classical educnlion 
at Eton scliool, under Mr. Antrobus, his mother's 
brother, a man of sound learning and refnuHl taste, 
who directed his nephew to those i)Ur8uits which 
laid the foundation of his future literary fame. 

Durinf^ his continuance at Kton, he contracted 
a friendcliip with Mr. Horace Walpole, well known 
for his knowledge in the fine arts; and Mr. Rich- 
ard West, son of the lord Chancellor of Ireland, a 
youth of very promising talents. 

When ho left Eton school in 1734, ho went to 
Cambridge, and entered a pensioner at Petcrhoime, 
at the recommendation of his uncle Antrobus, who 
had been a fellow of that colhsgo. It is said that, 
from his effeminacy and fair comjjlcxion, he ac- 
quired, among his fellow students, the appellation 
of Miss Gray, to which the delicacy of his man- 
ners seems not a little to have contril)uted. Mr. 
Walpole was at that time a fellow commoner of 
King's College, in the same university ; a fortu- 
nate circumstance, which affonled Gray frequent 
opportunities of intercourse with his honourable 
friend. 

Mr. West went from Eton to Christ Church, 
Oxford ; and in this state of separation, these two 
votaries of the muses, whos(! diK[)ositions were con- 
genial, connnenced an epistolary correspondenci', 
part of which is published by Mr. Mason, a gen- 
tleman whoso character stands high in the repub- 
lic of letters. 

Gray, having imbibed a taste for poetry, did not 
relish those abstruse studies which gi^mTally oc- 
cupy the minds of students at college ; and there- 
fore, as he found very littler gratification from aca- 
demical pursuits, he left Cambridge in 1738, ami 
returned to London, intending to a|)ply hiiiiHclf to 
the study of the law ; but this intention was soon 
laid aside, upon an invitation given iiim by Mr. 
Wal[M)I(!, to accompany him in his travcds abroad; 
a situation highly preferable, in Gray's opinion, to 
the dry study of the law. 

They Bct out together for France, and visited 
most of the jiloces worthy of notice in that coun- 
try ; from thence they proceeded to Italy, where 
an unfortunate dispute taking place between tiiem, 
a separation ensued upon their arrival at Florence. 
Mr. Wol^jolcj allerwarJflj with great candour and 



liberality, took upon liimself the blame of the quar- 
rel ; though, if we consider the matter coolly and 
imj)artially, wo may be induced to conclude that 
Gray, from a conscious superiority of ability, might 
have claimed a deference to his o[)inion and judg- 
ment, which his honourable friend was not at that 
time disposed to admit : the rupture, however, was 
very unpleasant to both parties. 

Gray pursued his journey to Venice on an eco- 
nomical |)lan, Huilabie to thecircumHcrilx'd state of 
his financcH, and having conliniu'd there some 
weeks, returiK'd to England in September, 1741. 
Ho appears, from his letters, jiublisiied by Mr. 
Mason, to have paid tlio minutest utleiition to every 
object, worthy of notice, throughout the! course of 
his travels. His dc8cri|>tion8 are livi^ly and pic- 
tnreHCjiie, and bear ]iarti(-ular marks of bis genius 
and disposition. We admire the sui)limity of his 
ideas when ho ascends the stupendous hiughts of 
the Alps, and arc charmed with his display of na- 
ture, decked in all the Iniauties of vegc^talion. In- 
decid, abundant information, oh well as entertain- 
ment, may be derived from his casual letters. 

In about two months after his arrival in Eng- 
land, he lost his father, who, by an indisctreet pro- 
fusion, had so impaired his fortune, as not to ad- 
mit of his son's proB(!CUling the study of the law 
with that degree of resjxH^lability whic-.h the naturo 
of the profession requires, witiiout becoming bur- 
densome to his mother and aunt. To obviate, 
tiierefore, thc-ir im[)ortunitieH on the subject, ho 
went to Camliridge, and took his bachelor's de- 
gree in civil law. 

Hut the inconviiiiienccs and distress attached to 
a scanty fortune, were not the only ills our poet 
had to encounter at this time : he had not only lost 
the friendship of Mr. Wul|)ole abroad, but poor 
West, the partner of iiis luNtrt, I'M a victim tocx)m- 
j)licated maladies, brought on by family misfor- 
tunes, on the first of June, 174'2, at Popes, a vil- 
lage in Hertfordsliin!, wliere he went for the benefit 
of the air. 

The excessive degree; in which his mind was 
agitated for the loss of his friend, will best appear 
from tho following beautiful little sonnet : 

" In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, 
And reddening Phceims lifts his golden firo: 

The birds in vain their amorous descant join, 
Or cheerful fields resume their green attire; 

These cars, alas! for other nott!S repine: 
A dilforcnt object do these eyes require ; 



VI 



LIFE OF THOMAS GRAY. 



My lonely anguish melts no heart but mine, 

And in my breast the imperfect joys expire ; 
Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, 

And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; 
The fields to all their wonted tribute bear; 

To warm their little loves the birds complain ; 

fruitless mourn to him that can not hear; 
. And weep the more, because I weep in vain." 

Mr. Gray now seems to have a]>plied his mind 
very sedulously to poetical composition ; his Ode to 
Spring was written early in June, to his friend Mr. 
West, before he received the nielanclioly news of 
his death: how our poet's susceptible ijiind was af- 
fected by that melancholy incident, is evidently 
demonstrated by the lines quoted above ; the im- 
pression, indeed, appears to have been too deep to 
he soon eflaced ; and the tenor of the subjects which 
called for the exertions of his poetical talents sub- 
sequent to the production of this Ode, corroborates 
that observation ; these were his Prospect of Eton, 
and his Ode to Adversitij. It is also supposed, 
and with great probability, that he began his Ele- 
gy in a Country Churchyard about the same time. 
He passed some weeks at Stoke, near Windsor, 
where his mother and aunt resided, and in that 
pleasing retirement finished several of his most ce- 
lebrated poems. 

From thence he returned to Cambridge, which, 
from this period, v/as his chief residence during the 
remainder of his life. The conveniences with which 
a college life was attended, to a person of his nar- 
row fortune, and studious turn of mind, were more 
than a compensation for the dislike which, for 
several reasons, he bore to the place: but he was 
perfectly reconciled to his situation, on Mr. Ma- 
son's being elected a fellow of Pembroke-Hall ; a 
circumstance which brought him a companion, 
who, during Ufo retained for him the highest de- 
gree of friendsliip and esteem. 

In 1742 he was admitted to the degree of bache- 
lor in the civil law, as appears from a letter writ- 
ten to his particular friend Dr. Wharton, of Old 
Park, near Durham, formerly fellow of Pembroke 
Hall, Cambridge, in which he ridicules, with much 
point and humour, the follies and foibles, and the 
dulness and formality, which prevailed in the uni- 
versity. 

In order to enrich his mind with the ideas of 
others, he devoted a considerable portion of his 
time to the study of the best Greek authors; so 
that in the course of six years, there were hardly 
any writers of eminence in that language whose 
works he had not only read but thoroughly di- 
gested. 

His attention, however, to the Greek classics, 
did not wholly engross his time; for he found lei- 
sure to advert, in a new sarcastical manner, to the 



ignorance and dulness with which he was surround- 
ed, though situated in the centre of learning. 

In 1744 he seems to have given up his attention 
to the Muses, Mr. Walpole, desirous of preserving 
what he had already written, as well as perpetuat- 
ing the merit of their deceased friend, West, en- 
deavoured to prevail with Gray, to whom he had 
previously become reconciled, to publish his own 
poems, together with those of West ; but Gray 
declined it, conceiving their productions united 
would not suffice to fill even a small volume. 

In 1747 Gray became acquainted with Mr. Ma- 
son, then a scholar of St. John's College, and af- 
terwards fellow of Pembroke-hall. Mr. Mason, 
who was a man of great learning and ingenuity, 
had written the year before, his " Monody o)i the 
Death of Pope," and his " II Bellicoso," and " 11 
Pacifico:" and Gray revised these pieces at the re- 
quest of a friend. This laid the foundation of a 
friendship that terminated but with life : and Mr. 
Mason, after the death of Gray, testified his regard 
for him, by superintending the publication of his 
works. 

The same year he wrote a little ode on the Death 
of a favourite cat of Mr. Walpole's, in which hu- 
mour and instruction are happily blended ; but the 
following year he produced an effort of much more 
importance ; the fragment of an Essay on the Al- 
liance of Education and Government. Its ten- 
dency was to demonstrate the necessary concur- 
rence of both to form great and useful men. 

In 1750, he jmt the finishing stroke to his Elegy 
written in a Country Church-yard, which was 
communicated first to his friend Mr. Walpole, and 
by him to many persons of rank and distinction. 
This beautiful production introduced the author 
to the favour of Lady Cobham, and gave occasion 
to a singular composition, called A Long Story; 
in which various effusions of wit and humour are 
very happily interspersed. 

The Elegy having found its way into the " Ma- 
gazine of Magazines," the author wrote to Mr. 
Walpole, requesting that he would put it into the 
hands of Mr. Dodsley, and order him to print it 
immediately, in order to rescue it from the disgrace 
it might have incurred by its appearance in a 
magazine. The Elegy was the most popular of 
all our author's jjroductions ; it ran through eleven 
editions, and was translated into Latin by Anstey 
and Roberts ; and in the same year a version of it 
was published by Lloyd. Mr. Bently, an eminent 
artist of that time, wishing to decorate this elegant 
composition with every ornament of which it is so 
highly deserving, drew for it a set of designs, as he 
also did for the rest of Gray's productions, for 
which the artist was liberally repaid by the author 
in some beautiful stanzas, but unfortunately no 
perfect copy of them remains. The following, 
however, are given as a specimen. 



LIFE OF THOMAS GRAY. 



VII 



" In silent gaze the tuneful choir among, 

Half pleased, but blushing, let the muse admire. 

While Bently leads her sister art along. 
And bids the pencil answer to the lyre. 

See, in their course each transitory thought. 
Fixed by his touch, a lasting essence take ; 

Each dream, in fancy's airy colouring wrought, 
To local synuuctry and life awake ! 

The tardy rhymes, that used to linger on. 
To censure cold, and negligent of fame ; 

In swifter measures animated run, 

And catch a lustre from his genuine flame. 

Ah ! could they catch his strength, his easy grace. 
His quick creation, his unerring line ; 

The energy of Pope they might efface. 
And Dryden's harmony submit to mine. 

But not to one in this benighted age 

Is that diviner inspiration given, 
That burns in Shakspeare's or in Milton's page, 

The pomp and prodigality of Heaven. 

As when conspiring in the diamond's blaze. 
The meaner gems, that singly charm the sight. 

Together dart their intermingled rays, 
And dazzle with a luxury of light. 

Enough for me, if, to some feeling breast 
My lines a secret sympathy impart. 

And as their pleasing influence flows confessed, 
A sigh of soft reflection heave the heart." 

It appears, by a letter to Dr. Wharton, that 
Gray finished his Ode on the Progress of Poetry 
early in 1755; the Bard was also begun about the 
same time; and the following Iwautiful fragment 
on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude the 
next year. The merit of the two former pieces 
Was not immediately perceived, nor generally ac- 
knowledged. Garrick wrote a few lines in their 
praise. Lloyd and Colman wrote, in concert, two 
Odes to "Oblivion" and " Obscurity," in which 
they were ridiculed with much ingenuity. 

Now the golden morn aloft 

Weaves her dew-bespangled wing 
With vermil cheek, and whisper soft, 

She woos the tardy spring; 
Till April starts, and calls around 
The sleeping fragrance from the ground, 
And lightly o'er the living scene 
Scatters his freshest tenderest green. 

New-born flocks, in rustic dance, 

Frisking ply their feeble feet; 
Forgetful of their wintery trance, 

The birds his presence greet; 
But chief the skylark warbles high 
His trembling, thrilling ecstasy; 

2l* 



And, lessening from the dazzled sight. 
Melts into air and liquid light. 

Yesterday the sullen year 

Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; 
Mute was the music of the air. 

The herd stood droojjing by ; 
Their raptures now, that wildly flow, 
No yesterday nor morrow know; 
'Tis man alone that joy descries 
With forward and reverted eyes. 

Smiles on past misfortune's brow 

Soft reflection's hand can trace, 
And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw 

A melancholy grace: 
While hope prolongs our happier hour, 
Or deepest shades, that dimly lour. 
And blacken round our weary way, 
Gilds with a gleam of distant day. 

Still where rosy pleasure leads. 

See a kindred grief pursue. 
Behind the steps that misery treads 

Approaching comfort view; 
The hues of bliss more brightly glow. 
Chastised by sabler tints of wo; 
And blended form, with artful strife. 
The strength and harmony of life. 

See the wretch, that long has tost 

On the thorny bed of Pain, 
At length repair his vigour lost. 

And breathe and walk again. 
The meanest floweret of the vale. 
The simplest note that swells the gale. 
The common sun, the air, tlie skies. 
To him are opening Paradise." 

Our author's reputation, as a poet, was so high,, 
that, on the death of CoUcy Cil)lK'r, in Vlbl, her 
had the honour of refusing the oft'ice of poct-lau- 
reat, to which he was probably induced by the 
disgrace brought upon it through the inability of 
some who had filled it. 

His curiosity some time after drew him away 
from Cambridge to a lodging near the British 
Museum, where he resided near three years, read- 
ing and transcribing. 

In 1762, on the death of Mr. Turner, professor 
of modern languages and history at Cambridge, 
he was, according to his own expression, "cock- 
ered and spirited up" to apply to Lord Bute for 
the succession. His lordship refused him with all 
the politeness of a courtier, the oflioe having been 
previously promised to Mr. Brocket, the tutor of 
Sir James Lowther. 

His health being on the decline, in 1766, h© 
undertook a journey to Scotland, conceiving h» 
should derive benefit from exercise and change of 
situation. His account of tliat country, as far aft 



vni 



LIFE OF THOMAS GRAY. 



it extends, is curious and elegant; for as his mind 
was comprehensive, it was employed in the con- 
templation of all the works of art, all the appear- 
ances of nature, and all the monuments of past 
events. 

During his stay in Scotland he contracted a 
friendship with Dr. Beattie, in whom he found, as 
he himself expresses it, a poet, a philosopher, and 
a good man. Through the intervention of his 
friend the doctor, the Marisciial College at Aber- 
deen oflered him the degree of doctor of laws 
which he thought it decent to decline, having 
omitted to take it at Cambridge. 

In December, 1767, Dr. Beattie, still desirous 
that his country should leave a memento of its re- 
gard to the merit of our poet, solicited his permis- 
sion to print, at the University of Glasgow, an 
elegant edition of his works. Gray could not com- 
ply with his friend's request, as he had given his 
promise to Mr. Dodsley. However, as a compli- 
ment to them both, he jiresented them with a copy, 
containing a few notes, and the imitations of the 
old Norwegian poetry, intended to supplant the 
Long Story, which was printed at first to illus- 
trate Mr. Bently's designs. 

In 17G8, our author obtained that oflice without 
solicitation, for which he had before applied with- 
out effect. The professorship of languages and 
history again became vacant, and he received an 
oiler of it from tlie Duke of Grafton, who had suc- 
ceeded Lord Bute in office. The place was valua- 
ble in itself, the salary being 400/. a-year; but it 
was rendered peculiarly acce|)table to Mr. Gray, 
as he obtained it without solicitation. 

Soon after he succeeded to this office, the im- 
paired state of his health rendered another journey 
necessary; and he visited, in I7G9, the counties of 
Westmoreland and Cumberland, His remarks on 
the wonderful scenery which these northern re- 
gions display, he transmitted in epistolary jour- 
nals to his friend. Dr. Wharton, which abound, 
according to Mr. Mason's elegant diction, with 
all the wildness of Salvator, and the softness of 
Claude. 

He appears to have been much afTected by ihe 
anxiety he felt at holding a place without discharg- 
ing the duties annexed to it. He had always de- 
signed reading lectures, but never put it in practice; 
and a consciousness of this neglect, contributed 
not a little to increase the malady under which he 
had long laboured: nay, the oflice at length be- 
came so irksome, that he seriously proposed to re- 
sign it. 

Towards the close of May, 1771, he removed 
from Cambridge to London, after liaving suffered \ 
violent attacks of an hereditary gout, to which hej 
had long been subject, notwithstanding he had ob- j 
served the most rigid abstemiousness throughout 
the whole course of liis life. By the advice of liis 



physicians, he removed from London to Kensing- 
ton ; the air of which place proved so salutary, 
that lie was soon enabled to return to Cambridge, 
whence he designed to make a visit to his friend. 
Dr. Wharton, at Old Park, near Durham; in- 
dulging a fond hope that the excursion would tend 
to the re-establishment of his health : but, alas ! 
that hope proved delusive. On the 2'lth of July 
he was seized, while at dinner in the College-hall, 
with a sudden nausea, which obliged him to retire 
to his chamber. The gout liad fi.\ed on his sto- 
mach in such a degree as to resist all the powers 
of medicine. On the 29th he was attacked with 
a strong convulsion, which returned with increas- 
ed violence the ensuing day; and on the evening 
of the 31st of May, 1771, he departed this life in 
the 55th year of his age. 

From the narrative of his friend, Mr. Mason, i1 
appears, that Gray was actuated by motives of self 
improvement, and self gratification, in his applica- 
tion to the Muses, rather than any view to pecu- 
niary emolument. His pursuits were in general 
disinterested ; and as he was free from avarice on 
the one hand, so was he from extravagance on the 
other: being one of those few characters in the 
annals of literature, especially in the poetical class, 
who are devoid of self interest, and at the same 
time attentive to economy : but Mr. Mason adds, 
that he was induced to decline taking any advan- 
tage of his literary productions by a degree of pride, 
which influenced him to disdain the idea of being 
thought an author by profession. 

It ai)pears from the same narrative, that Gray 
made considerable progress in the study of archi- 
tecture, particularly the Gothic. He endeavoured 
to trace this branch of the science, from the period 
of its commencement, through its various changes, 

> O Of 

till it arrived at its perfection in the time of Henry 
VIII. He applied himself also to the study of 
heraldry, of which he obtained a very competent 
knowledge, as appears from his Remarks on Sax- 
on Churches, in the introduction to Mr. Bentham's 
History of Ely. 

But the favourite study of Gray, for the last two 
years of his life, was natural history, which he ra- 
ther resumed than began, as he had acquired some 
knowledge of botany in early life, while he was 
under the tuition of his uncle Antrobus. He wrote 
copious marginal notes to the works of Linnaius, 
and other writers in the three kingdoms of nature : 
and Mr. Mason further observes, that, excepting 
pure mathematics, and the studies dependent on 
that science, there was hardly any part of human 
learning in which he had not acquired a compe- 
tent skill ; in most of them a consummate mastery. 

Mr. Mason has declined drawing any formal 
character of him : but has adopted one from a let- 
ter to James Boswell, Esq. l)y the Rev. Mr. Tem- 
pi!?, rector of St. Gluvias, in Cornwall, first print- 



LIFE OF THOMAS GRAY. 



IX 



cd anonymously in the London Magazine, which, 
lis we conceive authentic, i'rom the sanction of Mr. 
Mason, we sliall therefore transcribe. 

" rorha[)s he was the most learned man in Eu- 
rope. He was equally acquainted with the elo- 
quent and profound parts of science, and that not 
sujierficially butthoroughly. Heknewevery branch 
of liistory, both n;itural and civil; had read all the 
original historians of England, France and Italy ; 
and was a great antiquarian. Criticism, metaphy- 
sics, morals, and politics, made a ))rincipal part of 
his study ; voyages and travels of all sorts were 
his i'avourite amusements ; and he had a fine taste 
in painting, jnints, architecture, and gardening. 
With such a fund of knowledge, his conversation 
must have been equally instructing and entertain- 
ing ; but he was also a good man, a man of virtue 
and humanity. There is no character without 
some speck, some imperfection, and I think the 
greatest defect in his was an alfectation of delica- 
cy, or rather efl'eniinacy, and a visible fastidious- 
ness, or contempt and disdain of his inferiors in 
science. He also had, in some degree, that weak- 
ness which disgusted Voltaire so much in Mr. 
Congreve : though he seemed to value others chief- 
ly according to the progress they had made in 
knowledge, yet he could not bear to be considered 
himself merely as a man of letters; and though 
without birth, or fortune, or station, his desire was 
to be looked upon as a private independent gen- 
tleman, who read ibr his amusement. Perhaps it 
may be said. What signifies so much knowledge,! 
when it produced so little 1 Is it worth taking so' 
n\uch pains to leave no memorial but a few poems'! , 
But let it be considered that Mr. Gray was, to! 
others, at least innocently employed; to himself, 
certainly beneficially. His time passed agreeably ; 
he was every day making some new acquisition in 
science; his mind was enlarged, his heart soften- 
ed, his virtue strengthened ; the world and man- 
kind were shown to hioi without a mask ; and he 
was taught to consider every thing as trilling, and 
unworthy of the attention of a wise man, except 
tl>e pursuit of knowledge and practice of virtue, 
in that state wherein God hath placed us." 

In addition to this character, Mr. Mason has re- 
marked, that Gray's efleminacy was affected most 
before those whom he did not wish to please : and 
that he is unjustly charged with making knowledge 
his sole reason of preference, as he paid his esteem 
to none whom he did not hkewise believe to be 
good. 

Dr. Johnson makes the following observation: — 
" What has occurred to me, from the slight in- 
spection of his letters, in which my undertaking 
has engaged me, is, that his mind had a large 
grasp; that his curiosity was unUmited, and his 
judgment cultivated; that he was a man likely to 
love much where he loved at all, but that he was I 



fastidious, and hard to please. His contempt, 
however, is often employed, where I hope it will 
be approved, upon scepticism and inlidility. Ilia 
short account of Shaftesbury I will insert. 

" ' You say you can not conceive how Lord 
Shaftesbury came to be a philosopher in vogue: I 
will tell you; first, he was a lord; secondly, he was 
as vain as any of his readers; thirdly, men are 
very prone to believe what they do not understand; 
fourthly, they will believe any thing at all, pro- 
vided they are under no obligation to believe it; 
fifthly, they love to take a new road, even when 
that road leads no where; sixthly, he was reckoned 
a fine writer, and seems always to mean more than 
he said. Would you have anymore reasons'! An 
interval of above forty years has pretty well de- 
stroyed the charm. A dead lord ranks with com- 
moners: vanity is no longer interested in the mat- 
ter : for a new road is become an old one.' " 

As a writer, he had this peculiarity, that he did 
not write his pieces first rudely, and then correct 
them, but laboured every line as it arose in the 
train of composition j and he had a notion not very 
peculiar, that he could not write but at certain 
times, or at happy moments ; a fantastic foppery 
to which our kindness for a man of learning and 
of virtue wishes him to have been superior. 

As a poet, he stands high in the estimation of 
the candid and judicious. His works are not nu- 
merous ; but they bear the marks of intense appli- 
cation, and careful revijion. The Elegy in the 
Church-yard is deemed his master-piece; the sub- 
ject is interesting, the sentiment simple and pa- 
thetic, and the versification charmingly melodious. 
This beautiful composition has been often selected 
by orators for the di.splay of their rhetorical talents. 
But as the most finished productions of the human 
mind have not escaped censure, the works of our 
author have undergone illiberal comments. His 
Elegy has been supposed defective in want of plan. 
Dr. Knox, in his Essays, has observed, " that it is 
thought by some to be no more than a confused 
heap of splendid ideas, thrown together without 
order and without proportion." Some passages 
have been censured by Kelly in the Babbler: and 
imitations of different authors have been pointed 
out by other critics. But these imitations can not 
be ascertained, as there are numberless instances 
of coincidence of ideas; so that it is difiicult to say, 
with precision, what is or is not a designed or ac- 
cidental imitation. 

Gray, in his Elegy in the Church-yard, has 
great merit in adverting to the most interesting 
passions of the human mind, yet his genius is not 
marked alone by the tender sensibility so conspi- 
cuous in that elegant piece ; but there is a subli- 
mity which gives it an equal claim to universal 
admiration. 

His Odes on The Progress of Poetry, and of 



LIFE OP THOMAS GRAY. 



The Hard, nccordiiifi to Mr. Miison'a account, 
" brcntlu! tlio liigli sjiirit of lyric eiithiwiusin. The 
transiiioim are sudden and impetuous; the lan- 
guuf^f lull of fire and force ; and the imnfrory car- 
rit'd witiuiul iinproi>rioly, to the most daring hcijfht. 
They have l)ecn accused of obscurity; but the one 
can be obscure to those only who have not niail 
Pmdar ; and the olluT only to thosti who are un- 
acquainted with the history of our own nation." 

Of lii.s other lyric pieces, Mr. Wakelield, a 
learned iind inijenious commentator, observes, that, 
thouirh, like all other human jmnl notions, they are 
not without their delicts, yet the spirit of j)oetry, 
and exipiisite charms of the verse, are more than a 
compensiition for those ilefects. TluVOde on Kton 
College abounds with sentiments natural, and con- 
sonant to the feelings of humanity, exhibited with 
perspicuity of method, and in elegant, intelligible, 
and ex|iressive language. The Sonnet on The 
Death of West, and the Epitaph on Sir William 
Willidms, are as jH'rfect compositions of the kind 
as any in our language. 

Dr. Johnson was confessedly a man of great 
({enius; but the ))artial and uncandid mode of cri- 
ticism he has adi>pted in his remarks on the wri- 
tings of Gray, has given to liberal minds great and 
just otleiice. According to Mr. Mason's account, 
ho has subjected Gray's fHH'try to the most rigor- 
ous examination. Declining all consideration of 
the general plan and conduct of the pieces, he has 
conlineil himself solely to strictures on words and 
forms of expression; and Mr. Mason very perti- 
nently a<lds, that verbal criticism is an ordeal 
wliich the most perfect composition can not pass 
without injury. 

He has also fallen under Mr. Wakefield's se- 
vcrcot censure. Tliis commentator all'irms, that 
" he thinks a refutation of his strictures upon Gray 
a necessary service to the public, without which 
they might o[>erato with a malignant influence 
upon the national taste. His censure, however, 
ia too genend, and expressed with too much velic- 



mence; and his remarks U'tray, upon the whole, 
an unreasonable fastidiousness of taste, and an un- 
becoming illilH^rality of spirit. He appears to have 
turned an unwiUingeye uj)on the beauties of Gray, 
because his jealousy would not suller him to see 
such superlative merit in a cotcmporary." Tiieso 
remarks of Mr. Wakefield apjiear to lie well 
founded : and it has been observed by another 
writer, that Dr. Johnson, being strongly inllu- 
enceil by his political and religious principles, was 
inclined to treat, with the utmost severity, some of 
the |)roductions of our In^st writers; to which may 
be imputed that severity with which he censures 
the lyric i)erformances of Gray. It is highly pro- 
bable that no one poetical rinuler will universally 
subscrilw to his decisions, though all may admiro 
his vast intuitive knowledge, and power of discri^ 
mination. 

In one instance, the doctor's inconsistency, and 
deviation from his general character, does him ho- 
nour. After liaving commented with the most ri- 
gid severity on the poetical works of Gray, as if 
conscious of the injustice done him, ho seems to 
apologize by the following declaration, which con- 
cludes his criticism, and shall conclude the memoirs 
of our author. 

"In the character of his Elegy (says Johnson) 
I rejoice and concur with the common reader ; for, 
by the conunon sense of readers, uncorrupted with 
literary prijudices, all the refinements of subtility, 
and the dogmatism of learning, must be finally de- 
cided all claim to jwetical honours. The Church- 
yard abounds with images which find a nurror in 
every mind, and with sentiments to which every 
bosom returns an echo. The four stanzas begin- 
ning, Yet, e'en these bones, are to me original ; I 
have never seen the notions in any other place : 
yet he that reails them here, persuades lumself that 
ho has always felt them. Had Gray written often 
thus, it had been vain to blame, ^nd useless to 
praise him." 



LETTERS 



op 



FROM MR. WEST* TO MR. GRAY. 

You use me very cruelly; you liavc sent nic but 
one letter since I have been at Oxford, and that 
too agro'eable not to make me scnsihio how great 
my losH is in not having more. Next to seeing 
you is the pleasure of seeing your hand-writing; 
next to hearing you is the pleasure of hearing from 
you. Really and sincerely I wonder at you, that 
you thought it not wortli while to answer my last 
letter. I hope this will have better success in be- 
half of your quondam school-follow ; in behalf of 
one who has walked hand in hand with you, like 
the two children in tlie wood, 

Through many a flowery path and shelly grot, 
Where learning lulled us in her private maze. 

The very thought, you sec, tips my pen with po- 
etry, and brings Eton to my view. Consider me 
very seriously here in a strange country, inhabited 
by tilings that call themselves doctors and masters 
of arts ; a country flowing with syllogisms and ale, 
where Horace and Virgil are equally unknown ; 
consider me, I say, in this melancholy light, and 
tlien think if something be not due to 

Yours. 
Christ Churcli, Nov. 14, 1735. 

P. S. I desire you will send me soon, and truly 
and positively, a History of your own Time.t 



TO MR. WEST. 
Permit me again to write to you, though I have 
so long neglected my duty, and forgive my brevi- 
ty, when 1 tell you, it is occasioned wholly by the 
liurry I am in to get to a place where 1 expect to 
meet with no other pleasure than the sight of you ; 
for I am preparing for London in a few days at 
furthest. I do not wonder in the least at your 
freipient blaming my indolence, it ought rather to 



' Mr, Wcsl'a fdtlier wafl lord chanrellor of Ireland. His 
praiidlUllier, by the mother, the famous bishop Hurnet. He 
removed from Klon to 0,\ford, about the same time that Mr. 
Oniy left that place for Cambrid^'e. In April, 1738, ho left 
(Jliiist Oliurch for the Inner 'I'emple, and Mr. (Iray removed 
from Puterhou.se to town the latter end of that year ; intending 
al.«o to apply himself to the study of the law in the same so- 
ciety. 

t Alluding to his grandfather's historj. 



be called ingratitude, and I am obliged to your 
goodness for softening so harsh an a|)pellation. — 
When we meet, it will, however, be my greatest 
of pleasures to know what you do, what you read, 
and how you spend your time, &c. &«. and to tell 
you what 1 do not read, and how 1 do not, &c. for 
almost all the employment of my hours may be 
best explained by negatives; take my word and 
experience upon it, doing nothing is a most amus- 
ing business ; and yet neither something nor no- 
thing gives me any pleasure. When you have 
seen one of my days, you have seen a whole year 
of my lift! ; they go round and round like the blind 
horse in the mill, only he has the satisfaction of 
fancying he makes a progress, and gets some 
ground ; my eyes are open enougli to see the same 
dull prospect, and to know that having made four- 
and-twenty steps more, I shall be just where I was : 
I may, better than mostpeo|)le, say my life is but a 
s[)an, were I not afraid lostyousiiould not i)elievetiiat 
a person so short-lived could wrife even so long a 
letter as this; in short, I bt^licve I nmst not send 
you a history of my own time, till 1 can send you 
that iilso of the Reformation.* However, as the 
most undeserving people in tlie world must surely 
have tlte vanity to wish somebody had a regard for 
them, so I net^d not wonder at my own, in being 
pleased that you care about me. You need not 
doubt, therefore, of having a first row in the front 
box of my little heart, and I believe you arc not in 
danger of being crowded there; it is asking you 
to an old i)lay, indeed, but you will be candid 
enough to excuse the whole piece for the sake of 
a f(!W toler;il)le lines. 

For this little while past I have been playing 
with Statins ; we yesterday had a game at (juoits 
togetlier; you will easily forgive me for having 
broke his head, as you have a iiltie jjicjue to him. 
I send you my translation, which 1 did not engage 
in because I liked that part of the poem, nor do I 
now send it to you because I think it deserves it, 
but merely to sliow you how 1 niispend my days. 
Third in the labours of the Disc came on, 
With sturdy step and slow, Ilippomodon, &c. 
Cambridge, Muy 3, 1736. 



• Carrying on the allusion to the other history WTOtc by M» 

West's grandluthor. 



GRAY'S WORKS 



Let. 3, 4, 5. 



FROM MR. WEST. 

I AQHEE with you that you have broke Statius's 
head, but it is in like manner as Apollo broke 
Hyacinth's, you have foiled him infinitely at his 
own weapon : I must insist on seeing the rest of 
your translation, and then I will examine it en- 
tire, and compare it with the Latin, and be very 
wise and severe, and put on an inflexible face, such 
as becomes the character of a true son of Aristar- 
chus, of hypercritical memory. In the meanwhile. 

And calmed ihe terrors of his claws in gold, 

is exactly Statins — Summos auro mansueverat 
ungues. I never knew before that the golden 
fangs on hammercloths were so old a fashion. 
Your Hymeneal I was told was the best in the 
Cambridge collection before I saw it, and, indeed, 
it is no great compliment to tell you I thought it 
60 when L had seen it, but sincerely it pleased me 
best. Methinks the college bards have run into a 
strange taste on this occasion. Such soft unmean- 
ing stuff about Venus and Cupid, and Peleus and 
Thetis, and Zephyrs and Dryads, was never read. 
As for my poor little Eclogue, it has been con- 
demned and beheaded by our Westminster judges ; 
an exordium of about sixteen lines absolutely cut 
off, and its other limbs quartered in a most bar- 
barous manner. I will send it you in my next as 
my true and lawful heir, in exclusion of the pre- 
tender, who has the impudence to appear under 
my name. 

As yet I have not looked into Sir Isaac. Public 
disputations I hate ; mathematics I reverence ; his- 
tory, morality, and natural philosophy have the 
greatest charms in my eye ; but who can forget 
poetry'? they call it idleness, but it is surely the 
most enchanting thing in the world, " ac dulce 
otium et pane omni negotio pulchriv^.'' 
I am, dear Sir, yours while I am 

R. W. 
Christ Church, May 24, 1736. 



TO MR. WEST. 

YoD must know that I do not take degrees, and, 
after this term, shall have nothing more of college 
impertinences to undergo, which I trust will be 
Bome pleasure to you, as it is a great one to me. I 
have endured lectures daily and hourly since I 
came last, supported by the hopes of being shortly 
at full liberty, to give myself up to my friends and 
classical companions, who, poor souls! though I 
see them fallen into great contempt with most peo- 
ple here, yet I can not help sticking to them, and 
out of a spirit of obstinacy (I think) love them the 
better for it; and, indeed, what can I do elsel 
Must I plunge into metaphysics"? Alas! I can not 
Ke in the dark ; nature has not furnished me with 



the optics of a cat. Must I pore upon mathema- 
tics? Alas! I can not see in too much light; I am 
no eagle. It is very possible that two and two 
make four, but I would not give four farthings to 
demonstrate this ever so clearly ; and if these be 
the profits of life, give me the amusements of it. 
The people I behold all around me, it seems, know 
all this and more, and yet I do not know one of 
them who inspires me with any ambition of being 
like him. Surely it was not this place, now Cam- 
bridge, but formerly known by the name of Baby- 
lon, that the prophet spoke when he said, " the 
wild beasts of the desert shall dwell there, and 
their houses shall be full of doleful creatures, and 
owls shall build there, and satyrs shall dance there ; 
their forts and towers shall be a den for ever, a 
joy of wild asses ; there shall the great owl make 
her nest, and lay and hatch and gather under her 
shadow ; It shall be a court of dragons ; the screech 
owl also shall rest there, and' find for herself a 
place of rest." You see here is a pretty collection 
of desolate animals, which is verified in this town 
to a tittle, and perhaps it may also allude to your 
habitation, for you know all types may be taken 
by abundance of handles; however, I defy your 
owls to match mine. 

If the default of your spirits and nerves be 
nothing but the effect of the hyp, I have no more 
to say. We all must submit to that wayward 
queen : I too in no small degree own her sway. 
I feel her influence while I speali her power. 

But if it be a real distemper, pray take more care 
of yourheahh, if not for your own at least for our 
sakes, and do not be so soon weary of this little 
world : I do not know what refined* friendships 
you may have contracted in the other, bui pray do 
not be in a hurry to see your acquaintance above; 
among your terrestrial familiars, however, though 
I say it that should not say it, there positively is 
not one that has a greater esteem for you than 
Yours most sincerely, &c. 
Peterhouse, Dec. 1736. 



FROM MR. WEST. 

I CONGRATULATE you ou your being about to 
leave college,t and rejoice much you carry no de- 
grees with you. For I would not have you digni- 
fied, and I not, for the world, you would have in- 
sulted me so. My eyes, such as they are, liko 
yours, are neither metaphysical nor mathematical ; 



• Perhaps he meant to ridicule the affected manner of lMr3. 
Rowe'a letters from the dead to the living. 

1 1 suspect that Mr. West mistook his correspondent ; who, 
in saying he did not take degrees, meant only to let his friend 
know that he should soon be released from lectures and dispu- 
tations. It is certain that M;. Gray continued at college near 
two years after the lime he wrote the preceding letter 



Let. 6, 7. 



LETTERS, 



S 



I have, nevertheless, a great respect for your con- 
noisseurs that way, but am always contented to 
be their humble admirer. Your collection of de- 
solate animals pleased me so much : but Oxford, I 
can assure you, has her owls that match yours, and 
the prophecy has certainly a squint that way. 
Well, you are leaving this dismal land of bondage, 
and which way are you turning your face 1 Your 
friends, indeed, may be happy in you, but what 
will you do with your classic companions 1 An 
inn of court is as horrid a place as a college, and 
a moot case is as dear to gentle dullness as a syllo- 
gism. But wherever you go, let me beg you not 
to throw poetry, "like a nauseous weed away;" 
cherish its sweets in your bosom ; they will serve 
you now and then to correct the disgusting sober 
follies of the common law, misce stultitiam con- 
siliis brevem, dulce est desipere in loco; so said 
Horace to Virgil, those two sons of Anak in poet- 
ry, and so say I to "you in this degenerate land of 
pigmies, 

Mix with your grave designs a little pleasure, 
Rich day of business has its hour of leisure. 

In one of these hours I hope, dear Sir, you will 
sometimes think of me, write to me, and know me 
yours, 

'E^atwTai, ^)) KtvQt vott, 'nit ufofAiv itfA<fu. 

that is, write freely to me and openly, as I do to 
you ; and to give you a proof of it, I have sent you 
an elegy of Tibullus translated. TibuUus, you 
must know, is my favourite elegiac poet ; for his 
language is more elegant, and his thoughts more 
natural than Ovid's. Ovid excels him only in wit, 
of which no poet had more in my opinion. The 
reason I choose so melancholy a kind of poesie, is, 
because my low spirits, and constant ill health, 
(things in me not imaginary, as you surmise, but 
too real, alas! and I fear, constitutional,) " have 
tuned my heart to elegies of wo;" and this likewise 
is the reason why I am the most irregular thing 
at college, for you may depend upon it I value my 
health above what they call discipline. As for this 
poor unlicked thing of an elegy, pray criticise it 
unmercifully, for I send it with that intent. In- 
deed your late translation of Statins might have 
deterred me : but I know you are not more able to 
excel others, than you are apt to forgive the want 
of excellence, especially when it is found in the 
productions of 

Your most sincere friend. 
Christ Church, Dec 22, 1736t 



TO MR. WALPOLE. 

You can never weary me with the repetition of 
any thing that makes me sensible of your kindness: 
since that has been the only idea of einy social hap- 



piness that I have almost ever received, and which 
(begging your pardon for thinking so differently 
from you in such cases) I would by no means have 
parted with for an exemption from all the uneasi- 
ness mixed with it; but it would be unjust to ima- 
gine my taste was any rule of yours ; for which 
reason my letters are shorter and less frequent 
than they would be, had I any materials but my- 
self to entertain you with. Love and brown su- 
gar must be a poor regale for one of your gout, and, 
alas ! you know 1 am by trade a grocer.* Scan- 
dal (if I had any) is a merchandise you do not pro- 
fess dealing in ; now and then, indeed, and to 
oblige a friend, you may perhaps slip a little out 
of your pocket, as a decayed gentlewoman would 
a piece of right mecklin, or a little quantity of run 
tea, but this only now and then, not to make a prac- 
tice of it. Monsters appertaining to this climate 
you have seen already, both wet and dry. So you 
perceive within how narrow bounds my pen is cir- 
cumscribed, and the whole contents of my share 
in our correspondence may be reduced under the 
two heads of first. You ; secondly, I ; the first is, 
indeed, a subject to expatiate upon, but you may 
laugh at me for talking about what I do not un- 
derstand ; the second is so tiny, so tiresome, that 
you shall hear no more of it than it is ever 

Youra, 
Peterhouae, Dec. 23, 1736. 



FROM MR. WEST. 

I HAVE been very ill, and am still hardly recov- 
ered. Do you remember Elegy 5th, Book the 3d, 
of Tibullus, Vos tenet, &c., and do you remember 
a letter of Mr. Pope's, in sickness, to Mr. Steele? 
This melancholy elegy, and this melancholy letter, 
I turned into a more melancholy epistle of my own, 
during my sickness, in the way of imitation ; and 
this I send to you and my friends at Cambridge, 
not to divert them, for I can not, but merely to show 
them how sincere I was when sick : I hope my 
sending it to them now may convince them I am 
no less sincere, though perhaps more simple, when 
well. 

AD AMICOS.t 

Yes, happy youths, on Camus' sedgy side. 
You feel each joy that friendship can divide ; 
Each -realm of science and of art explore. 
And with the ancient blend the modern lore. 



* t. e. A man who deals only in coarse and ordinary wares; 
to these he compares the plain sincerity of his own friendship, 
undisguised by flattery ; which, had he chosen to carry on the 
allusion, he might have termed the trade of a confectioner. 

t Almost all TibuUus's elegy is imitated in this little piece, 
from whence his transition to Mr. Pope's letter is very anfully 
contrived, and bespeaks a degree of judgment much beyond 
Mr. West's years. 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Lf.t. 8. 



Studious niono to loam whato'er may tend 

To mine the <f('iiiii« or tlio licni't (o mrnd ; 

TS'ow plciiscd idoii}f tlie rioislcrcd walk you rovo, 

And trace tlio vordnnt mazes of tlio grove, 

'WluTC HocinI oft, mid oft aloiio, lio clioso 

'I'o cnlcli till' /.('ijliyr, iiiul to court llm nuise. 

IVlriintiiuo at mo(wl»ilo all devoid of art 

Thcm^ lines ftivo Imck tlH> imnfjc of my heart) 

At mo tlio power that comes or hoou or late, 

Or aims, or scemH to aim, the dart of fate; 

From you remote, methinkM, alone I Ntand 

Like some Had exile in a desert land ; 

Around no friends their lenient care to join 

In nuitual vvarmlh, and mix their h(Mi4 with mine. 

Or real pains, or those which fancy raise, 

I'"or ev(M' Mot the snushiiie of my days; 

M'o sickness still, and still to f^ricf ii prey, 

ITealth turns from mo her rosy face away. 

Just Heaven ! what sin, ere life begins to Moom, 

Devotes my head untimely to the tond>'! 

Did o'er this hand ngainst a brother's life 

]">rnrr tho dire howl, or point the murd(<rons knife? 

J>ul e'er this ton;j;ue the slanderer's tale proclaim, 

Or madly violat(< my Maker's name? 

I">id e'er this heart betray a friend or foe, 

Or know a thought but all llu> world mijiht know? 

As yet, just started from the lists of time, 

My growinir years have scarcely told their prime; 

Useless, asyet, thron;fh life I've idly rnn, 

No pleastn'cs lasted, and tew duties done. 

* Ah, who, ere autunm's mellowinij suns oppciir, 

Woidd pluck the promise of the vernal year 'I 

Or, ere th<< "jrapes their pin-ple hue betray, 

Tear the crud<> <-luster from the morninj; spray? 

Stern power of Fato, wlioso ebon sceptre rules 

The Stygian deserts and Cinnnerian pools, 

]<'orbear, nor rashly smite my youthful heart, 

A victim yet unworthy of thy dart ; 

All, stay till ajje shall blast my withcrinsi face, 

Shak(> in my head, and falter in my pace; 

'I'lien aim llie sli'ilV, then meditate the blow, 

t And to the dead my willini; shaile shall fjo. 

How w<'ak is man to Reason's judjjing eye! 
Born in this moment, in th(> next we die; 
] 'art mortal clay, tiiid part ethereal lire, 
Too ]irond to creep, too humble to aspire. 
In vain our plans of happiness wo raise, 
Pain is our lot, and patience is our jiraise; 
Wealth, lineofje, honours, conquest, or a throne; 
Are what the wise wonl<l fear to call their own. 
lieallii is at best a vain precarious thinij;, 
And fair-faced youth is ever on the wing; 



" Qnltl froiKliirc jurat vltom crosconllbvw \\v\» 1 
K( luoilo nala mala vi-lloro puma inami 1 
So Iho oiij;iiiul. i'lio ijarapliriw? scom.itn bo iiifiiiilcly more 
U'liiuirnl. Tliorr i.i n iH'C.iillar.lili'misti in Iho wcoiiil lino 
nuHiii!; Unm llu'.syiuiiiimo.') mala ami fwma. 

1 More lio iniiUsTilmlliis: (ho Ion lollowhlg verses liuvobut 
a ruiuule lelurciice to Rlr. rojH^'s louur. 



♦ 'Tis like Iho stream, Iw-side whoso watery bed 
Sonn< bloominjj ])lant (<xalts his ftowery head, 
Nursed by tlie wave the s|)readinij branches rise, J 
Shade all the ground and (louriBh to the Mkies; 
'I'he wav(>s the while lM>ueath in secret How, 
And undermine tiie hollow bank below; 
Wide and more wide the waters urge their way, 
I'.are all the roots, and on their fibn-s i)rey, 
'Too late the |)lant bewails his foolisii pride. 
And sinks, untimely, in the whelming tide. 

JUit why repine? does life deserve my sigh? 
!''ew will lament my loss whene'er 1 die. 
1 I''or those the wretches 1 des[)ise or hato, 
I neither envy nor regard their fate. 
For me, wliene'er all conquering death shall sjircad 
I lis wings around my unreiiining head, 
t 1 care not; though this face beseen no more, 
The world will pass as cheerful as before; 
Hright as before the day-star will appear. 
The lields as verdant, and the skies a** dear; 
Nor storms nor Comets will my doom dechiro, 
Nor signs on earth, nor])ortcnls intlie air; 
Unknown anil silent will depart my breath, 
Nor nature o'er take notice of my death. 
Yet some there are (ere spent my vital days) 
Williin whose breasts my tomb I wish to raise. 
I.ove<l ill my life, lamiMited in my end. 
Their praise would crown mo as tlieir precepts 

mond : 
To them may these fond lines my name endear, 
Not iVom the Poet, but the Friend sincere. 

Cluisl Church, July 4, 17^7. 



TO MR. WEST. 

Ai'^TKR a month's expectatiim of you, and a 
fortnight's despair at Canibriiige, I am come to 

' " Youth, nt tho very liosi, is but the betmyer of human life' 
ill a gonllor and smoolhor manner tlian ago : 'lis like iho 
plioani lliiit nmnislio.-! ii pl.uu upon a Imnk, and oaiisra it to 
lUmrish and lilivwom lo tlio sishi, liiil al iho s,Tmo liiim ia tiii- 
(lormiMinjj it at llio root in socrol." Pope's \\'nr/,.i, rol, 7, 
])iis(e'2'.>\, Ist nlil. Warhiirloii. Mr. West, by piMlonging 
his panipliraso of (his niniilo, fjivoa iladdilional lio.uiiy iVoiii 
llial von oiiviiinslanoo, but ho oii.i;hl lo havo iiiliiHliicod it by 
Mr. t'opo's own ihou';h(, " Yomh is a bolinyor," lii.s couplet 
procodiiic; IlioKlniilooonvi'ysloo jtonoriil a ri'diiolion. 

t "1 iim not nt all unonsy al Iho ihoiifiht that mniiy men, 
whom I novor bad any osioom lor, aro Ukoly to oiijoy this 
world allov mo. — Viilr ihiil. 

i "Tlio moniiiidnlior my exit llio.-'iiii will rise a.ibrljjlitn8 
cvor, Iho llowoi-s smoll as swool, tho pliinis spriiij; a.s !;roon ;" 
so liir Mr. Wi>st copi(>s bis oriainal, but insioad ol iho lollow- 
iiig [xiit of the sonloiicp, "I'oople will laugh ns heartily and 
marry as fast as tlh'y used to ilo," bo inserts a nu>ie soU'iiin 
idea. 

Nor storms norromot.i, Ac. 
justly porrelvins that tho olojjiac linn of his opi.»ll<' would not 
admit so ludicrous a lhoui;hl, as was In lis place in Mr. l'opo'« 
familiar loiter ; so that we see, yoiins as he was, ho had o'o- 
tjiinod the arl of judiciously soloctiug; one of the lU-st pri> 
viiicosol'giKHl taste. 



Lht. 9, 10. 



LETTERS. 



town, and to bcltpr liopcs ofHoi-injj you. If what 
yon sent iw IiihI lio l.lid |)r()(lucl of your nicliui- 
clioly, what may I not cxiiccl from yonr morn 
clircrfiil lionrH'l Forliy tli'iH timntluMll licalth lliat 
you comiilninof is (I lio|i(^) (|nitiMlt>|iarl('(l; tliouijli, 
if I were K<'lf iiilcrcHtcd, I oiisjlit to wish for the 
conlniuancr of any tliinjj that could \w the occu- 
eion of bo much plcnuurc to mo. Low Hpirits an; 
my trno and faithful <'()m])anioiiH; they (ji^t up 
with luf, }jo to l)cd with me, maU<^ j()urncyn and 
rcturnB an I do; nay, and pay visitH, and will oven 
nllcot to he jocoHc, and forco a fccliK^ lan;j;Ii with 
iw: hut nioHt coniiiundy we sil alone loircilu'r, and 
nro llio pnitticHt iuHipid company in the world. 
However, when you come, I believe they niUHt 
under{.^o the fate of idl humhie conipaiiiotm, and 
lie dincarded. Would I could turn them to th<^ 
same uhc that you have done, and make an A|iollo 
of them. If they could writ(! Buch vernes witli nie, 
not liartKliorn, nor spirit of amiicr, nor all lliiit fur 
liinhcH the cloHct of an apothecary'H widow, whould 
porHOttdo mo to j)art with them : but, wiiilo I write 
to you, I hear tim ba<l news of I<ady WalpoIeV 
death on Saturday niijht lawt. T'orj^ive mt', if tlic^ 
thought of what my [loor Horace munt feci on that 
account, obliges mo to luivedone in remin<lin<r you 
that I am YourH, tSa;. 

London, Aug. 22, 1737. 



TO MR. WALPOLE. 

I WAS hindered in my Inst, and bo could not givo 
you all the trouble I would have done. The de- 
licription of a road which your coach wheels have 
BO often honoured, it would be needlesM to give you : 
Bufficc it that I arrived Haft^* at my uncle's who is 
a great hunter in imagination ; Iuh dogs take up 
every chair in tlu? Iiouhc, so I am forci^d to stand .-it 
this [irescnt writing, and though the gout forl)i<lsi 
him galloping after them in tlu^ fiehl, yet he con- 
timu'H still to regale his e;irs aii<l iios(! with their 
cond'ortablu noise and stink, llii holds m(^ mighty 
cheai), I perceive, for walking when I should ride, 
iind reading when I shoidd hunt. IVIy coirdbrt 
nuiidst all this is, that I have at the diHtanc(Mif half 
a mile, through a green lane, a (iirest (the vulgar 
call it a common) all my own, at least as good as 
t^>, for I spy no human thing in it lint myself It 
in a little chaos of mountains and ])rccipiccs; moun- 
tains, it is true, that do not ascend much aliove the 
clouds, nor are the declivities (piite so aina/.ing as 
Dover cliff; but just such hills as ]ie(ipl(! who love 
their necks an well as 1 do, may venture to climb, 
and crags that giv<! the eye as lunch phiasure hh if 
they were more dangerous; both vale and hill are 
covered with luout vcncrublc beeches, und other 



• At Duniimm In nuckinKlmnmlilro. 

28 '^M 



very reverend vegetable.i, that, like most otlii^r an- 
cient people, an; always dreaming out their old 
storicB to the wind. 

And an iliny bow llinlr linary topn, rnlnin 

In miiriniirlii!; iidiniHH, ihrilnrk ilurrutn offatn; 

VVIiilii viMidiuniN [iddlic ry(i« avnw, 

(■liii); Ui (iiu'.li IimU iiiiil HwiiriiKin dvnry li<iii,",li. 

At the fddt of one of (hese sipials me 1, (il iiense- 
roso) and there grow to the trunk for a whole 
morning. The timorous hare and sportive H(iuir- 
rel gambiil aroimd me lik<i Adiim in Paradise, bc- 
fon^ he had an Isve ; but I think he did not use to 
read Virgil, as I commonly do there. In this situa- 
tion I olVen converse with my I lorace, aloud too, 
that is talk to you, but I do not remember (hat I 
(ner heard you answer me. I beg pardon for tak- 
ing all the conversation to myself, but it is entire- 
ly your own fault. We havcMild Mr. Southern at a 
gentleman's houH(^ a little way o(I", whoolten <'omes 
to see us; h(^ is now seventy seven yi^ars old, and 
lias almost wholly lost his memory ; but in aa agreea- 
ble as an old mati can be, at least I perAUade my- 
self so when I look at him, and think of Isabella 
and Oroonoko. I shall bo in town in about three 
weeks. Adieu. 
Hdiitcmbcr, 1737. 



TO MR. WALPOLE.* 

I NYMi'ATiii7,K with you in the suflbrings which 
you forcHPo arc coming upon you. We are both at 
present, I imagine, in no very agrei'able situation : 
for my jiart 1 am undt^r the misfortime of having 
nothing to do, but it is a misforlini(^ which, thank 
my stars, I can pretty well bear. You are in a 
confusion of wine, roaring, and hnnting, and to- 
bacc^o, and, heaven be praised, you too can pretty 
well bear it; while our evils are no more, I believe 
wo shall not repine. T imagine, however, you 
will r;it her choose to converm^ witli the living dead, 
that adorn the; vvallsof your apartna'iits, than with 
i\w dead living that deck thiwniddles of them ; an<l 
prel'er a pictur(M)f still life to I lie realities of a noisy- 
one;, and, as I guess, will imitate what you preli-r, 
and for an hour or two at noon will stick yourself 
upas formal asif you had been fixed in your fratiio 
for tliest^ liniidred years, with a pink or ruse in one. 
hand, and a great seal ring on the other. Your 
namr^, I assunr you, has lie<'n propagated in tliPBO 
countries by u convert of yours, one ♦ ♦ ♦ ; he has 
brought over his whole family to you ; they were 
before pretty goo<l Whigs, but now they are abso- 
lute Walpoliaiis. We havi! hardly any body in 
the jiarish but knows exactly thcMliuieiiHions ofth* 
hull und Huluon at iloughtuii, and begin tu Relieve 

'At tliln lime with lili) father at Ilougliton. 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Lrt. 11, 12, 13. 



that tlie liintoru* is not so great a cousuinor of the 
fat of tlio lund as ilisairected persons have said : for 
your reputation, wo keep to ourselves your not 
huntiii;^ nor (lrinUiii<r lioiran, either of whicli hero 
would lie Rullicient to lay your honour in the dust. 
To-morrow se'nnrght I hope to bo in town, and 
not long after at Cambridge. 

I am, &c. 
Burnliain, September, 1737. 



TO MR. WALPOLE. 

My dear Sir, I sliould say +Mr. Inspector Gene- 
ral of the h'.xports and Imports; but tlikt ap|ielhi- 
tiou would make but an oild iiguro in eonjunelion 
with the three familiar monosyllables above written, 
for 

Nun boiiB convcniunt nee in unasedo morantur 

MajosUia et amor. 

Which is, being interpreted. Love does not live at 
the Custom-house; however by what stylo, title or 
clenoinination soever you choose to lie dignified, or 
distinguished herealler, these three words will stick 
by you like a bur, and you can no more get quit of 
those and your christian name, than St. Anthony 
could of his pig. My motions at present (which you 
are plo«!>ieil to ask after) are much like those of a 
pendulum or (llr. Longicallyt speaking) oscillato- 
ry. I swing from cluipel or hall homo, or iVom 
home to chapel or hall. All the strange incidents 
that happen in my journeys and returns I shall bo 
sure to acquaint you with ; tlie most wonderful is, 
that it now rains exceedingly, this has refreshed 
the prospoct,§ as the way for the most part lies be- 
tween green fields on oitiier hand,, terminated with 
buildings at some distance, caslles, I presume, and 
of gnvit antiquity. The roads arc very good, be- 
ing, as I suspect, the works of Julius Cwsar's army, 
for they still preserve, in many places, the np[iear- 
ance of a jiavoinent in pretty good repair, and if 
they were not so near home, might perhaps be as 
much admired as the Via Appia; there are at 
jircsent .several rivulets to be crossed, and which 
serve at present to oidivon the view all around. 
The country is exceeding fruitful in ravens and 
such black cattle; but, not to tire you with my 
travels, I abrubtly conclude. 

Yours, &c. 
August, 1738. 



TO MR. WEST. 

I AM coming away all so fast, and leaving be- 
hind me, without the least remorse, all the beauties 
of ISturbridge Fair. Its white boars may roar, its 
apes may wring their hands, and crocodiles cry 
their eyes out, all's one for that; 1 shall not once 
visit tliom, nor so much as take my leave. The 
university has published a severe edict against 
scliismatical congregations, and created half adozen 
new little procterlings to sec its orders executed, 
being under mighty apprehensions lost Henley* 
and his gilt tub should come to the fair and scduco 
their young ones ; but their pains are to small pur- 
pose, for lo, after all, he is not coming. 

I am at this instant in the very agonies of leav- 
ing C^ollege, and would not wish the worst of my 
enemies a worse situation. If you knew the dust, 
the old boxes, the bedsteads, and tutors that are 
about my ears, you would look upon this letter as 
a great elfort of my resolution and unconcerncd- 
nc.^s in the midst of evils. 1 liU ui) my paper with 
a. loose sort of version of that scene ia Pastor Fido 
that begins, Care solve bcati.t 

Sopt. 1738. 



* A favourite object of Tory satire nt tlio liino. 

tMr. Walpolo was just named to tbat post, which he ex- 
thangeil soon after for that of llslier of the I'l.vchoqiier. 

} Dr. Long, tlio master of I'ombrolco-Hall, at tills tinio road 
jectmes in e-vporimental pliilosophy. 

§A11 tliat follows is a Iminoroiis liypoi'bolic description Of 
the quadi'aiisle of l\;tcrlloii!i0. 



TO HIS MOTHER. 

Amiens, April 1, N. S. 1739. ' 
As we made but a very short journey to-day, 
and came to our inn early, I sit down to give you 
some account of our ex jiodition. On the '2!)th (ac- 
cording to the stylo hero) wo loft Dover at twelve 
at noon, and with a pretty brisk gale, which jilcased 
every body mighty well, oxcoi)t myself, who was 
extremely sick the whole time; we reached Calais 
by live : the weather changed, and it began to 
snow hard the minute we got into the harbour, 
where wc took the boat, and soon landed. Calais 
is an exceedingly old, but very pretty town, and 
we hardly saw any thing there that was not so 
new and so diftorent from England, that it sur- 
prised us agreeably. We went the next morning 
to the groat church, and wore at high mass (it 
btnng Easter Mondivy.) We saw also the Con- 
vent of the Capuchins, and the nuns of St. Domi- 
nic; with these last we holil much conversation, 
especially with an English nun, a Mrs. Davis, of 
whose work I sent you, by the return of the packet, 
a lottor-caso to remember her by. in the after- 
noon we took a post-chaise (it still snowing very 
hard) for Boulogne, which was only eighteen 
miles further. This chaise is a strange sort of 
conveyance, of much greater use than beauty, re- 



* Orator Henley. 

t This \M\n version is extremely elegiac, but as it is only a 
version 1 do not insert it. 



Let. 14. 



LETTERS. 



sembling an ill-shaped chariot, only with the door 
opcniiijf before instead of the side; three horsen 
draw it, one between the shafla, and the other two 
on each side, on one of which the postillion rides, 
and drives too.* This vehicle will, upon occasion, 
go fourscore miles a day, but Mr. Wal[tole, being 
in no hurry, chooses to make easy journeys of it, 
and they are easy ones indeed ; for the motion is 
much like that of a sedan; we go about six miles 
an hour, and commonly change horses at tlie end 
of it. It is true they arc no very graceful steeds, 
but they go well, and through roiids wliich they 
eay are l)ad for l''rance, but to mo they seem gra- 
vel walks and bowling-greens; in short, it would 
be the finest travelling in the world, W(^r(! it not for 
the inns, which are mostly terrible places indeed. 
But to describe our progress somewhat more regu- 
larly, we came into Boulogne when it was almost 
dark, and went out pretty early on Tuesday morn- 
ing ; so that all 1 can say about it is, that it is a 
large, old, fortified town, with more English in it 
than French. On Tuesday we were to go to Abbe- 
ville, seventeen leagues, or fifty-one short English 
miles; but by the way we dined at Moutreuil, 
much to our hearts' content, on stinking mutton, 
cutlets, addled eggs, and ditch water. Madame 
the hostess made licr appearance in long lappets 
of bono lace, and a sack of linscy-woolAcy. We 
supped and lodged pretty well at Abbeville, and 
had time to see a little of it before we came out 
this morning. There are seventeen convents in 
it, out of which we saw the chapels of the Minims, 
and the Carmelite nuns. Wo arc now come fur- 
ther thirty miles to Amiens, the chief city of the 
province of Picardy. We have seen the Cathe- 
dral, which is just what that of Canterbury must 
have been before the Reformation. It is about the 
same size, a huge Gothic building, beset on the 
outside with thousands of small statues, and with- 
in adorned with beautil'ul painted windows, and a 
vast number of chapels dressed out in all their 
finery of altar-pieces, embroidery gilding, and mar- 
ble. Over the high altar are j)res(^rved, in a very 
large wrought shrine of mas.sy gold, thi; relics of 
St. Firniin, their patron saint. We went also to 
the chapels of the Jesuits and Ursulinc nuns, the 
latter of which is very richly adorned. To-morrow 
we shall lie at Clermont, and next day reach Paris. 
The country wc have passed through hitherto has 
been flat, open, but agreeably diversified with vil- 
lages, fields well cultivated, and little rivers. On 
every hillock is a wind-mill, a crucifix, or a Virgin 
Mary dressed in flowc^rs, and a sarcenet robe; 
one sees not many people or carriages on the road ; 
now and then indeed you meet a strolling friar, a 
countryman with his great mulT, or a woman rid- 



• This wiis before the introduction of post-chaises licrc, or it 
Woulil not lav« api)carctl a circumstance wortliy notice. 



ing astride on a little ass, with short petticoats, 
and a great head-dress of blue wool. ♦ ♦ ♦ 



TO MR. WEST. 

Paris, April 12, 1739. 
Knjin done me void d Paris. Mr. Walpole is 
gone out to supper at Lord Conway's, and here I 
remain alone, though invited too. Do not think 
I make a merit of writing to you preferably to a 
good supper; for these three days we have been 
here, have actually given me an aversion to eating 
in general. If hunger be the best sauce to meat, 
the F'rench arc cort;iinly the worst cooks in the 
world ; for what tables we have seen have been 
so delicately served, and so profusely, that, after 
rising from one of them, one imagines it impossi- 
ble ever to cat again. And now, if 1 tell you all I 
have in my head, you will believe me mad; maw 
nHmporte, courage, a//o)i.?.' for if I wait till my 
head grow clear and settle a little, you may stay 
long enough for a letter. Six days have we been 
coming hither, which other people do in two: they 
have not been disagreeable ones: through a fine, 
open country, admirable roads, and in an easy 
conveyance; the inns not absolutely intolerable, 
and images quite unusual presenting themselves 
on all hands. At Amiens we saw the fine cathe- 
dral, and eat pale de pcrdix: passed through the 
park of Chantilly by the Duke of Bourbon's pa- 
lace, which we only beheld as we jja.ssed ; broke 
down at Lausarche; stojipcd at St. Denis, saw all 
the beautiful monuments of the kings of Franco, 
and the va.st treasures of the abbey, rubies, and 
emeralds as big as small eggs, crucifixes and vows, 
crowns and reli(iuaires, of inestimable value; but 
of all their curiosities the thing the most to our 
tastes, and which they indeed do the justice to 
esteem the glory of their collection, was a vase of 
an entire onyx, measuring at least five inches over, 
three deep, and of great thickness.' It is at least 
two thousand years old, the beauty of the stone 
and sculpture upon it (representing the mysteries 
of Bacchus) beyond exj)ression admirable; we 
have dreamed of it ever since. The jolly old Be- 
nedictine, that showed us the treasures, had in his 
youth been ten years a soldier; he laughed at all 
the relics, was very full of stories, and mighty 
obliging. On Saturday evening wc got to Paris, 
and were driving through the streets a long while 
before we knew where we were. The minute we 
came, voila Milors Holdernesse, Conway, and his 
brother; all stayed sui)per, and till two o'clock in 
the morning, for here nobody ever sleeps; it is not 
the way. Next day go to dine at my Lord Hol- 
dernesse's, there was the Abbo Prevot, author of 
Cleveland, and several other pieces much esteem- 
ed : the rest were English. At night we went to 



B 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let. 15. 



the Pandore; a spectacle literally, for it is nothing 
but a heaiitirul piece of machinery of three scenes. 
The first represents the chaos, and by deforces the 
Bcparation of the elements : the second, the temple 
of Jupiter, and the giviiiir of the box to Pandora: 
the third the opening of the hox, and all the mis- 
chiefs that ensued. An absurd design, but exe- 
cuted in the iiighest perfection, and that in one of 
the finest theatres in the world ; it is the grandc 
sales dcs machines in tiie Palais des Taillcrics. 
Next day dined at Lord Waldegrave's ; then to 
theojiera. Imagine to yourself for the drama four 
acts* entirely unconnected with each other, each 
founded on some liule history, siiiil'uH^ taken out 
of an ancient author, e.g. Ovid's Metamorphoses, 
&e. and witii great uddrees converted into a 
French piece of gallantry. For instance, that 
which I saw, called the Ballet de la Paix, had its 
iirst act built upon the story of Nireus. Homer 
liaviiig said that he was the handsomest man of his 
time, the poet, imagining such a one couM not want 
a mistress, has given him one. These two come in 
and sing sentiment in lamentable strains, neither 
air nor recitative; only, to one's great joy, they 
arc every now and then interrupted by a dance, 
or (to one's great sorrow) by a chorus that borders 
the stage from one end to the other, and screams, 
past all power of siuiile to represent. Tiie second 
act was Baucis and Philemon. Baucis is a beau- 
tiful young shepherdess, and Philemon her swain. 
Jupiter falls in love with her, but nothing will prevail 
upon her; so it is all mighty well, and the chorus 
eing and dance the praises of Constancy. The two 
other acts were about Iphis and lanlhe, and the 
judgment of Paris. Imagine, I say, all this trans- 
acted by cracked voices, trilling divisions upon 
two not(^s and a half, accompanied by an orchestra 
of humstrums, and a whole house more attentive 
than if Farinelli sung, and you will almost have 
formed a just notion of tiie thing. Our astonish- 
ment at their absunlity you can never conceive; 
wo had enough to do to express it by screaming an 
hour louder liian the whole dramatis personfE. We 
have also seen twice the thmcdic /VitJifoise ; first, 
the Mahomet Second, a tragedy that has had a 
great run of late; and the thing itself does not 
want its beauties, but the actors are beyond mea- 
sure delightful. Mademoi.selle Gausin (M. Vol- 
taire's Zara) has with a charming (though little) 
person, the most pathetic tone of voice, the finest 
cxi)ression in her face, and most proper action 
imaginable. There is also a Dufrcne, who did 
the chief character, a handsome man and a pro- 
digious line actor. The second we saw the Plii- 



' Tho Fronrh opcm has only tlirco nets, hut often a pro- 
logiio on a ililU'ivnt subject, wliich (as Mr. \Val|K)le inforins 
itifi, who saw it at tlie sanie time) was the case iu this very 
npre^joiituiioii. 



losopltc Marie, and here they performed as well 
ill comedy ; there is a Mademoiselle Quinaul', 
somewhat in Mrs. dive's way, and a Monsieur 
Grandval, in the nature of Wilks, who is the 
genteelest thing in the world. There are several 
more would be much admired in England, and 
many (whom we have not seen) much celebrated 
here. Great part of our time is siient in seeing 
churches and palaces full of fine pictures, &c, the 
quarter of vvhicii is not yet exhausted. For my 
part 1 could entertain myself this month merely 
with the common streets and the people in them. 



TO MR. WEST. 

Paris, May 22, 1739. 
After the little particulars aforesaid I should 
have proceeded to a journal of our transactions 
for this week past, should have carried you post 
from hence to Versailles, hurried you through tho 
gartlensto Trianon, back again to Paris, so away 
to Chantilly. But the fatigue is perhaps more than 
you can bear, and moreover 1 think I have reason 
to stomach your last piece of gravity. Supposing 
you were in your soberest mood, I am sorry you 
should think me capable of ever being so dissipo, 
so eva])ore, as not to be in a condition of relishing 
any thing you could say to me. And now, if you 
have a mind to make your peace with me, arouse 
ye from your megrims and your melancholies, and 
(for exercise is good lor you) throw away your 
night-cap, call for your jack-boots, and set out with 
me, last Saturday evening, for Versailles — and so 
at eight o'clock, })assing through a road speckled 
with vines, and villas, and hares, and partridges, 
we arrive at the great avenue, Hanked on cither 
hand, with a double row of trees about half a mile 
long, and with the palace itself to terminate the 
view ; fiicing which, on eacli side of you, is placed 
a semi-circle of very handsome builihngs, which 
form tho stables. 'I'heso we will not enter into, 
because you know we are no jockies. Well ! and 
is this the great front of Versailles 1 What a huge 
heap of littleness! It is composed, as it were of 
three courts, all o[)en to the eye at once, and gra- 
dually diminishing till you come to the royal apart- 
ments, which on this side present but half a dozen 
wnidows and a balcony. This last is all tiiat can 
be called a front, for the rest is only great wings. 
The hue of all this mass is black, dirty red, and 
yellow ; the first proceeding from stone changed by 
age; the second, from a mi.xture of brick; and tho 
last from a profusion of tarnished gilding. You 
can not see a more disagreeable tout ensemble; 
and, to finish tho matter, it is all stuck over iu 
many places with small busts of a tawny hue be- 
tween every two windows. We pass through thid 
to go into the garden, and here tiic case is indccii 



Let. 16. 



LETTERS. 



alterril ; nothinjf can be vaster and more magnifi 
cent tlian the back front ; before it a very spacious 
terrace spreads itself, adorjied with two large ba- 
sins; these are bordered and lined (as most of the 
others) with white marble, with handsome statues 
of bronze reclined on their edges. From hence 
you descend a huge flight of steps into a scnii-cip- 
cle formed by woodrf that are cut all round into 
niches, which are filled with beautiful copies of all 
the famous anti(}uc statues in white marble. Just 
in the midst is tlu' basin of Latona ; she and her 
children are standing on the top of a rock in the 
middle, on the sides of which are the j)easants, 
some half, some totally changed into frogs, all which 
throw out water at her in great plenty. From this 
place runs on the great alley, which brings you 
into a complete round, where is the basin of Apol- 
lo, the biggest in the gardens. He is rising in his 
car out of the water, surrounded by nymphs and 
tritons, all in bronze, and finely executed ; and 
these, as they play, raise a perfect storm about him ; 
beyond tiiis is the groat canal, a prodigious long 
piece of water, that terminates the whole. All 
this you have at one coup d'oeil in entering the 
garden, which is truly great. I can not say as 
much of the general taste of the place ; every tiling 
you behold savours too much of art; all is forced, 
all is constrained about you ; statues and vases 
sowed every where without distinction ; sugar-loaves 
and mince-pics of yew ; scrawl-work of box, and 
little squirting jets-d'eau, besides a great sameness 
in the walks, can not help striking one at first 
sight, not to mention the silliest of labyrinths, and 
all ^sop's fables in water; since these were de- 
signed in usutn Delphini only. Here then we 
walk by moonlight, and hear the ladies ami the 
nightingales sing. Next morning, being Whit- 
sunday, make ready to go to the Installation of 
nine knights du Saint Esprit, Canibis is one:* 
high mass is celebrated with music, great crowd, 
much incense, king, queen, dauphin, mesdames, 
cardinals, and court ! knights arrayed by his ma- 
jesty ; reverences before the altar, not bows, but 
curtsies ; stifl" hams ; much tittering among the 
ladies; trumpets, kettledrums, and fifes. My dear 
West, I am vastly delighted with Trianon, all of 
us with Chantilly ; if you would know why, you 
must have patience, for I can hold my pen no long- 
er, except to tell you that 1 saw Britannicus last 
night; all the characters, particularly Agrippina 
and Nero done to perfection ; to-morrow Phcedra 
and Hippolytus. We arc making you a little 
bundle of petite pieces; there is nothing in them, 
but they are acting at present ; there are two Cre- 
billon's Letters, and Amusemens sur Ic langage 
des Betes, said to be one Bougeaut, a Jesuit ; they 



Tho Comte de Canibis was lalel/ relumed from bis em- 
in England. 



are both esteemed, and lately pome out. This day 
se'enniiiht we 20 to Rlicinis. 



2 m'' 



TO HIS MOTEIER. 

Uheimg, .Juno 21, N. S. 1739. 
We have now been S(;ttled almost three weeks 
m this city, which is more considerable upon ac- 
count of its size and antiquity, than from the num- 
ber of its inhabitants, or any advantages of com- 
merce. There is little in it worth a stranger's cu- 
riosity, besides the cathedral church, which is a 
vast Gothic building of a surprising beauty and 
lightness, all covered over with a))rol'usion of little 
statues, and oth(!r ornaments. It is here the kings 
of France are crowned by the archbishop of 
Rlieims, who is the first peer, and the primate of 
the kingdom. The holy vessel made use of on 
that occasion, which contains the oil, is kept in the 
church of St. Nicasius hard by, and is bcUcved to 
have been brought by an angel from heaven at the 
coronation of Clovis, the first Christian king. The 
streets in general have but a melancholy aspect, 
the houses all old ; the public walks run along tho 
side of a great moat under the ramjiarts, where 
one hears a continual croaking of frogs; the coun- 
try round about is one great plain covered with 
vines, which at this time of the year afford no ve- 
ry pleasing prospect, as being not above a foot high. 
What pleasures the place denies to the sight, it 
makes up to the palate ; since you have nothing to 
drink but the best champaigne in the world, and 
all sorts of provisions ecjually good. As to other 
pleasures, there is not that freedom of conversation 
among the people of fasiiion here, tliat one sees in 
other parts of France ; lor though they are not 
very numerous in this place, and consequently 
must live a good deal together, yet they never come 
to any great familiarity with one another. As my 
lord Conway had spent a good part of his time 
among them, his brother, and we with him, were 
soon introduced into all tlieir assemblies. As soon 
us you enter, the lady of the house presents each 
of you a card, and offers you a party at quadrille; 
you sit down, and play forty deals without inter- 
mission, excepting one quarter of an hour, when 
every body rises to eat of what they call the gout- 
er, which supplies the place of our tea, and is a 
service of wine, fruits, cream, sweetmeats, craw- 
fish, and cheese. People take what they like and 
sit down again to play ; after that, they make little 
parties to go to the walks together, and then all 
the compfttjy tx-tire to their separate habitations. 
Very seldom any euppcrs or dinners are given ; 
and this is the manner they live among one another; 
not 80 much out of any aversion they have to plea- 
sure, aa out of a sort of formality they have con- 
tracted b-y not being much frequented by peo- 
ple who have lived at Paris. It is sure they do 



10 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let. 17, 18. 



not hato gaiety any more than the rest of their 
couiitrv-|)eo[)lo, and oati enter into ilivcrsioiia, that 
are onco pnnwseil, willi a goiul j^race enough ; for 
instance, the other evening we happened to be got 
together in a company of eighteen people, men and 
women of the he.st, t'ashion liere, at a garden in the 
town, to walk; wlien one of the ladies betlionght 
herself of asking, why should not wc sup here 1 
Immediately the elolh wa.s laiil by the side of a 
fountain under the trees, and a very elegant sup- 
per served up: after which another said, Come, 
let ua sing; and directly began herself. From 
singing we insensibly fell to dancing, and singing 
in a round : when somebody mentioned the vio- 
lins, and immediately a company of them was or- 
dered. Minuets were begun in the open air, and 
then some eountry-danees, which held till four 
o'clock next morning : at which hour the gayest 
lady there pro|)osed, that such as were weary 
should get into their coaches, and the re.-it of them 
should dance before them with the nnisic in the 
van ; and in this manner we paraded through all 
the principal streets of the city, and waked every 
botly in it. Mr. Wal{K)le bad a mind to make a 
custom of the thing, and would have given a ball 
in the same manner next week, but the women did 
not come into it ; so I believe it will droj), and they 
will return to their dull cards, and usual formali- 
ties. We arc not to stay above a month longer 
here, and shall then go to Dijon, the chief city of 
Burgundy, a very splendid and a very gay town; 
at least such is the present design. 



TO HIS FATHER. 

Pljon, Friday, Sept. U, N. a 1739. 
We have made three short days' journey of it 
from Rheims hither, where we arrived the night 
before h»st. The road wo have passed through has 
hccn extremely agrwable : it runs through the 
most fertile partof Champaigne, by the side of the 
river Marno, with a chain of hills on each hand at 
some distance, entirely covered with woods and 
vineyards, and every now and then the ruins of 
come old castle on their tops : wo lay at St. Dizier 
the first night, and at Langres the second, and got 
hither the next evening, lime enough to have a full 
view of this city on entering it. It lies in a very 
extensive plain covered with vines and corn, and 
consequently is plentifully supplied with both. 1 
need not tell you that it is the chief city of Bur- 
gundy, nor that it is of great antiquity ; consider- 
ing which, one should imagine it ought to be larger 
than one finds it. However, what it wants in ex- 
tent is made up in l)oauty and cleanliness, and in 
rich convents and churches, most of which we have 
■een. The palace of the States is a magnificent 
new building, where the duke of Bourbon is lodged 



when he conies over every three years to hold that 
assembly as governor of the province. A quarter 
of a mile out of the town is a famous abbey of 
Carthusians, which we are just returned from see- 
ing. In their chapel are the tombs of tiie ancient 
dukes of Burgundy, that were so powerful, till, at 
the death of Charles the Bold, the last of them, 
this part of his dominions was united by Louis 
XI. to the crown of France. To-morrow we are 
to pay a visit to the abbot of the Cistercians, who 
lives a few leagues olV, and who uses to receive all 
strangers with great civility ; his abbey is one of 
the richest in the kingdom; he keeps open houso 
always, and lives with great magnificence. Wo 
have seen enough of this town already, to make us 
regret the time we spent at Illicims ; it is full of 
people of condition, who seem to form a much more 
agreeable society than we found in Champaigne; 
but as wc shall stay here but two or three days 
longer, it is not worth while to be introduced into 
their houses. On Monday or Tuesday we are to 
set out for Lyons, which is two days' journey dis- 
tant, and from thence you shall hear again from 
me. 



TO MR. WEST. 

Lyons, Sep. 18, N. S. 1739. 
Scarez voiis bien, man chcr ami, cpie jc vous 
hais, que je vous detcsle? voila, dcs termes un pcu 
fortes; and that will save me, upon a just compu- 
tation, a page of pajier and six drops of ink ; which, 
if I confineil myself to reproaches of a more mode- 
rate nature, I should be obligeil to employ in using 
you according to your deserts. What ! to let any 
body reside three months at Rheims, and write but 
once to them'? Please to consult Tully de Aniicit. 
page 5, line 25, and you will find it said in express 
terms, " Ad amicum inter Remos rclegatuin inense 
uno quinquies scriptum csto ;" nothing more plain, 
or less liable to false interpretations. ]Now be- 
cause, I suppose, it will give you pain to know we 
are in being, I take this opportunity to tell you that 
we are at the ancient and celebrated Lugdunum, 
a city situated upon the conlluencc of the Rhone 
and Saone, (Arar, I should say) two people, who, 
though of tempers extremely unlike, think fit to 
join hands here, and make a little party to travel 
to the Mediterranean in company ; the lady comes 
gliding along through the fruitful plains of Bur- 
gundy, iiicrcdibili h'tiitatc, ita ut oculis in utram 
partem Jluit judicari non yossit ; the gentleman 
runs all rough and roaring down from the moun- 
tains of Switzerland to meet her; and with all her 
soft airs she likes him never the worse : she goes 
through the middle of the city in state, and he 
passes incog, without the walls, but waits for her 
a little below. The houses here are so high, and 



Let. 19, 20. 



LETTERS. 



11 



tliP strrcls so narrow, as would be sufTicient to rcn- 
ilcr Lyons the disinallout place in the world ; but 
the number of people, and the face of oomrncrce 
(liiruscd about it, are, at leant, as sufTicient to make 
it the liveliest. Between these two siifTicienciiis 
you will be in doubt what to tiiink of it ; so we 
sh.-dl leave the city, and proceed to its environs, 
which arc beautiful beyond expression: it is sur- 
rounded with mountains, and those mountains all 
liedroppod and bcspeckled with houses, gardens, 
and |>huitations of the rich Bourgeois, who have 
from tiiciicc a prosjicct of the city in the vale below 
on one hand, on the other the rich plains of the 
Lyonnois, with the rivers winding among them, 
and the Alps, with the mountains of Dauijliine, to 
bound tlie view. All yesterday morning we were 
busied in climbing up Mount Fourviere, where 
the ancient city stood perched at such a height, 
that nothing but the hopes of gain could certainly 
ever persuade their neighbours to [)ay them a visit. 
Here are the ruins of tlie emperor's palaces, that 
resided here, that is to say, Augustus and Severus: 
they consist in notliing but great masses of old 
wall, that have oidy thnr quality to make them 
respected. In a vineyard of the Minims arc re- 
mains of a theatre ; the futliers, whom tiiey belong 
to, hold them in no esteem at all, and would have 
showed us their sacristy and chapel instead of them. 
The Ursuline Nuns have in their garden some 
Roman baths, but we having the misfortune to be 
men, and heretics, they did not tliink pro[)er to ad- 
mit us. Hard by arc eight arches of the most 
magnificent aqueduct, said to be erected by An- 
tony, when his legions wore quartered here : there 
are many other parts of it dih[)crsed up and down 
the country, for it brought the water from a river 
many leagues off in La Forez. Here are remains 
too of Agrippa's seven great roads which met at 
Lyons; in some places they lie twelve feet deep in 
the ground. In short, a thousand matters that 
you shall not know, till you give mc a description 
of the Pais de Tombridge, and the effect its waters 
have upon you. 



FROM MR. WEST. 

Temple, Sept. 28, 1739. 
Ip wishes could turn to realities, I would fling 
down my law bookp, and sup with you to-night. 
But, alas! here I am doomed to fix, while you are 
fluttering from city to city, and enjoying all the 
pleawircs which a gay climate can afford. It is 
out of the power of my heart to envy your good 
fortune, yet I can not help indulging a few natural 
desires ; as for example, to tak'i a walk with you 
on the banks of the Rhone, and to bo climbing up 
Mount Fourviere; 



J:itn iiHMiH priDtrc|}iiIan.savct vagarl: 
Jam latli dludio jn'tlcij vii^cucuiil. 

However, so long as I am not deprived of your 
correspondence, so long shall 1 always (ind some 
pleasure in being at home. And, setting all vam 
curiosity aside, when the fit is over, and my reason 
begins to come to herself, I have several otiier [)ow- 
erful motives which might easily cure me of my 
restless inclinations. Amongst these, my mother's 
ill state of health is not tiic least, which was the 
reason of our going to Tunliridge; so that you can 
not expect much description or amustnncnt from 
thence. Nor indeed is th(;r(! mu(!h room for eitiier; 
for all diversions theri! may be reduced to two arti- 
cles, gaining and going to church. They were 
pleased to pulilish c(^rtain Tunbrigiana this season; 
but such ana! 1 believe there were never so many 
vile little verses put together before. So much for 
Tunbridge. London allbrds me as little to say. 
What 1 so huge a town as London'! Yes, consider 
only how I live in that town. 1 never go into the 
gay or high world, and conse(fuently receive no- 
thing from thence to brighten my imagination. 
The busy world i leave to the busy; and am re- 
solved never to talk politics till I can act at the 
same time. To tell old stories, or ])ratc of old 
books, seems a. little musty; and toujonrs, chnjion. 
boulUi, won't do. However, for want of better 
fare, take another little mouthful of my poetry. 

O inc!o jucunda com(^H (|iuc'iiH! 
Qutt- fiirc U'grotuin Holiui ra levarn 
Pectus, etsoiiHiin, ati I iiiinia iii^nienloa 
l''allei'c cui'aii: 

Quid cancsl qiianto Lyra dir, fiiroro 
GuslieH, ((uaridi) hue reducerii mxlalunil 
Gluuciam' gaudervNiiiiul vidcljlH 

Muque sub utnbriil 



TO HIS MOTHER. 

Lyons, Oct. 13, N. S. 1739. 
It is now almost five weeks since I left Dijon, 
one of the giiyest and most agreciable little cities 
of France, for Lyons, its reverse in nil these par- 
ticulars. It is the second in the; kingdom in big- 
ness and rank ; the streets excessively narrow and 
nasty ; the houses immensely high and large ; 
(that, for instance, where we are lodged, has twen- 
ty-five rooms on a floor, an<l that for five stories;) 
it swarms with inhabitants like Paris itself, but 
chiefly a mercantile j)eo[)le too much given up to 
comnnircc to think of their own, much less of a 
stranger's diversions. We have no acquaintance 
in the town, but such English as happen to bo 



• lie gives Mr. Orny the name of Glnuclafl frequently tn 
his Latin verse, as Mr. Gray calls him Favoniu*. 



id 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let, 21, 



passing through here, in their way to Italy and 
the south, which at present happen to be near 
thirty in number. It is a fortiiiglit since we set 
out from hence upon a little excursion to Geneva. 
We took the longest road, which lies through 
Savoy, on purpose to see a famous monastery, 
called the Grand Chartreuse, and had no reason to 
think our time lost. After having travelled seven 
tlays very slow (for we did not change horses, it 
being impossible for a chaise to go post* in these 
roads) we arrived at a little village among the 
mountains of Savoy, called Echelles ; from thence 
we proceeded on horses, who are used to the way, 
to the mountain of the Chartreuse, h is six miles 
to the top ; the road runs winding up it, commonly 
not six feet broad ; on one hand is the rock, with 
woods of pine-trees hanging over head ; on the 
other a monstrous precipice, almost perpendicular, 
at the bottom of which rolls a torrent, that some- 
times tumbling among the fragments of stone that 
have fallen from on high, and sometimes precipi- 
tating itself down vast descents with a noise like 
thunder, which is still made greater by the echo 
from the mountains on each side, concurs to form 
one of the most solemn, the most romantic, and 
the most astonishing scenes I ever beheld. Add 
to this the strange views made by the crags and 
chfls on the other hand ; the cascades that in many 
places throw themselves from the very summit 
down into the vale, and the river below; and many 
other particulars impossible to describe; you will 
conclude we had no occasion to repent our pains. 
This place St. Bruno chose to retire to, and upon 
its very top founded tlic aforesaid convent, which 
is the superior of the whole order. When we 
came there, the two fathers, who are commissioned 
to entertain strangers (for the rest must neither 
speak one to another, or to any one else,) received 
us very kindly; and set before us a repast of dried 
fish, eggs, butter and fruits, all excellent in their 
kind, and extremely neat. They pressed us to 
spend the night there, and to stay some days with 
them ; but this we could not do, so they led us 
about their house, which is, you must think, like 
a little city; for there are 100 hithers, besides 300 
servants, that make their clothes, grind their corn, 
press their wine, and do every thing among them- 
selves. The whole is quite orderly and simple ; 
nothing of finery, but the wonderful decency, and 
the strange situation, more than supply the place 
of it. In the evening we descended by the same 
way, pa.ssing through many clouds that were tlien 
forming themselves on the mountain's side. Next 
day we continued our journey by Chamberry, 1 
which, though the chief city of the duchy, and 
residence of the king of Sardinia, when he comes 
into this part. of his dominions, makes but a very 
mean and insignificant appearance; we lay at 
Ai2, once famous fur its hot baths, and the next 



night at Annecy: the day after, by noon, we got 
to Geneva. I have not time to say any thing about 
it, nor of our sohtary journey back again. ♦ ♦ ♦ 



TO HIS FATHER. 

Lyons, Oct. 25, N. S. 1739. 
In my last I gave you the particulars of our little 
journey to Geneva; 1 have only to add, tiiat we 
stayed about a week, in order to see Mr. Conway 
settled there. I do not wonder so many English 
choose it for their residence ; the city is very small, 
neat, prettily built, and extremely populous; the 
Rhone runs through the middle of it, and it is sur- 
rounded with new fortifications, that give it a mili- 
tary compact air ; which, joined to the happy, lively 
countenances of the inhabitants, and an exact dis- 
cipline always as strictly observed as in time of 
war, makes the little republic appear a match for 
a much greater power; though perhaps Geneva, 
and all tliat belongs to it, are not of equal extent 
with Windsor and its two parks. To one that ha» 
passed through Savoy, as we did, nothing can be 
more striking than the contrast, as soon as he ap- 
proaches the town. Near the gates of Geneva 
runs the torrent Arve, which separates it from the 
king of Sardinia's dominions; on the other side of it 
lies a country naturally, indeed, fine and fertile ; 
but you meet with nothing in it but meagre, rag- 
ged, bare-footed peasants, with their children, in 
extreme misery and nastiness : and even of these 
no great numbers. You no sooner have crossed 
the stream I have mentioned, but poverty is no 
more ; not a beggar, hardly a discontented face to 
be seen, numerous, and well-dressed people swarm-, 
ing on the ramparts ; drums beating, soldiers well- 
clothed and armed, exercising; and folks, with 
business in their looks, hurrying to and fro; all 
contribute to make any person, who is not blind, 
sensible what a diftercnce is between the two go- 
vernments, that are the causes of one view and 
the other. The beautiful lake, at one end of which 
the town is situated; its extent; the several states 
that border upon it ; and all its pleasures, arc too 
well known for me to mention them. We sailed 
upon it as far as the dominions of Geneva extend, 
that is, about two leagues and a half on each side; 
and landed at several of the little houses of plea- 
sure that the inhabitants have built all about it, 
who received us with much politeness. The same 
night we eat part of a trout, taken in the lake, that 
weii'hed thirty-seven pounds : as great a monster 
as it appeared to us, it was esteemed there nothing 
extraordinary, and they assured us, it was not un- 
connnon to catch them of fifty pounds : tiicy are 
dressed here, and sent post to Paris upon some 
great occasions; nay, even to Madrid, as we were 
told. The road we returned through was not the 



Let. 22. 



LETTERS. 



13 



same we came by; we crossed the Rhone at Scys- 
8cl, aiul passed for three days amon<5 tlic moun- 
tains of Bugey, without meeting with any tiling 
new; at last we came out into the plains of La 
Bresse, and so to Lyons again. Sir Robert has 
written to Mr. Wulpole, to desire he would go to 
Italy, which ho has resolved to do ; so that all the 
scheme of spending the winter in the south of 
France is laid aside, and we are to pass it in a 
much liner country. You may imagine 1 am not 
sorry to have this opportunity of seeing the place 
in the world that be.st deserves it: besides, as the 
pope, who is eighty-eight, and has been lately at 
the [Joint of death, can not j)robably last a great 
while, perliaps we may have the fortune to be pre- 
sent at the election of a new one, when Rome will 
be in all its glory. Friday next we certainly begin 
our journey; in two days we shall come to the 
foot of the Alps, and six more we shall be in pass- 
ing them. Even here the winter is begun ; what 
then must it be among those vast snowy moun- 
tains where it is hardly ever summer 1 We are, 
however, as well armed as possible against the 
cold, witli mulls, hoods, and masks of beaver, fur- 
boots, and bear skins. When we arrive at Turin, 
we shall rest after the fatigues of the journey. * * ♦ 



TO HIS MOTHER. 

Turin, Nov. 7, N. S. 1739. 
I AM this night arrived here, and have just sat 
down to rest me after eight days' tiresome journey : 
for the three first we had the same road we before 
passed through to go to Geneva; the fourth we 
turned out of it, and for that day and the next 
travelled rather among tlian upon the Alps; the 
way commoidy running through a deep valley by 
the side of the river Arc, which works itself a 
passage, with great difticulty and a mighty noise, 
among vast quantities of rocks, that have rolled 
down from the mountain tops. The winter was 
BO far advanced, as in great measure to spoil the 
beauty of the prospect ; however, there was still 
somewhat fine remaining amidst the savagcness 
and horror of the place. The sixth we began to go 
up several of these mountains ; and as we were 
passing one, met with an odd accident enough: 
Mr. Walpole had a little fat black spaniel, that he 
was very fond of, which he sometimes used to set 
down, and let it run by the chaise side. We were 
at that time in a very rough road, not two yards 
broad at most ; on one side was a great wood of 
pines, and on the other a vast precipice ; it was 
noon-day, and the sun shone bright, when all of a 
sudden, from the wood-side, (which was as steep 
upwards as the other part was downwards) out 
rushed a great wolf, came close to the head of the 
borses, seized the dog by the throat, and rushed 



up the hill again with him in his mouth. Thw 
was done in less than a quarter of a minute; wo 
all saw it, and yet the servants had no time to 
draw their pistols, or to do any thing to save the 
dog. If he had not been there, and the creature 
had thought it fit to lay hold of one of the horses, 
chaise, and we, and all must inevitably have tum- 
bled above fifty fathoms perpendicular down the 
precii)ic(!. The seventh we came to Lancbourg, 
the last town in Savoy; it lies at the foot of the 
famous Mount Cenis, which is so situated as to 
allow no room for any way but over the very top 
of it. Here the chaise was forccid to be pulled to 
[lieces, and the baggage and that to be carried by 
mules: we ourselves were wrapped up in our furs, 
and seated upon a sort of malted chair without 
legs, which is carried upon poles in the manner 
of a bier, and so begun to ascend by the help of 
eight men. It was six miles to the top, where a 
plain opens itself about as many more in breadth, 
covered perpetually with very deep snow, and in 
the midst of that a great lake of unfathomable 
depth, from whence a river takes its rise, and tum- 
bles over monstrous rocks quite down the other 
side of the mountain. The descent is six miles 
more, but infinitely more steep than the going up; 
and here the men perfectly fly down with you, 
stepping from stone to stone with incredible swift- 
ness in places where none but they could go three 
paces without falling. The immensity of the preci- 
pices, the roaring of the river and torrents that run 
into it, the huge crags covered with ice and snow, 
and the clouds below you and about you, are objects 
it is impossible to conceive without seeing them ; 
and though we had heard many strange descrip- 
tions of the scene, none of them at all came up to it. 
We were but five hours in performing the whole, 
from which you may judge of the rapidity of the 
men's motion. We are now got into Piedmont, 
and stopped a little while at La Ferriere, a small 
village about three quarters of the way down, but 
still among the clouds, where we began to hear a 
new language spoken round about us; at last we 
got quite down, went through the Pas de Suae, a 
narrow road among the Alps, defended by two 
fortresses, and lay at Bossolens: next evening, 
through a fine avenue of nine miles in length, as 
straight as a line, we arrived at this city, which, 
as you know, is the capital of the principality, and 
the residence of the king of Sardinia.* * * We 
shall stay here, I believe, a fortnight, and jjroceed 
for Genoa, which is three or four days' journey, 
to go post. I am, &c, 



* ' " That part of the letter here omitted, containeil only a de- 
ar.rlption of the city ; which, as Mr. Gray hafl given it to Mr. 
West in the following letter, and that in a more lively man- 
ner, I thought it unnecessary to insert; a liberty I have taken 
In other parts of this correspontlence, in order to avoid rcpO' 
tition. 



14 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let. 23, 34- 



TO MR. WEST. 

Turin, Nov. 16, N. S, 1739. 
After eight days' journey tlirougli Greenland, 
we nrrivoil iit Turin — you aijjiroiich it by a iianii- 
Fonic avenue of nine miles long, anil quite straight. 
The entrance is guarded by certain vigilant dra- 
goons, called Pouaniers, who mumbled us for some 
time. The city is not large, as being a place of 
strength, and consequently confined within its for- 
tifications: it has many beauties and some faults; 
among the first are streets all laid out by the line, 
Tegular unilorni buildings, line walks that surround 
the whole; and in general « good liv^^ly clean ap- 
pearance: hut the houses nre of brick, plastered, 
which is a|it to want repairing; the windows of 
oiled paper, which is apt to be torn; and every 
thing very slight, which ia apt to tumble down. 
There is an excellent opera, but it is only in the 
carnival: balls every night, but oidy in the earni- 
\bl: masquerades too, but only in the carni- 
val. This carnival lasts only from Christmas to 
Lent; one half of the remaining part of the year 
is passed in remembering the last, the other in ex- 
jwcting the future carnival. We can not well 
subsist upon such slender diet, no more than upon 
an execrable Italian comedy, and a puppet show, 
called Rappresentazione d'un' anima damuita, 
•which, I think, are all the present diversions of the 
place; except the Manpiise de t^availlae's conver- 
sazione, where one goes to see ptMple play at ombre 
.and taroc, n game with seventy-two cards all paint- 
ed with suns, and moons, and devils, and monks. 
Mr. Waipole has been at court ; the family are at 
present al a country palace, called La Venerie. 
The palace here in town is the very quintessence 
of gilding and looking-glass; inlaid fioors, carved 
panels, and painting wherever they could stick a 
brush. I own 1 have not, as yet, any where met 
with those grand and simple works of art, that are 
to amaze one, and whose sight one is to be the bet- 
ter for : but tho«^ of luiture have astonished me 
beyond expression. In our little journey up to the 
Grande Chartreuse I do not reniember to have 
gone ten paces without an exclamation, that there 
was no restraining. Not a precipice, not a torrent, 
not a clilV, but is pregnant with religion and poet- 
ry. There are certain scenes that would awe an 
atheist into belief, without the help of other argu- 
ment. One need not have a very fantastic imagi- 
nation to see spirits there at noon-day : you have 
death perpetually before your eyes; only so far re- 
moved, as to compose the mind without frighting 
it. 1 am well persuaded St. Kruno was a man of 
no common genius, to choose such a situation for 
his retirement; and perhaps should have been a 
disciple of his, had I been born in his time. You 
nuiy believe Abelard and Ueloise were not forgot 
upon this occasion : if 1 do not mistake, I saw you 



too every now and then at a distance among the 
trees; il me scmblc, que fat ru cc rhien dc visage 
Id qiichpte fart. You seemed to call to me from 
the other side of the precipice, but the noise of the 
river below was so great, that I really could not 
distinguish what you said; it seemed to have a ca- 
dence like verso. In your next you will be so good 
to let me know what it was. The week we have 
since passed among the Alps, has not equalled the 
single day upon that mountain, because the win- 
ter was rather too far advanced, and the weathera 
little foggy. However, it did not want its beau- 
ties; the savage rudeness of the view is itieon- 
ccivable without seeing it : 1 reckoned, in one day, 
thirteen cascades, the least of which was, I dure say, 
one hundred feet in height. I had Livy in the 
chaise with me, and beheld his '• Nivt-s cirlo prope 
imviista;, tecta informia imposita rvpibvs, pccora 
jumcntaquc torrida frigorc, homines inlonsi ct 
rnculli, animalia inan iinaquc om niarigcniiagclu; 
omnia confragosa, prwrvptaque." The creatures 
that inhabit them are, in all respects, below huma- 
nity ; and most of them, especially women, have 
the tumidum guttur, which they call goscia. Mont 
Cenis, I confess, carries the permission mountains 
have of being frightful rather too far; audits hor- 
rors were aeeonqjaiiied with too nuich danger to 
give one time to reflect upon their beauties. Thero 
is a family of the Alpine monsters I have mention- 
ed, upon its very top, that in the middle of winter 
cahnly lay in their stock of provisions and fuing, 
and so are buried in tlieir hut lor a month or two 
under the snow. When we were down it, and a 
little way into Piedmont, we began to find " Apri- 
cos quosdam colics, rivosque prope silvas, ct jam 
humano culhi digniora loca." 1 read Silius Itali- 
cus too, for the first time ; and wished for you, ac- 
cording to custom.— Wc set out for Genoa in two 
days' time. 



TO MR. WEST. 

Ocnoa, Nov. 21, 1738. 
Ilorridos traclus, Boreiflqus liinnuna 
llogna Tauriui iVra, iiuilliormu 
Advolior bruinaiii, tJoiiuiiiiue amantcs 

Litora soles. 

At least, if they do not, they have a very ill 
taste ; for 1 never beheld any thing more amiable: 
only figure to yourself a vast semicircular basin, 
full of fine blue sea, and vessels of all sorts and 
sizes, some sailing out, some coming in, and others 
at anchor; and all around it palaces and churches 
pee|)ing over one another's heatls, gardens, and 
marble terraces full of orange and cypress trees, 
fountains, and trellis-works covered with vines, 
which altogether compose the grandest of theatres. 
This is the first coup d'ocil, and is almost all 1 am 



Let. 25. 



LETTERS. 



!«•, 



yet able to give you an account of, for we arrived 
late last niglit. To-day was, luckily, a great fes- 
tival, and in the morning we resorted to the churcli 
of the Madonna delle Vignc, to put up our little 
orisons; (1 believe I forgot to tell you that we 
have been sometime converts to the holy catholic 
church,) we found our huly richly drest out, with 
a crown of diamonds on her head, another upon 
the child's, and a constellation of wax lights burn- 
ing before them : shortly after came the (logo, in 
his robes of crimson damask, and a cap of the 
same, followed by the senate in black. Upon his 
approach, began a fine concert of music, and among 
the rest two eunuchs' voices, that were a perfi'ct 
feast to ears that had heard nothing but French 
operas for a year. We listened to this, and breath- 
ed nothing but incense for two hours. The doge 
is a very tall, lean, stately, old iigure, called Con- 
stantino Balbi; and the senate seem to have been 
mado upon the same model. Th(\v said their pray- 
ers, and heard an absurd white friar preach, with 
equal devotion. After this wc went to the Annon- 
ciata, a church built by the family Lomellini, and 
belonging to it; which is, inileiul, a most stately 
structure! theinside wholly marble of various kinds, 
except where gold and painting take its place. — 
From hence to the palazzo J^oria. I should make 
you sick of marble, if I told you how it was lav- 
ished here upon the porticos, the ballustrades, and 
terraces, the lowest of which extends quite to the 
sea. The inside is by no means answerable to the 
outward magnificence ; the furniture seems to be 
as old as the founder of the family.* Their great 
embossed silver tables tell you, in bas-relief, his 
victories at sea, liow he entertained the emj)eror 
Charles, and how he refused the sovereignty of the 
comtiionwealth when it was oflered him; the rest 
is old-fashioned velvet chairs, and Gothic tapestry. 
The rest of the day has been spent, much to our 
hearts' content, in cursing French music and ar- 
chitecture, and in singing the praises of Italy. Wc 
find this place so very fine, that we are in fear of 
finding nothing finer. We arc fallen in love with 
the Mediterranean sea, and hold your lakes and 
your rivers in vast contempt. This is 

"The happy country where huge lemons grow," 

as Waller says ; and I am sorry to think of leav- 
ing it in a week for Parma, although it bo 
Tho happy country where huge chocsos grow. 



TO HIS MOTHER. 

Bologna, Dec. 9, N. S. 1739. 
Oim journey hitlicr has taken up much less 
time than I expected. We left Genoa (a charm- 
ing place and one that deserved a longer stay) the 

' Tht famous Andrea Dorla. 



week before last ; crossed the mountains, and lay 
that night at Tortona, the next at St. Giovanni, 
and the morning ailor can>e to Piacenza. That 
city, (though the capital of a dutchy) made so frip- 
pery an ap[)earance, that instead of spending some 
days there, as had been intended, we only dined, 
and went on to Parma; stayed there all the fol- 
lowing day, which was passed in visiting the fa- | 
mous works of Corregio in the Dome, and other 
churches. — The fine gallery of pictures, that once 
l)elonged to the Dukes of Parma, is no more here; 
the King of Naples has carried it all thither, and 
the city had not merit enough to dc^tain us any 
longer, so we proceeded through Reggio to Mode- 
na; this, though the residence of its duke, is an 
ill-built melancholy [ilace, all of brick, as are most 
of the towns in this part of Lombardy ; he himself 
lives in a private manner, with very little ajipear- 
ancfi of a court about him ; he has one of the nn- 

ilest collections of [laintings in the world, which 
entertained us extremely well the rest of that day 
and part of the next : and in the afternoon we 
came to Bologna : so now you may wish us joy of 
being in the dominions of his Holiness. This is 
a populous city, and of great extent : all the streets 
have porticos on both sides, such as surround a 
part of Covent Garden, a great relief in sunmicr 
time in such a climate; and from one of the prin- 
cipal gates to a church of the Virgin, (where is a 
wonder-working picture, at throe miles distance) 
runs a corridor of the same sort, lately finished, 
and, indeed, a most extraordinary performance. 
The churches here arc more remarkable for their 
paintings than architecture, being mostly old 
structures of brick; but the palaces are numerous, 
and fine enough to snp[)ly us with somewhat 
worth seeing from morning till night. 'I'he coun- 
try of Lombardy, hitherto, is one of the most beau- 
tiful imaginable; the roads broad, exactly straight, 
and on either hand vast plantations of trees, chief- 
ly mulberries and olives, and not a tree without a 
vine twining about it and 8))rea(ling among its 
branches. This scene, indeed, which must be the 
most lovely in the world during the ])roi)er season, 
is at present all deformed by the winter, which 
here is rigorous enough for the time it lasts; but 
one still sees the skeleton of a charming place, 
and reaps the benefit of its i)roduct; for the fruits 
and provisions arc admirable: in short, you find 
every thing that luxury can desire, in perfection. 
Wc have now been here a week, and shall stay 
some little time longer. We are at the fbot\)f the 
Appenine mountains; it will take up three days 
to cross them, and then we shall come to Florence, 
where we shall pass the Christmas. Till then 
wo must remain in a state of ignorance as to what 
is doing in England, for our letters are to meet us 
there : if I do not find four or five from you alone, 
I shall wonder. 



16 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let. 16, 17. 



TO HIS MOTHER. 

Florence, Dec 19, N. S. 1739. 
We spent twelve- days at Bologna, chiefly (as 
most travellers do) in seeing sights; for as we 
knew no mortal there, and as it is no easy matter 
to get admission into any Italian house, without 
very particular recommendations, we could see no 
cwnpany but in public places; and there are none 
in that city but the churches. We saw, there- 
fore, churches, palaces, and pictures from morning 



tions; if not, we must wait for the carnival, when 
all those things come of course. In tiie mean 
time, it is impossible to want entertainment; the 
famous gallery, alone, is an amusement for montlis: 
we commonly pass two or three hours every morn- 
ing in it, and one has perfect leisure to consider 
nil its beauties. You know it contains many hun- 
dred antique statues, such as the whole world can 
not match, beside the vast collection of paintings, 
medals, and precious stones, such as no other 
prince was ever master of; in short, all that the 



tonight; and the I5th of this month set out for I rich and powerful house of Medicis has, in so 
Florence, and began to cross the Appeninemoun- many years, got together. And besides this city 
tains : we travelled among and upon them all abounds with so many palaces and churches, that 



that day, and, as it was but indifferent weather, 
■were commonly in tho middle of thick clouds, 
that utterly deprived us of a sight of their beauties 



you can hardly place yourself any where without 
liaving some fine one in view, or at least some statue 
or fountain, magnificently adorned ; these un- 



for this vnst chain of hills has its beauties, and all i doubtedly are far more numerous than Genoa can 
the vallies are cultivated; even the mountains! pn-tend to; yet, in its general appearance I can not 



themselves are many of them so within a little of 
their very tops. They are not so horrid as the 
Alps, though pretty near as high; and the whole 
road is admirably well kept, and paved throughout, 
which is a length of fourscore miles, and more. 
We left the Pope's dominions, and lay that night 
in those of the Grand Duke of Fiorenzuola, a pal- 
try little town, at the foot of mount Giogo, which 
is the highest of them all. Next morning we 
went up it; the post house is upon its very top, 
and usually involved in clouds, or half buried in 
the snow. Indeed there was none of the la.st at 
the time we were there, but it was still a dismal 
habitation. The descent is most excessively steep, 
and the turnings very short and frequent : how- 
ever we performed it without any danger, and in 
coming down could dimly discover Florence, and 
the beautiful plain about it, through the mists; 
but eno»igh to convince us, it must be one of tlie 



think that Florence equals it in beauty. Mr. Wal- 
polc is just come from Iwing presented to the elec- 
tress palatine dowager; she is a sister of the late 
great duke's ; a stately old lady, that never goes 
out but to church, and then she has guards, and 
eight horses to her coach. She received him with 
ceremony, standing under a huge black canopy, 
and, after a few minutes' talking, she assured him 
of her good will, and dismissed him; she never 
sees any body but thus in form ; and so she passes 
her life, ♦ poor woman i ♦ * ♦ 



TO MR. WEST. 

Florence, Jan. 15, 1740. 
I THINK I have not yet told you how we left that 
charming place Genoa ; how we crossed a moun- 
tain all of green marble, called Buchetto; how we 



noblest prospects upon earth in summer. That came to Tortona, and waded through tho mud to 
afternoon wo got thither: and Mr. Mann,* the , come to Castel St. Giovanni, and there eat mus- 



tard and sugar with a dish of crows gizzards^ 
secondly, how we passed the famous plains 

Qua treble glaucns salices intersecat und&, 

Arvaquo Romanis nobilitnia nialis. 
Visus aillnic aninis votcri de clado rubero, 

Et suspirontes ilucci-o iiuvsuis aquas ; 
Mnurorumque ala, et nigra; increbrcscero turmcD, 

Et pulaa Ausonidum ripa sonare fugft. 



resident, had sent his servant to meet us at the 

gates, and conduct us to his house. He is the 

best and most obliging person in the world. The 

next night we were introduced at the Prince of 

Craon's assembly (he has the chief power here in 

the Grand Duke's absence). — The princess and 

lie were extremely civil to the name of Walpole, 

60 we were asked to stay supper, which is as much 

as to say, you may come and sup here whenever jvTor thirdly, how we passed through Piacenza, 

you please; for after the first invitation this is al- ] Panna, Modena, entered the territories of the 

ways understood. We have also been at the pQ.,e j stayed twelve days at Bologna ; crossed the 

Countess Suarez's, a favourite of the late duke, Appcnines, and afterwards arrived at Florence. 

and one that gives tho first movement to every None of these things have I told you, nor do 1 in- 

thing gay that is going forward here. The news tend to tell you, till you ask me some questions 

is every day expected from Vienna of the great concerning them. No, not even of Florence itself, 

dutehess's delivery; if it l>e a boy, hero will be all except that it is at fine as possible, and has every 

sorts of balls, masquerades, operas, and illuniina- : 



■ Afterwards Sir Horace Mann. 



• Persons of very higb rank, and wilhal vei7 good sense, 
will only feol lire palhoe ofthise.xdaniation. 



Let. 28. 29, 



LETTERS. 



l*t 



lliiiip; in it can bless the cyos. But, bofori! I enter 
into particularp, you must make your peace i)oth 
with me and the Venus de Medicis, who, let me 
tell you, is highly nnd justly oHended at you for 
not inquiriniT, long before this, concerning her 
symmetry and proportions. • ♦ ♦ 



TO HIS MOTHER. 

Florence, March 19, 1740. 
The pope* is at last dead, and we are to set out 
for Rome on Monday next. The conclave is still 
sitting there, and likely to continue so some time 
longer, as the two French cardinaLs arc but just 
arrived, and the German on<!s are still expected. 
It agrees mighty ill with those that remain en- 
closed : Ottoboni is already dead of an apoplexy ; 
Altieri and several others are said to bo dying, or 
very bad : yet it is not expected to break u]) till 
idler Easter. We shall be at Sienna the first night, 
spend a day there, and in two more go to Rome. 
One begins to see in this country the first promises 
of an Italian sj)ring, clear unclouded skies, and 
warm suns, such as are not often felt in England; 
yet, for your sake, I hope at present you have your 
proportion of them, and that all your frosts, and 
snows, and short-breaths, are by this time utterly 
vanished. I have nothing new or particular to in- 
form you of; and, if you see things at home goon 
much in their old course, you must not imagine 
them more various abroad. The diversions of a 
Florentine Lent are composed of a sermon in the 
morning, full of hell and the devil ; a dinner at 
noon, full of fish and meagre diet ; and, in the 
evening what is called a conversazione, a sort of as- 
sembly at the [)rincipal people's houses, full of I 
can not tell what; besides this, there is twice a 
week a very grand concert. ♦ ♦ ♦ 



TO HIS MOTHER. 

Rome, April 2, N. 3. 1740. 
This is the third day since we came to Rome, 
but the first hour I have had to write to you in. 
The journey from Florence cost us four days, one 
of which was spent at Sienna, an agreeably clean, 
old city, of no great magnificence or extisnt; but in 
a fine situation and good air. Wl)at it has most 
considerable is its cathedral, a huge pile of marble, 
black and white laid alternately, and laboured with 
a (Jothic niceness and delicacy in the old fasliioned 
Way. Within too are some paintings and sculpture; 
of considerable liands. The sight of this and some 
collections that were showed us in private houses, 
were a suflikient employment for the little time we 



' CloinerU the Twelflh. 

2N 



were to pass there; and the next morning we set 
forward on our journey through a country very 
oddly compo.sed ; for some miles you have a con- 
tinual scene of litth; mountains cultivated from top 
to bottom wit h rows of olive trees, or (^Ise elms, each 
of which has its vine twining aliout it, and mixing 
with the branches ; and corn sown between all the 
ranks. This, diversified with numerous small 
houses and convents, makes the most ngreeable 
prospect in the world : but, all of a sudden, it altera 
to black barren hills, as far as the eye can reach, 
that seem nev('r to have been capable of culture, 
and are as ugly as useless. Such is the country 
for some time before one comes to Mount Radico- 
fani, a terriiih; lilack hill, on the top of which we 
were to lodge that night. It i.s very high, and dif- 
ficult of ascent ; and at the foot of it we were much 
eml)arrass(!d by the fall of one of the i)oor horses 
that drew us. This accident obliged another chaise, 
which was coming down, to stop also ; and out of 
it [)ee|)ed a figure in a red cloak, with a handker- 
chief tied round its head, which, by its voice and 
mien, seemed a fat old woman ; but upon its get- 
ting out, appeared to be Senesino, who was return- 
ing from Naples to Sienna, the place of his birth 
and residence. On the highest part of the moun- 
tain is an old fortress, and near it a house built by 
one of the grand dukes for a hunting-seat, but now 
converted into an inn : it is the shell of a largo 
fabric; but such an inside, such chambers and ac- 
commodations that your cellar is a palace in com- 
parison: and your cat sups and lies much better 
than we did; for it being a saint's eve, there was 
nothing but eggs. We devoured our meagre fare; 
and, after stopping up the windows with the 
quilts, were obliged to lie upon the straw beds in our 
clothes. Such arc the conveniences in a road, that 
is, as it were, the great thoroughfare of all the 
world. Just on the other side of this mountain, at 
Pont(!-Cenlino, one enters the patrimony of the 
church ; a most delicious country, but thinly in- 
habited. That night brought us to Viterbo, a city 
of a moreliv(>ly ap|)carance than any we had lat(!ly 
mca with; the houses have glass windows, which 
is not very usual here ; and most of the streets are 
terminated by a hand.some fountain. Here we had 
the pleasure of breaking our fast on the leg of an 
old hare and some broiled crows. Next morning, 
in descending Mount Viterbo, we first discovered 
(though at near thirty miles distance) the cupola 
of St. Peter's, and a little after began to enter on 
an old Roman pavement, with now and then a 
ruined tower, or a sepulchre on each hand. Wo 
now had a clear view of the city, though not to the 
best advantage, as coming along a plain quite ujwn 
a level with it ; however, it appeared very vast, and 
surrounded with magnificent villas and gardens. 
We soon after crossed the Tiber, a river that an- 
cient Rome made more considerable than any merit 



18 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let. 30, 31. 



of its own could have done : however, it is not con- 
toniptibly small, hut a jjiwd handsome stream; 
\erv ileep, yet somewhat of a nniddy complexion. 
The Ihst entrance of Rome is prodigiously strikiii<T. 
It is by a noble <iate, desii;iied by Michael Angelo, 
and adorned with statues; this brings you into a 
large siiuure, in tlie midst ci' which is a vast obelisk 
of granite, and in front you have at one view two 
churches of a hojidsomc architecture, and so much 
alike, that they are called the Twins ; with three 
streets, the middlemost of which is one of the long- 
est in Rome. As high as my expectation was 
rsised, 1 confess, the magnilicence of this city in- 
Iniitely surpasses it. You can not pass along a 
street, but you have views of some palace, or 
church, or square, or fountain, the niost pictun^sque 
and noble one can imagine. Wo have not yet set 
about consiilering its beauties, ancient and modern, 
with attention; but have already taken a slight 
transient view of some of the most remarkable. 
St. Peter's I saw the day atU"r we arrived, and 
was struck dumb with wonder. 1 there saw the 
cardinal D'Auvergne, one of the French ones, 
who, upon coming oil' his journey, immeiliately re- 
paired hither to oiler up his vows at the high altar, 
and went dirtvtly into the conclave; the doors 
of which we saw opened to him, and all the other 
inmuircil cardinals came thither to receive him. 
Upon his entrance tliey were closed again directly. 
It is supposed they will not come to an agreement 
alvut a poiH< till aller Easter, though the contlne- 
nienf is very disagreeable. I have hardly philoso- 
phy enough to see the infinity of tine things, that 
are here daily in the power of any body that has 
money, without regretting the want of it ; but cus- 
tom has the |\)wer of imdving things easy to one, 
1 have not yet seen his majesty of Great Britain, 
(S:c. though I have the two boys in the gardens of 
the Villa Borgest\ where they go a slux>tiiig almost 
every day ; it was at a distance, indeed, for we did 
not choose to meet them, as you may imagine. 
This letter [\\kc all those the Knglish send, or re- 
ceive) will pass through the hands of that tamily, 
Viefore it comes to those it was intended for. They 
do it more honour than it deserves; and all they 
will learn from thence will be, that I desire yon 
to give my duty to my father, and whercver else it 
is due, and that I am, &c. 



TO HIS MOTHER. 

Homes April Ifi, 1740, GocxlFridar. 
To-p.\Y T am just come from paying my adora- 
tions at St. Peters to thnv extraordinary n-lics, 
which are exjx^sed to public view only on these 
two days in the whole year, at which time all the 
confraternities in the city come in piwession to 
sc« them. It was something extremely novel to 



see that vast church, and the most magnilicent in 
the world, undoubtedly, illuminated (for it waa 
night) by thousands of little crystal lamps, disposed 
in the figure of a huge cross at the high altar, and 
seeming to hang alone in the air. All the light 
proceeded from this, and had the most singular ef- 
fect imaginable as one entered the great door. Soon 
atU'r came one after another, I believe, thirty pro- 
cessions, all dressed in linen frocks, and girt with 
a cord, their heads covered with a cowl all over, 
only two holes to see tlirough \ci\. Some of them 
were all black, others red, others white, others par- 
tv-coloured; these were continually coming and 
going with their tapers and crneitixes before them; 
and to each company, as they arrived and knelt 
before the great altar, were shown from a balcony, 
at a great height, the three wonders, which an^, 
vou must know, the head of the spear that wound- 
ed Christ ; St. Veronica's handkerchief, with the 
miraculous impression of his face uiwn it: and a 
piece of the true cross, on the sight of which the 
people thump their breasts, and kiss the pavement 
w ith vast devotion. The tragical part of the cere- 
mony is half a dozen wretched creatures, who, with 
their t'aces covered, but naked to the waist, arc in 
a side-chaj)ol disciplining themselves with scourges 
full of iron prickles; hut really in earnest, as our 
eyes can testily, which saw their b.icks and arms 
so raw, we should have taken it for a red satin 
doublet torn, and showing the skin through, had 
we not been convinced of the contrary by the 
blood which was plentifully sprinkled about them. 
It is late; I give yon joy of PortivBello, and many 
other things, which I ho^w arc all true. ♦ ♦ ♦ 



TO MR. WEST. 

Tivcli, May 20, 1740. 
This day Iving in the palace of his highness the 
dukeof Modena, he laid his most serene commands 
\\\x->n me to write to Mr. West, and said he thought 
it for his glory, that 1 sliould draw up an inventory 
of all his most serene possessions for the said West's 
jH^rusal. Imprimis, a house, licing in circum- 
ference a quarter of a mile, two feet and an inch; 
the said house containing the following particulars, 
to wit, a great room. Item, another great room; 
item, a bigger room; item, another nxmi; item, a 
vast nxiin; item, a sixth of the same; a s«>venth 
ditto; an eighth as Wfon^; a ninth as aKivesaid; 
a tenth (see No. 1. ;") item, ten more such, besides 
twenty besides, which not to Ih^ t»x> particular, wo 
shall pass over. The said rcK>nis contain nine 
chair, two tables, five stix>ls, and a cricket. From 
whence we shall pnxHM^d to the ganlen, containing 
two millions of superline laurel hedges, a clump 
of cypress trees, and half the river Teverone, that 
pisses into two thousand several chamlx'rixjts. 



Let. 31. 



LETTERS. 



19 



Pinis. — Damo Natiiro dosired iiio to put in a list 
of her littlu gotxls ami clinttrls, and, att they wiTe 
small, to be very niinuto about tlicin. Slio has 
built here three or four little mountains, and laid 
them out in an irrei^ular semicircle; from eertain 
others behind, at a greater distance, she has drawn 
a canal, into which she has jjut a little river of hers, 
called Anio; she has cut a hujre cleft between tiie 
two innermost of her four hills, and there she has 
left it to its own disposal; which she has no sooner 
done, but, like a heedless chit, it tumliles heudlon;^ 
down a declivity filly feet perpcndiculiir, breaks 
itself all to shatters, and is converte<l into a shower 
of rain, where the sun forms many a bow, red, 
green, blue, and yellow. To get out of our meta- 
phors witiiout any further trouble, it is the most 
noble sight in the world. The weitjht of that 
quantity of waters, and the force they fall with, 
have worn the rocks Ihey throw themselvi's ainoiiji 
into a thousand irreirular crags, and to a vastde|)th. 
In this channel it goes boiling along with a mighty 
noise till it comes to another steep, where you see 
it a second time come roaring down (but lirst you 
must walk two miles farther) a greater height than 
before, but not with that quantity of wafers; for 
by this time it has divided itself, being crossed and 
opposed by the rocks, in four several streams, each 
of wliich, in emulation of the groat one, will tum- 
ble down too; and it does tumble down, but not 
from an equally elevated place; so that you have 
at one view all these cascades intermixed with 
groves of olive and little woods, the n)ountains ris- 
ing behind them, and on the top of one (that 
which forms the extremity of one of the half-cir- 
cle's horns) is seated the town itself. At the very 
extremity of that extremity, on the brink of the 
precipice, stands the Sibyl's temple, the remains 
of a little rotunda, surrounded with its portico, 
above half of whose beautiful Corinthian pillars 
are still standing and entire; all thisoti one hand. 
On the other, the open campagna of Rome, here 
and there a little castle on a hillock, and the city 
itself on the very brink of the horizon, indistinctly 
seen (being eighteen miles oil") except the dome 
of St. Peter's; which, if you look out of your win- 
dow, wherever you are, I suppose, you can see. 1 
did not toll you that a little below the first fall, on 
the side of the rock, and hanging over that torrent, 
are little ruins which they show you for Horace's 
house, a curious situation to observe the 

"PriEceps AnIo, et Tibumi Iucub, et uda 
Mobllibiia pomaria rlvis." 

Ma'cenas did not care for such a noise, it seems, 
and built him a house (which they also carry one 
to see) so situatcl that it sees nothing at all of the 
matter, and for anything he knew there might l)e 
no such river in the world. Horace had another 
house on the other side of the Teveronc, oi)posito 



to Ma-cenas's ; and they lold ua there was a bridge 
of conwnunication, by which " andava il dclto Sig- 
nor per trastuUarsi coll istcsao Orazio." In com- 
ing hither we crossed the Aquiu Albuhe, a vile 
little brook that slinks liko a fury, and they say it 
has stunk so these thousand years. 1 forget the 
riscirui of (iuintilius Varus, where he used to 
keep certain little (isiies. 'I'liis is very entire, and 
there is a [lieee of the a<|ueduct that sup[ilicd it 
too; in the garden below is okl Rome, built in lit- 
tle, just as it was, they say. There are seven 
teMqiles in it, and Jio houses at all: they say there 
were none. 

May 21. 
We have had the pleasure of going twelve miles 
out of our way to Palestrina. It has rained all day 
as if heaven and us were coming together. Sco 
my honesty, I do not mention a syllable of the 
temple of [''ortune, because I really did not see it; 
which, 1 think, is pretty well for an old traveller. 
So we returned along the Via Prajuestina, saw 
the LacusCiabinusanil llegillus, where, you know, 
Castor and Pollux ap|)eared U[wn a certain occa- 
sion. And many a good old tomb we left on each 
hand, and many an aqueduct, 

Dumb are wlioee fountains, and their channols dry. 

There arc, indeed, two whole modern ones, works 
of popes, that run about thirty miles a-piece in 
length ; one of them convey still the famous Aqua 
Virgo to Rome, and adds vast beauty to the pros- 
pect. So wo came to Rome again, where waited 
for us a splen<lidissimo regalo of letters: in one of 
which came You, with your huge characters and 
wide intervals, staring. I would have you to know, 
I expect you should take a handsome crow-quill 
when you write to me, and not leave room for a 
pin's point in four sides of a sheet royal. Do you 
but find matter, I will find spectacles. 

I have more time than 1 thought, and I will cm- 
ploy it in telling you about a ball that we were at 
the other evening. Figure to yourself a Roman 
villa; all its little aj)artments thrown open, and 
lighted u|) to the best advantage. At the upper 
end of the gallery, a fine concert, in which La 
Diamantina, a famous virtuoso, i)layed on the 
violin divinely, and sungangellieally ; Ciovannino 
and Pastjualini (great names in musical story) 
also performed miraculously. On each side were 
ranged all the secular grand monde of Rome, the 
ambassadors, princesses, and all that. Among the 
rest II Serenissimo Pretendente (as the Montova 
gaziitte calls him) displayed his rueful length of 
person, with his two young ones, and all his min- 
istry around him. " Poi nacquc un grazioso 
ballo," where the world danced, and I sat in a 
corner regaling myself with iced fruits, and other 
pleasant rinfrcscativea. 



so 



GRAY'S WORKa 



Let. 9i. 



TO iMU. WES T. 

Romo, Mny, 1740. 
I AM to iluy just n-(nrn('il iVmn .'Mlta, «^';i>o<liloal 
f«lij;iu'il; lor _vo» know tlu' .Appiun is tiouiowliut 
tin'somo,* Wo iliunl ut rom|K\Y's; ho iiuleoil 
Whs )jono lor it low ilavs to Ms Tusi'vilau, Imt, l>v 
tlio i\uv ol' hiti villii-us, wo imulo im niliiurublo 
moiil. Wo had tho i.\\xit» of n pro|V»'»>t bow, a 
|>t"i«i'o»-U, a tViNh of tlinislu-s, a iiol>lt> ."ti-arus, just 
Irosli iVoui tlio 'l\vrrliv'uo, auil sv>ii\o rourlivlia oi' 
tho lako with jj")"""* sauoo: (or luv part I iiovrr 
oat liollfr at l.vuulluss tal>lo. Wo ih'auk halt" tv 
tlo/.on ovutlu a i>ii-i"o i>r au.iiMit All>an to I'holoo'a 
hoivlth: nud, atlor bntliiu^, anJ i>h)viu^ au hour 
nt ball, wo inouutoil our ossctluui a^uiu, and pnv- 
oootK'il u|> tlio uiouut to tho toniplo. 'I'ho priosts 
ihoro onlortaiiuHl UHVvith an aooount of a woiulov- 
ful showor ot" birds' ojij:;^, that had tuUou two ilays 
holoiv, which lu«d no sm)nor touohod tho jjrouud, 
but ihoy woiv oouvortod iulo ^udjioous; as also 
that tho niglit past adivaillul voioo had boon hoai\l 
out of tho ttdvtuiu, which spoko (.ir»H>k durins; u 
full halt" hour, but i>obv>dy undoi-stootl it. lUit 
quitting luy Uouianilios, to your jjivat joy and 
juiuo, lot n>o (oil you, iu plain Kujjlish, that wo 
ooMio tVon> Albaui). Tho prosont t.>wn lios wit)\in 
tho onoKvsuro of Pouipoy's villa in ruins. Tho 
A|>piaii way runs throujjh it, by tho sido of whioh, 
i\ littlo farther, is a lavjio old ton\b, with livo pyra- 
nuds upon it, whioh tho loarnovl suppost> to ho tho 
burying plaoo of tho family, Uvauso thoy do not 
know wluKso it oan U> olso. lUvt tho vul^jarassuro 
you it is tho sopulohix' ivt"tho C^uriatii, and by that 
iianio (^suoli is tlu-ir powor"^ it }^H•s l>no drivos 
tot'astol Cuunlollo, a lu»uso of tho l\>iH^'s, situatinl 
on tho lop of ono of tin' ColUuotto, that llvrnis u 
briu\ to tho basin ooiun\i>nly oallod tho Alban lako. 
It is sovon nulos ivuud; andvlinvtly opiH>sitotoyou, 
on thtf othor ludo, risos the Mono Albniius, uutoh 
tiUlor than tho r»>st, alousj wluwo sido aro still dis- 
wvoralvlo ^^nol to oon\nu<n oyos") oortain littlo ruins 
of tito old AIIk\ l.on<;a. Thoy had iiooil Ih> very 
littlo. as luivinii Ihhmi nothinij but ruins ovor sinoo 
tlio ilays <.A' T»\11u« IKvitilius. l.>n its top is a 
hou»o til' tho oonstablo l^i>lonna's whoro sIvhhI tho 
ton»plo of Jupitor l.atialis. At tho fvH>t of tho hill 
liouilolto, «ri< tho famous outUts of tho lako, built 
with hown stono, a nulo and a half utulor i;nnn»d. 
Livy, you know, amply inlouus us \\l tho fiK^li&tt 
ooi\\«iou of this oxjHMiso, aivd ^jivM nto this op^tor- 



* However \vt\liusk«l (l»t» hunvHir m«y appear !>> sn>ni# 
WHvloix 1 cluw i» iivwrt ii. «s ii s'v<* mean opiHvmmhv v<i 
IfiUiirklns (lull Ml'. Ui^v WAS o\uyu><\1y skitltHi in iho cvu* 
Uu)vs<t<l iho .inoiont tliMiiaiw; tuul U.is oalaU***!!^!, in l>is o\>4n- 
j«vva plitvf Iwk, \heir vailous «>ai;»1'K>s, \vtiu>», (vnumfs!, 
*k>«ln-«, nuNlu-iueei, vte. wiili si><nl \>nvisi<»n, r»>l<'rrinj; imiter 
•wry itrUv'Ut* u< )'m.'«<«!;\>« iu tlt«> ivK>U! tuinl l\is(arK-uks wtM>(t< 
Umuv iMiues HIV tiu>iuii<itoU. 



tunity ol' displayinj; all my orudition, that 1 may 
appoar oonsidorablo in your oyos. This ia tho 
prosiK'ot from ono window of tho palaoo. Fri>n> 
anothor you havo tho wholo oanipa^na, tho city, 
Antium, and tho Tyrrhene sou ;^twclvo miles dis- 
tant) si> disliuijuishablo, that you may st>o tho vos- 
sels saiiiui; upon it. All this is oharmin^. Mr. 
Walpole says our monu'ry soos more than our 
oyos in this country, which is exlromoly truo; 
since, for realities, Windsi>r, or Richmond Hill, is 
ii\fniilely preferable to Albano or Krescati. 1 am 
now at homo, nnd yoinji to the window to tell yov» 
it is tho most beautiful t)f Italian nisjhts, which, in 
trnlli, aiv but just lH'j;un, ^^so backwaril has tho 
spriui; Ih-oh hort>, and every whoni olso, they say). 
'I'hon' is a n>oon! thor»< a»v stars tor you! Po not 
you hoar the fountain { Po not you smell tho 
oraui;;** (lowers ! That building yonder is the con- 
vent of St. Isivlorc; and that eminence, with tho 
cypri>sa tivos and pines uiK>n it, tlio top of M. 
Cluiriurtl, — This is all true, and yet my prospivt 
is not two hundivd yarvls in length. Wo send 
you sau\o Roman insi'riptions to ontortuin you. 
Tho tii-sf two ari' n\iHlern, transcribed lrv>m tli« 
Vatican Library by Mr. Walpole. 

IVntlftayi ollrn quem l\m(1a>-er«i priorra, 
IVaviipiii Sixiiis jvrtioil arte ilioium;* 

Hi. Si\u uuumu !«< xlvMia loll II in aliuiu, 
Uutuuuni »> Si\li iioliilo lollit v>pu!t : 

Maj;imslK>nv>s nuijini rmwlaniiiui jx'iiore lempll, 
JStil rtneiu crt'jxls |xuior«i majw liomm. 

Sivxa tt^il Anipluon, Tliotxiiia uliinivuia nviilac 
Slxliis ot iiuiueiis,'«> jvuvleni inolis «!;il.f 

Siixa inihiMU !iiiiK> U>i\i;>' vlivorsa: sxM iino 
1I«H' iruliii .\iiipliion ; Si.vius <h lUtc iraliil. 

Ai lantiiin exsuivrat Oiivtvuni .KmpliloiM s>ixtiki, 
Uuanlum hu- r.\yui>ciiil ctt'leiti sii.\:t Upis. 

Mine is ancient, and 1 think not less curious. 
It is «'\actly transcril><\l fivm a sepulchral marblo 
at tho villa Giusliniani. 1 put sto^vs to it, when I 
undorstaiul it. 

Pb >t,inlb«s 
n;uuli,<o. PiatM 
rrimiis (ViviU^I 

i>|muilil:>, 8iU>CU«>, 

IsUl'iai^ lWm<iueiimt«. 

Non «Kjiu>9, l\nviw\ !!lauiisti>- stsmiiw vitj». 

T»iu IviK' oolUlKisihw |x>lU(!>ii» w*k- lenoiv. 

Aiiiiseiii t«< »\vi\ju.v. cur esoo« in*> iiHwr I 

Si ' Ik<II<« ' e<«w ' iui ' isto - iu<>a - vivern ' UolNiitt * 

'IMsiia vvmijtoniiu vjui ,-uiii:«a a>j\|iij;t> viva 

Nil est Uju misieitim. qiiitiu K>wm jHi-xK'tw vit.im. 

Nee Vila eiiasvi »lura (viYjtistis onkk-lia jvnsa, soivrt<^ 

Kupia<jiioiUrtoiiii\i 111 piimo niimoiv lusi. 

O mmi« >ivi>i»ia> (er ik-aos itaiv umnus in anavw, 

lV\v(«nw ■ israuuis ■ lauun ■ ««: ■ (vt'difii • ttt;<<5«;«.'< • 

Duiii vii«u\ mloi\\ l*)Suuisl*i3(«« hi^wt «oi(juj(iui)V. 



* SMXHKI V iHllll lh» tloDXfi i>( St. l\*»r%. 



Let. 33, S'l. 



LETTERS. 



91 



TO Ills MOTHER. 

NaploB, Juno 17, 1740. 
Oiiti jounu'v hithor was thniufjli tlui moHt beau 
tifiil iiiirt of tlio (iticHt countrv in tlio world; anil 
«'vcry n\n)l of it, t)ii hhixw aci-ouril or oilier, fainoiiH 
lor tlu'sr llircc IIioiihuikI ycaVH [laHl.* TlicwaHon 
li»M liilhcrlo Ix'cii jiiHt aH warm at* oiui wotild wiHli 
ll; no iiiiwIiolt-Hoiiio airH, or violent liealH, yel. 
lieard of. The |ieo|ile call it a iiaekvvard year, and 
an^ in jtain about llieir corn, wine, and oil ; but we, 
who aro neither corn, wine, nor oil, t'mA it very 
iifjreeaiile. Our road was tlirouf^li Villelri, CIh- 
terna, 'i'erraeiiia, ( 'apna, and AverHa, and ko to 
Kaplcs. The niinuto one leaveH Iuh holin(^HM'H 
<1on)inionH, I be face of lliin;^H bcf^iuH toehaiifje from 
wide uiicullivated jilaiilH to olive ^rovcH and well 
tilled fielilH of corn, interinix<^d with rankn of elniH 
every one of vvbicli ban itH vine twinini^ about it 
and ban^ini; in leHtooiiH between tlx^ rowH from oni 
tree toanotbi'r. 'I'lie ijreat ol<l lii^ trecH, tbe oranij;eH 
in full bloom, and myrtlea in (tvery bed^e, make 
one of the deli;^btf(deHt HceneH you can conceive; 
henideH that, tbe roadu are wide, well kept, and full 
of iiaHHcnuerH, a nif^Ul I have not bebeld tbin lonjj 
time. My wonder titill iiicrouHiiil upon cnterin>{ 
the city, wliii-li, I tiiink, for niunber of people, out- 
(iocH both I'ariHand l.oiidon. The HtreetH are one 
continued market, and thronged with [xtpuluco mo 
nnichtbat a coach can liardly pasK. Tlu^ conuiion 
Korl ari^ a jolly lively kind of animals, more induH 
triouft than ItaliauM UHually uru; they work till 
cvcninj;; then take their lute or fjuitar (for llicy 
nil [)lay)and w.alk about (be city, or upon the Hca- 
tihore with it, to enjoy the frcHco. ( )ne hcch their 
hltl(^ lirown children jumpin<r ai)out Htark mikcil, 
and the bi^r^er ouch dancing with caHlanetH, while 
otberx play on tb(^ cymlial to them. Vour maps 
willHliow you tbi^ Hituation of JNaplen; it iu on tiu; 
most lovely bay in the world, and oiuiof the caiin- 
CHt Heaa: it lum many other beanticH bcHidcH thoH<^ 
of nature. We have npent two daya in vixitin^ 
the remarkable places in the country round it, such 
an the liay of Ihdai, and its renuiiilH of nntiijuily ; 
the lake Avernus, and the Solfatara, ('haron's 
grotto, &c. We have been in tb(^ Sibyl's cave and 
nuuiy other strange holes under (.ground (1 oidy 
name them, because you may considt Sandy's tra- 
vels;) but the stran>;eKt hole I ever was in, has 
been to day, of u. placi; culled I'ortici, where Ids 



deep in the /jround : curiosity led llnin on, and 
tbey hav(t been di^'nint; ever Kin<-e ; tla^ paxsa^e 
they have made, with nil its turnin^rsand windings, 
is now nittre than amileloni;. As you walk, you 
see parts of an ampbitbcatre, many bouKcs adorned 
with marble cohmms, and incruHlcd willi tlii^ same ; 
I be front ol' a temple, several arched vaults of rooiim 
painted in fresco. Som<i pieces of jiaiMtin^j have 
bet^M taken out from lu-nce, (Iner than any thing 
i>( tiie kind before discoverecl, and with tb<'se the 
kin^ has adorned his palace ; also a number of 
statues, medals, and ^ems; and more are du^ out 
every ilay. This is kia)wn to be a Hoinan (own,* 
that in tlu- emperor 'I'ltus's lime was overwladmed 
by a furious c>ru|ilion of Mount Vesuvius, whitih is 
bard by. 'l'\w wooil and beams remain so perfect 
that you may see the ;;rain ; but burnt to a coiil, 
and drop|iinir into dust upon the least touch. Wo 
weri! today at the foot of that mountain, wliich at 
present only smokes a little, where we saw tlio 
materials tbat fed the stream of lire, which aiiont 
lour years since ran down its h'uU'. We have but 
a few days lon>(er to stay hero ; too little in Con- 
science for such a. place. ♦ ♦ ♦ 



TO HIS FATHER. 

I'lonnicn, Jaly 10, 1710. ' 
At my return to Ibis city, tlu) day before ycB- 
terday, I bad the pleasure of (iu(lin;f yours dated 
.Fune the !)lh. The |)eriod of our voya;4i'S, at least 
towards the South, is couai as you wish. We havo 
been at Naples, S|)ent nine or ten days there, and 
returned to Home, where rmdin;r no likeliliood of 
a pofie yet tbese three months, and (juitci wearied 
with the formal assemblii^s, and little society of that 
/^reat city, Mr. Walpole determined to return 
billier to spenil the sumnuT, where la- imairiiics bo 
shall jiass his time more agreeably than in tlu^ te- 
dious (expectation of what, when it ha|ipens, will 
only be a ^reat show. l''or my own I'iirl, I jjive 
up t\w tbouj;bts of all tbat with but little re;jret; 
but liiecity itself I do not part with so easily, which 
alone has anmsements for whole yt^ars. 1 lowevcT, 
I have passed tbroui^b all that naist peojile do, 
both an(!ient and uuidern ; what that is you may 
see, better than 1 can tell you, in a thousand hooka. 
The conclave we left in {'reater uncerlaini v than 
ever; the more than ordinary liiierly tiiey enjoy 
Sicilian Majesty haa a country-seat. About a '•'"''"•S and the unusual coolness of the wnson, 
year afjo, as they W(Te di},'nin>,', they diKcovered ""''"'"'•'"' '"""''""'""'"•^ '•'"'^ disa;;reeable to them 
fwinc parts of ancient buildings above thirty feet than connnon, an<l, cons.cpiently, maintains them 

in their irresolution. There have been very hij»h 

•Mr (!rny wr<.i., n mlnain .l.wrl|.tl<)n of rvi-ry tlilnR ho words, one or two (it is said) have come even to 
niw In iIiIh lour Iriiiii l(iiiii« (o NiiplcM; aHJiIwi (iriliiirnvlmnH Mows; two mon; are diMul within ihvs last uuintli, 
of llonir, ni>r(iic(\ Ac. liudiHilirm |m|)<iH aro apiiarc^Mily ( ;enci and i'ortia ; the latter diced distrucled ; and 
only iu«nii>i'aniliOMH Inr lilx own omii, I dii not Uiitik l( ancrs- 



niry (opiiia (liiMii,allli«ii(;li limy alHiiinil willi iiuiliy UllCUIU- 
llion roiniu'lm, uml lualliioiit clasiiicjtl i|iioiail(iiui. 

ay '2v» 



' ti nliiiiild m'liiii, by tiai oiiiifwldu of lis niime (iinl U wa*' 
not ihcii UlHCuvcrud W Uo llcrcuUuiuuiu. 



«i> 



93 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let. 35, 36. 



we left anotlicr (Allicra) at the extremity: yet 
nobody dreams of an election till the latter end of 
September. All this gives great scandal to all 
good catholies, and every body talks very freely on 
the subject. The Pretender (whom you desire an 
account of) I have had frequent o|)portunities of 
Bccing at church, at the corso, and other places; 
but more particularly, and thiit for a whole night, 
at a great ball given by Count i'utrizii to the prince 
and princess Craon, (who were come to Rome at 
that time, that he might nreive from the hands of 
the emperor's ministers there the order of the gold- 
en fleece) at which he and his two sons were pre- 
sent. They are good line boys, esj)eciully the 
younger, who has the more spirit of the two, and 
both danced incessantly all night long. For him, 
ho is a thin ill-made man, extremely tall and awk- 
ward, of a most unpromising countenance, a good 
deal resembling king James the Second, and has 
extremely the air and look of an idiot, particularly 
when he laughs or prays. The first he docs not 
«llen, the latter continually. He lives private 
enough with his liltle court about him, consisting 
of Lord Dunbar, who manages every thing, and 
two or three of the Preston Scotch lords, who would 
bo very glad to make their peace at home. 

We happened to bcjit Na[>Ieson Corpus Christi 
day, the greatest feast in the year, so had an op- 
portunity of swing their Sicilian majesties to ad- 
vantage. The king walked in the grand proces- 
sion, and the queen (being big with child) sat in a 
balcony. Ho followed the Iwst to the church of 
St. Clara, where high mass was celebrated to a 
glorious concert of music. They arc as ugly a 
little pair as one can sec : she a palo girl, marked 
with the small-pox ; and he a brown boy with a 
thin face, a huge nose, and as ungain as jwssible. 

We are settled here with Mr. Mann, in a charm- 
ing apartment; the river Arno runs under our 
windows, which we can fish out of The sky is 
80 serene, and the air so temperate, that one con- 
tinues in the open air all night long in a slight 
night gown, without any danger ; and the marble 
bridge is the resort of every body, where they hear 
music, eat iced fruits, and sup by moonlight; 
though as yet (the season being extremely back- 
ward every where) these amusements are not be- 
gun. You see wo are now coming northward 
^ain, though in no great haste ; the Venetian and 
Milanese territories, and either Germany or the 
Bouth of France (according to the turn the war 
may take,) are all that remain for us, that we have 
not yet seen ; as to Loretto, and that part of Ita- 
ly, we have given over all thoughts of it. 



FROM MR. WEST. 

IJond-stroet, June Gtli, 1740. 
I WTBD Rt the Temple till I was sick of it: I 



have just left it, and find myself as much a lawyer 
as I was when I was in it. It is certain, at least, 
I may study the law here as well as I could there. 
My being in chambers did not signify to me a 
pinch of snufT. They tell me my futlier was a 
lawyer, and, as you know, eminent in tlie profes- 
sion ; and such a circumstance must be of advan- 
tage to me. My uncle too makes some figure in 
Westminster-hall; and there's another advantage: 
then my grand-father's name would get me many 
friends. Is it not strange that a young fellow, 
that might enter the world with so many advan- 
tages, will not know his own interest '] &c. &c. 
What shall I say in answer to all thisi For 
money, I neither dote upon it nor despise it ; it is 
a necessary stufl" enough. For ambition, I do not 
want that neither; but it is not to sit upon a 
bench. In short, is it not a disagreeable thing 
to force one's inclination, especially when one 's 
young? not to mention that one ought to have the 
strength of a Hercules to go through our common 
law; which, I am afraid, I have not. Well! but 
then, say they, if one profession does not suit you, 
you may choose another more to your inclination. 
Now I protest I do not yet know my own inclina- 
tion, and 1 believe, if that was to be my direction, 
I should never fix at all. There is no going by a 
weather-cock. 1 could say much more Ufwu this 
subject; but there is no talking tote-a-tetc cross 
the Alps. Oh, the folly of young men, that never 
know their own interest! they never grow wise 
till they arc ruined ! and then nobody pities them, 
nor helps them. Dear Gray ! con.sider me in the 
condition of one that has Uved these two years 
without any person that he can speak freely to. I 
know it is very seldom that people trouble tlieoi- 
selves with the sentiments of those they converse 
with; so they can chat about trifles, they never 
care whether your heart aches or no. Are you 
one of these? I think not. But what riglit have 
I to ask you this question? Have we known one 
another enough, that I should expect or demand 
sincerity from you ? Yes, Gray, I hope we have; 
and I have not quite such a mean opinion of my- 
self, as to think 1 do not deserve it. But, signor, 
is it not time for me to ask something about your 
future intentions abroad ? Where do you projiose 
going next? an in Apuliam? nam Mo si advcnc- 
ris, tanquam Ulysses, cognosces tuorum nemi- 
tiem. Vale. So Cicero prophesies in the end of 
one of his letters — and there I end. 

Yours, &c. 



TO MR. WEST. 

Florence, July 16, 1740. 
Yon do yourself and me justice, in imagining 
that you merit, and that I am capable of sincerity. 



Let. 36. 



LETTERS. 



» 



] have not a tliouglit, or ovctii a wcukiiotis, I ileairc 
to conceal from you ; and consequently on my Hide 
deserve to be tr(mted with the same openness of 
heart. My vanity perliaps niij^ht make n>c more 
n'Kerved towards you, if you were one of the heroic 
race, superior to all human failings; but as mutual 
wants are the ties of general society, so are mutual 
weaknesses of private friendsliips, su])puHinir theni 
mixed with some j)roportion of ffood qualities; lor 
where one may not sometimes blame, one does not 
much care ever to praise. All this has the air of 
an introduction designed to soften a very harsh 
reproof tli.at is to li)llow ; but it is no such matter: 
I only meant to ask, why did you change your 
lodijinsjs'! Was the air had, or the situation me- 
lancholy 7 If so, you are quite in the right. Only, 
is it nut ])utting yourself a little out of the way of 
a people, with whonj it seems necessary to keep u\> 
some sort of intercourse and conversation, though 
but little fur your pleasure or entertainment (yd 
there arc, I believe, such among them as might 
give you both,) at least for your information in 
that study, which, when I lell you, you thought 
of applying to] for that there is a certain study 
necessary to he followed, if we mean to be of any 
use in the world, 1 take for granted ; disagreeable 
enougii (us most necessities are,) but, I am afraid, 
unav()idabl(\ Into how many branches these stu- 
dies are divided in England, every Unly knows; 
and between that whici) you und 1 had pitciied 
Upon, and the other two, it was ini|M)ssible to ba- 
lance long. Exam|>le» show one that it is not ab- 
eiilutely necessary to be a blockhead to succeed in 
this profession. The labour is long, and the ele- 
ments dry and uncntertaining; nor was ever any 
body (especially those that afterwards made a figure 
in it) amused, or even not disgusted, in the begin- 
ning; yet, upon a further ac(iuaintance, there is 
eurely matter for curiosity and retlection. It is 
strange if, among all that huge tnass of words, there 
be not somewhat intermixed for thought. Laws 
have been the result of long deliberation, and that 
not of dull men, but the contrary; and have so 
close a connexion with history, nay, with philoso- 
phy itself, that they must partake a little of what 
they arc related to bo nearly. Besides, tell mc, 
have you ever made the attempt? Were not you 
fright(!d merely with the distant prospect ? Had 
tlie Gothic character and bulkiness of those volumes 
(a tenth part of which perhaps it will be no further 
necessary to consult, tlian as one docs a dictiona- 
ry) no ill enict upon your eye'} Arc you sure, 
if Coke had been printed by Elzevir, and bound 
in twenty neat p<x;ket volumen, instead of one folio, 
you should never have taJien him up fur an hour, 
08 you would a Tully, or drank your tea over 
him? I know how great an obstacle ill 8pirit« 
are tu resolution. Do yuu really tluiU(, if you rid 



ten miles every morning, in a week's time you 
HJiiiuld not entertain i7iucii stronger ho[)es of the 
chancellorshii), and think it a much more probable 
thing than you do at present? 'I'he udvaritagen 
yuu mention art; not nothing; our inclinuliuns arc 
mure than we imagine in uur own power; reason 
and resolution deti^rmine them, and sujiport under 
many dillic.ullies. 'I'o ni(^ there hartiiy apiiears to 
be any medium between a |)ui>lic life and n private 
one; he who [jrefers the first, must put himself in 
a way of being serviceablo to the rest of mankind, 
if h(! has a min<l to be of any ronseqnence among 
them: nay, he must not refuse being in a certain 
degree even dependent upon some men who al- 
ready are so. If he has the good fortune tu light 
on such as will make no ill use of his humility, 
there is no shame in this: if not, his and)ition 
ought to give place to a reasonable pride, and he 
shuuld ap|)ly to the cultivation of his own mind 
those abilities which he has nut been permitted to 
use fur others' service. Such a j)rivate hap|iinesfl 
(sujiposing a small competence oi fortune) is al- 
mu«t always in every one's powtjr, and tiie proper 
enjoyment of age, as the other is the employment 
of youth. You are yet young, have some advan- 
tages and o[)purtunities, and an undoubted capa- 
city, which you have never yet put tu the trial. 
Set apart a few hours, see how the first year will 
agree with you, at the end of it you are still the 
master; if yuu change your mind, you will only 
have got the knowledge of a little somewhat that 
can do no hurt, or give you cause of repentance. 
If your inclination be nut fixed upon any tiling 
else, it is a symptum that you are nut absolutely 
determined against this, and warns you nut to 
mistake mere indolence fur inability. 1 am sensi- 
ble there is nothing slrunger against wluit 1 wuuld 
persuade you to than niy own practice; which may 
make you imagine 1 think not as 1 speak. Alas I 
it is not so ; but I do not act what 1 think, and I 
had rather be the object of your pity than that you 
should be that of mine; and, bo assured, the advan- 
tage 1 may rec«:ive from it, doea not diminish my 
concern in hearing you want somebody to con- 
verse with freely, whose advice might be of moro 
weight, aritl always at hand. We have some time 
since come to the southern period of our voyages; 
wo spent about nine days at Naples. It is the 
largest and most populous dty, as its environs are 
the most deliciuusly fertile country, of all Italy. 
We sailed in the bay of ham, sweated in tha 
Sulfatara, and died in the grotto del Cane, a« all 
strangers do; saw the Corpus Christi j)ro<;e98ion, 
and the king and the qwvn, and the city under- 
ground (which is a wonder I reserve to tell you 
of another time) and so returned to Rome for an- 
other fortnight; left it (left Rome!) and camo 
hither for tiie summer. You have seen an Epi»- 



34 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let. 37, 38. 



tie* to Mr. Ashton, tliat seeni.s to me full of spirit 
and thought, and a good deal of poetic fire. I 
would know your opinion. Now 1 talk of verses, 
Mr. Walpole and I have frequently wondered you 
should never mention a certain imitation of Spen- 
cer, published last year by a namesaket of yours, 
with which we are all enraptured and enmar- 
vailed. 



TO HIS MOTHER. 

Florence, Aug. 21, N. S. 1740. 
It is some time since I have had -the pleasure 
of writing to you, having been upon a little excur- 
sion cross the mountains to Bologna. We set out 
from hence at sunset, passed the Apennines by 
moonlight, travelling incessantly till we came to 
Bologna at four in the afternoon next day. There 
we spent a week agreeably enough, and returned 
as we came. The day before yesterday arrived 
the news of a pope : and I have the mortification 
of being within four days' journey of Rome, and 
not seeing his coronation, the heats being violent, 
and the infectious air now at its height. We had 
an instance, the other day, that it is not only fancy. 
Two country-follows, strong men, and used to the 
country about Rome, having occasion to come from 
thence hither, and travelling on foot, as common 
with them, one died suddenly on the road; the 
other got hither, but extremely weak, and in a 
manner stupid; he was carried to the hospital, but 
died in two days. So, between fear and laziness, 
we remain here, and must be satisfied with the ac- 
counts other people give us of the matter. The 
new pope is called Benedict XIV. being created 
cardinal by Benedict XIII. the last pope but one. 
His name is Lambertini, a noble Bolognese, and 
archbishop of that city. When 1 was first there, 
I remember to have seen him two or three times ; 
he is a short, fat man, about sixty-five years of age, 
of a hearty, merry countenance, and likely to live 
some years. He bears a good character for gene- 
rosity, affability, and other virtues ; and, they say, 
wants neither knowledge nor capacity. The worst 
side of him is, that he has a nephew or two; be- 
sides a certain young favourite, called Melara, who 
is said to have had, for some time, the arbitrary 
disposal of his purse and family. He is reported 
to have made a little speech to the cardinals in the 
conclave, while they were undetermined about an 
election, as follows: "Most eminent lords, here 
are three Bolognese of different characters, but all 
equally proper for the popedom. If it be your 
pleasure to pitch upon a saint, there is cardinal 

• Tlie reader will find this among Mr. Walpole's Fugitive 
pieces. 
J "On Uie Abuse of Travelling," by Gilbert West 



Gotti ; if upon a politician, there is Aldrovandi ; 
if upon a booby, here am I." The Italian is much 
more expressive, and, indeed not to be translated ; 
wherefore, if you meet with any body that under- 
stands it, you may show them what he said in the 
language he spoke it. " Eminssimi, Sign. Ci 
siamo trS, diversi si, ma tutti idonei al Papato. 
Se vi piace un Santo, c' e F Gotti; se volcte una 
testa scaltra, e Politica, c' e V Aldrovandi; se un 
Coglione, ecco mi!" Cardinal Coscia is restored 
to his liberty, and, it is said, will be to all his be- 
nefices. Corsini (the late pope's nephew) as ho 
has had no hand in this election, it is hoped, will 
be called to account for all his villanous practices. 
The Pretender, they say, has resigned all his pre- 
tensions to his eldest boy, and will accept of the 
grand chancellorship, which is thirty thousand 
crowns a-year ; the pension he has at present is 
only twenty thousand. 1 do not affirm the truth 
of this last article ; because, if he does, it is neces- 
sary he should take the ecclesiastical habit, and it 
will sound mighty odd to be called his majesty the 
chancellor. — So ends my gazette. 



TO HIS FATHER. 

Florence, OcL 9, 1740. 
The beginning of next spring is the time de- 
termined for our return at furthest; possibly it may 
be before that time. How the interim will be em- 
ployed, or what route we shall take, is not so cer- 
tain. If we remain friends with France, upon 
leaving this country we shall cross over to Venice, 
and so return through the cities north of the Po to 
Genoa ; from thence take a felucca to Marseilles, 
and come back through Paris. If the contrary fall 
out, which seems not unlikely, we must take the 
Milanese, and those parts of Italy, in our way to 
Venice ; from thence must pass through the Tyrol 
into Germany, and come home by the Low-Coun- 
tries. As for Florence, it has been gayer than 
ordinary for this last month, being one round of 
balls and entertainments, occasioned by tlie arrival 
of a great Milanese lady ; for the only thing the 
Italians shine in, is their reception of strangers. 
At such times every thing is magnificence : the 
more remarkable, as in their ordinary course of life 
they are parsimonious, even to a degree of nasti- 
ncss. I saw in one of the vastest palaces in Rome, 
that of prince Pamfilio, the apartment which he 
himself inhabited, a bed that most servants in En- 
gland would disdain to lie in, and furniture much 
like that of a soph at Cambridge, for convenience 
and neatness. This man is worth 30,000/. sterling 
a year. As for eating, there are not two cardinals 
in Rome that allow more than six paoli, wliich is 
three shillings a day, for the expense of their ta- 
ble ; and you may imagine they are still less ex- 



Let. 39, 40. 



LETTERS, 

-H> '■ : 



S» 



trnvngnnt here than tlinrn. l'\it whrh they m- 
I'l-ivK a vJHit froin uiiy I'rii'iKl, llicir Iiouhch and |iit- 



nrna of tho event; but tliiit tlicy wcro nil cnrcd in 
rcrt.iiiii, llir otid iirvcr lii-iird iiiiy morti ortlicm tho 



HoiiH arn wt out to tlio ;^r<'iitCHt adviintii^c, iiiiil ii|i.<ii<'xt niornin^. 1 urn to ni^iit junl rfturiicd from 

jii'iir in nil tlicir Hplrndour; it Ih, indccil, froui a 

motive of vanity, and with thu liopcH of having it. 

r('(i:ii(l tlirni with iiitcri-sl, whenever they iiav*! oc- 

(-.'■.nion lo return tht; visit. 1 eall vii^itH going from 

one city of Italy to unotlu^r ; for it id not ho among 

U('i|iiiiinliin<'e of tln^ Hume pliice on common oeea- 

Hioiis. Tli(^ new |)0|ie liiiu rrlrenehed llie eliiirgen 

of his own tahle lo u sotjuiu (ten HhillingH) u nieul. 

Thi^ ii|i|iliiiiH<! which ull he HayH and docH meet 

with, in enough to encourages him reidly todcHcrve 

fame. They riay hu iH un uhlit and honcHt nnm: 

he irt reckoned a wit too. 'J'hii other day, when 

tfie Kcn^ilor of UomtM'amo to wait \i|)on hini,iilllie 

iirist com|ilinientH luMnade him, the |io|ie pidled oil' 

his eap. 1 lit) muHlcr of the ceremoni(^H, who hIooiI 

liy hirt Hidi;, touched him Hollly, as to warn him 

that Kuch a condeHcenKJon was too great in him, 

atid out of all manner of rule. Ujion which Ik^ 

turned lo him, and said, "Oh! I cry yon morcy, 

good miiHler : it in tru(\ I am hut a novice of a 

po|ie ; I hav(! not ycl uo much im luurncd ill mun- 

iierB." ♦ ♦ ♦ 



TO HIS FATHI-:il. 

Floroncn, Jan. 12, 1741. 
Wk still continue! conslant at I'lorence, at jire- 
ncnt oiw of the dullest cilicH in Italy, 'i'hough it 
IH the middle of the carnival, Iheru arn no |iulilie 
diversionM ; nor in miiH(|neradiMg permitted im yet. 
The em|)eror'H ohsetjnics ar(r to Ixj celelirated pub- 
licly on the IGlh of thiri month; and uller that, it 
iH im.ngined every thing will go on in its usiuil 
course. In the menri time, to employ the minds 
of the populace, the government has thought lit to 
bring into the city in a solemn mnrmer, and at a 
great ex|ienHe, a. famous stiilue of tht! Virgin, call 
rd the Madonna dell' Impruneta, from tho plucn 
ofher residence, which is upon a mountain seven 
niih'S oir. It never hiis been priictised but at times 
of public cahimity ; and was done at present to 
avert the ill eirects of u lute great inutidation, 
which it was feared might cauM; som<; epidemical 
diHlem|)er. It was introduced a fortnight iigo in 
procession, attended by th(! council of regency, the 
flcnate, the nobility, and all the religious ord(>rH, 
on foot and Imre-headed, and ho curried to the 
great church, where it was freiiuented by an iti- 
fniite concourHo of people from all the country 
round. Among the rest, 1 paid niy devotionn al- 
niost every diiy, and saw n\niiiiers of people pos- 
HcsKcd with the devil, who were brought to be ex- 
orciH4>d. It was inde(;d in the eviuiing, and the 
church-doors were always hIiuI before Ihucenuno- 
nictf were finiHliuil, so that 1 could not bo eye-wit- 



seeing our lady make her exit with tlu; same ho- 
lenmilieH Hhe entered. The show had a finer 
i'll('<'l than before; for it wiis dnik, nnd every body 
(even those of tho mob that coidd uHiird it j bore a 
white wax fhunbeaux. I believe there were at 
leiist live thotisand of them, nnd the mnrch waH 
nenr three hours in passing before the window. 
Tho Hubject of ull this devotion in KuppoHcd to bo 
a large tih^ with a rude figure in has relief upon 
it. I say Kup|><me<l, hecanse siueis the time it wart 
found (for it wan found in the earth in plotigiiing) 
only two people have seen it; the one was, by 
good luck, a saint; the other was struck iiinid for 
his presumption, b'.ver since she has bei^n covered 
with seven veils ; neverthehms, those who ii|i|iroaclt 
her taix^rnaclo cast their eyes down, liir fear they 
should S|iy her through all her veils. Such is tho 
history, as 1 had from the lady of the house whero 
1 stood to see her pasH; with numy other circuni- 
stances: all of which ttho lirinly beUovcs, and ton 
thousand besides. 

We hIiuII go to Venice in about nix wcelm, or 
soouiir. A nuirdier of (.lerman troops are n|)oa 
their march into this state, in ease the King of 
Najdes thinks proper to attack it. It is certain 
that Iw asked the I'opc^'s leave for his troopH to 
pass through his country, 'i'he 'I'uscans in gene- 
ral are much discontiMited, and foolish enough to 
wish for a Spanish government, or any rather 
than this. ♦ ♦ ♦ 



TO Mil. WKST. 

Flornnw, April 21, 1741. 
F KNOW not what dc^gree of Hatisfaction it will 
givi! you to be told that we shall set out from 
henc(! tJKs 'iith of this month, and not stop above 
a fortnight at any [ilaee in our way. This 1 feesl, 
that you ore the principal pleasure I have to hope 
for in my own country. Try at le;ist to make mo 
imagine myself not indiirerent to you; for I muwt 
own I have tho vanity of desiring to be esteemed 
by Homeiiody, and would choose that ttomehody 
should b(! one whom I esteem as much as ! do 
you. As I am recoumiending myself to your love, 
methiuks I ought to send you my picture (fur I am 
no more what I was, some circumstances except- 
ed, which I ho|)e 1 need not particulari/.e to you); 
you must add then, to your former idea, two yeara 
of age, a reasonable (plant ity of dulness, a great 
deal of silence, and something tiuit rather renern- 
blcH, than is, thinking; aconfused notion of many 
strange and line things that have hwuiii U-foro 
my eyes lor some tiiiKs, a want of love Uir general 
Hucicty, indued, un inubility to it. On tho good 



S6 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let. 41. 



side you may add a sensibility for what others 
feel, and indulgence for their faults or weaknesses, 
a love of truth, and detestation of every thing else. 
Then you are to deduct a little impertinence, a 
little laughter, a great deal of pride, and some spi- 
rits. These are all the alterations I know of, you 
perhaps may find more. Think not that I have 
been obliged for this reformation of manners to 
reason or reflection, but to a severer scliool-mis- 
. tress, experience. One has little merit in learning 
her lessons, for one cannot well help it; but they 
are more useful than others, and imprint them- 
selves in tlie very heart. 1 find I have been ha- 
ranguing in the style of the son of Sitach, so shall 
finish here, and tell you that our route is settled 
as follows : first to Bologna for a few days, to hear 
the Viscontina sing ; next to Reggio, where is a 
fair. Now, you must know, a fair here, is not a 
place where one eats gingerbread or rides upon 
hobby-horses; here are no musical clocks, nor 
tall Leicestershire women; one has nothing but 
masquing, gaming, and singing. If you love operas, 
there will be the most splendid in Italy, four tip- 
top voices, a new theatre, the duke and dutchess in 
all their pomps and vanities. Does not this sound 
magnificent 7 Yet is the city of Reggio but one 
step above old Brentford. Well; next, to Venice 
hy the Ilth of May, there to see the old Doge wed 
the Adriatic whore. Then to Verona, so to Milan, 
so to Marseilles, so to Lyons, so to Paris, so to 
West, &c. in scBcula sceculorum. Amen. 

Eleven months, at different times, have I passed 
at Florence ; and yet (God help me) know not 
either people or language. Yet the place and the 
charming prospects demand a poetical farewell, 
and here it is. 

* * Oh FaesulsR amoena 
Fri'oribusjuga, nee niniium spirantibus auris, 
Alma quibua Tusci Pallas Deus Apennini 
Esse dedit, glaucaque sua canescere silva! 
Non ego vos poelliac Ami de valle videbo 
Porticibus circum, et candonli cincta corona 
Villarum longe nitido consurgere dorso, 
Antiquamve tedem, et veteies prsferre cupressus 
Mirabor, tectisque super pandemia tecta. 

I will send you, too, a pretty little sonnet of a 
Signer Abbate Buondelmonte, with my imitation 
of it. 

Spesso Amor sotto la forma 
D'amista ride, e s'asconde : 
Poi si mischia, e si confonde 
Con lo sdegno, e col rancor. 
In Pietade ei si transforma; 
Par IrastuUo, e par dispetto: 
Ma nel suo diverse aspetto : 
Sempr'egli, e I'istesso Amor. 

Lueit amicitite interdum velatus amictu, 

Et bene, composita veste fefellit Amor. 
tAox irasassumsit cultus, fociemqueminantem, 

Inque odium versus, versus et in lacrymas : 
JLudentem fuge, n^c lacrymanli, aut crede furenti ; 

Idem est dissimili semper in ore Deua. 



Here comes a letter from you. —I must defer 
giving my opinion of Pausanias* till I can see the 
whole, and only have said what I did in obedience 
to your commands. I have spoken with such 
freedom on this head, that it seems but just you 
should have your revenge; and therefore 1 send 
you the beginning, not of an epic poem, but of a 
mctaphysic one.t Poems and metaphysics (say 
you, with your spectacles on) are inconsistent 
things. A metaphysical poem is a contradiction 
in terms. It is true, but I will go on. Itisl^atin 
too, to increase the absurdity. It will, I suppose, 
put you in mind of tlie man who wrote a treatise 
of canon law in hexameters. Pray helj) me to 
the description of a mixed mode, and u hitle epi- 
sode about space. 



Mr. Walpole and Mr. Gray set out from Flo- 
rence at the time specified in the foregoing letter. 
When Mr. Gray left Venice, which he did the 
middle of July following, he returned home 
througii Padua, Verona, Milan, Turin, and 
Lyons; from all which places he writ either to his 
father or mother with great punctuality : but mere- 
ly to inform them of his health and safety ; about 
which (as might be expected) they were now very 
anxious, as he travelled with only a " Laquais de 
Voijage." These letters do not even mention that 
he went out of his way to make a second visit to 
the Grande Chartreuse, and there wrote in the 
Album of the Fathers the Alcaic Ode; 

Oh Tu, severi Religio loci, &c. — See Poems. 

tie was at Turin the 15th of August, and began 
to cross the Alps tlie next day. On the 25th he 
reached Lyons; therefore it must have been be- 
tween these two dates that he made this visit. 



FROM MR. WEST. 

I WRITE to make you write, for I have not much 
to tell you. 1 have recovered no spirits as yet,? 
but, as I am not displeased with my company, I 
sit purring by the fireside in my arm-chair with 
no small satisfaction. 1 read too sometimes, and 
have begun Tacitus, but have not yet read enough 
to judge of him; only his Pannonian sedition in 
the first book of his annals, which is just as far 



' Some part of a tragedy under that title, which Mt. West 
had begun. 

r The beginning of the first book of a didactic poem, "De 
Principiis Cogilandi." — See Poems. 

% The distresses of Mr. West's mind had already too far af- 
fected a body, from the first weak and delicate. His health 
declined daily, and, therefore, he left town in March, 1742, and, 
for the benefit of the air, went to David Mitchell's, Esq. at 
Popes, near Hatfield, Hertfordshire; at whose house hediad 
the 1st of June following. 



Let. 42. 



LETTERS. 



97 



ns I have got, seemed to mc a little tedious. I have 
no more to say, but to desire you will write letters 
of a handsome length, and always answer mo 
within a reasonable space of time, which I leave 
to your discretion. 

ropes, March 23, 1742. 

P, S. The new Dunciadl qu'en pensez vous? 



TO MR. WEST.* 

I TRUST to the country, and that easy indolence 
you say you enjoy there, to restore you your 
health and spirits ; and doubt not but, when the 
sun grows warm enough to tempt you from your 
lireside, you will (like all other things) be the bet- 
ter for his influence. He is my old friend, and an 
excellent nurse, 1 assure you. Had it not been 
for him, life had been often to me intolerable. 
Pray do not imagine that Tacitus, of all authors in 
the world, can be tedious. An annalist, you 
know, is by no means master of his subject; and 
1 think one may venture to say, that if those Pan- 
nonian alfuirs arc tedious in his hands, in another's 
they would have been insupportable. However, 
fear not, they will soon be over, and he will make 
ample amends. A man, who could join the bril- 
liant of wit and concise sententiousness peculiar 
to that age, with the truth and gravity of better 
times, and the deep reflection and good sense of 
the best moderns, can not choose but have some- 
thing tc strike you. Yet what I admire in him 
above all this, is his detestation of tyranny, and the 
higii spirit of liberty that every now and then 
breaks out as it were, whether he would or no. I 
remember a sentence in his Agricola that (concise 
as it is) I always admired for saying much in a 
little compass. He speaks of Domitian, who upon 
seeing the last will of that general, where he had 
made him coheir with his wife and daughter, 
" Salis conslabat Icetatum eum, velut honore, ju- 
dicioquc: tarn caeca et corrwpta mens assiduis adu- 
lationibus crat, ut ncsciret a bono patrc non scribi 
hccredem, nisi malum principem." 

As to the Dunciad, it is greatly admired: the 
genii of Operas and Schools, witii their attendants, 
the pleas of the Virtuosos and Flori.sts, and tin- 
yawn of Dulness in the end, are as fine as any 
thing he has written. The Metapliysician's part 
is to mc the worst ; and here and there a few ill 
expressed lines, and some hardly intelligible. 

1 take the liberty of sending you a long speech 
of Agrippina ;t much too long, but I would be glad 

* Mr. Gray came to town about the Ist of September, 1741. 
His father died tlie Glh of November following, at the age of 
eixty-five. The latter end of the sutaequcnt year he went 
to Cambridge to take his l)achelor'a degreo in civil law. 

t See Poems. 



you would retrench it. Aceronia, you may re- 
member, had been giving quiet counsels. I fancy, 
if it ever be finished, it will be in the nature of 
Nat. Lee's bedlam tragedy, which had twenty -fivo 
acts, and some odd scenes, 



FROM MR. WEST. 

PopeB, April 4, 1742. 

I OWN, in general, I think Agrippina's speech 
too long ; but how to retrench it, I know not : but 
I have something else to say, and that is in relation 
to the style, which appears to me too antiquated. 
Racine was of another opinion : he no where give* 
you the phrases of Ronsard : his language is the 
language of the times, and that of the purest sort; 
so that his French is reckoned a standard. I will 
not decide what stylo is fit for our English stage : 
but I should rather choose one that bordered upon 
Cato, than upon Sliakspearc. One may imitate 
(if one can) Shakspcare's manner, his surpri.sing 
strokes of true nature, his expressive force in 
jjainting characters, and all his other beauties; pre- 
serving, at the .same time, our own language. Were 
Shakspeare alive now, he would write in a diflil-r- 
ent style from what he did. These are my senti- 
ments upon these matters : perhaps I am wrong, 
for I am neither a Tarpa, nor am I quite an Aris- 
tarclius. You see 1 write freely both of you and 
Shakspeare ; but it is as good as writing not freely, 
where you know it is acceptable. 

I have been tormented within this week with a 
most violent cougii ; for wiien once it sets up its 
note, it will go on, cough after cough, shaking and 
tearing me for half an hour together ; and then it 
leaves mc in a great sweat, as much fatigued as if 
I had been labouring at the jjlough. All this de- 
scription of my cough in prose, is only to introduce 
another description of it in verse, perhaps not worth 
your perusal ; but it is very short, and besides has 
this remarkable in it, that it was the production of 
four o'clock in the morning, while I lay in my bed 
tossing and coughing, and all unable to sleep. 

Ante omnes morbos importunissima lussis, 
Quadunire datur, traxiiqtie sub ilia vires : 
Dura etcnim versans imo suli prrtoie regno, 
Perpetuo cxercet tcnoras luctiiniiue costiw, 
Oraquo distorquct, vocemquc iiuinutiit anliolani; 
Nee ccssare locus: sed sajvo eoni-ita motu, 
Mollc domat latus, et corjuis labor omne fatigat : 
Undo molcsta dies, nnclcmquo insomnia turbant. 
Nee Tua, si mecum Comes hie jurundus adosscs, 
Verba juvare queant, aut lumc leiiire dolorem 
Bufhciant tua vox dulcis, noc vullus amatus. 

Do not mistake me, I do not condemn Tacitus : 
I was then inclined to find him tedious : the Ger- 
man sedition sufficiently made up for it ; and the 
speech of Germanicus, by which he reclaims his 
soldiers, is quite masterly. Your new Dunciad I 



S8 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let. 43, 44. 



have no conception of. I shall be too late for our 
diiil^er if I write any more. Yours, 



TO DR. WHARTON.* 

Cambridge, December 27, 1742. 

I oiTOHT to have returned you my thanks a lonp 
time ago, for the pleasure, I should say prodigy, of 
\ouT letter; for such a thing has not happened 
above twice within this last age to mortal man, 
and no one here can conceive what it may portend. 
You have heard, I sup{K>8e, how I have lieen em- 
ployed a part of the time ; how, by n\y own inde- 
fatigable application for these ten years past, and 
by the care and vigilance of that worthy magis- 
trate, the man in blue,+ (who, I assure you, has 
not spared his labour, nor could have done more 
for his own son) 1 am got half way to the top of 
jurisprudence, t and bid as fair as another body to 
open a case of impotency with all decency and cir- 
cumspection. You see my ambition. I do not 
doubt but sonie thirty years hence I shall convince 
the world and you that I am a very pretty young 
fellow ; and may come to shine in a profession, 
perhaps the noblest of all, except man-midwifery. 
As for you, if your distemper and you can but 
agree about going to Lonilon, 1 may reasonably ex- 
pect, in a much shorter time, to see you in your 
three-cornered villa, doing the honours of a well 
furniahetl table with as much dignity, as rich a 
mien, and as capacious a belly, as Dr. Mead. Me- 
thinks I see Dr. ♦ ♦, at the lower end of it, lost in 
admiration of your goodly jierson and parts, cram- 
ming down his envy (for it will rise) with the wing 
of a pheasant, and drowning it in neat Burgundy. 
But not to tempt your asthma too much with such 
a prosjiect, 1 should think you might be almost as 
happy and as grt>at as this even in the country. 
But you know best, and I should be sorry to say 
any thing that nught stop you in the career of 
glory ; far be it from me to ham^x^r the wheels of 
your gilded chariot. Go on. Sir Thomas; and 
when you die, (for even physicians must die) may 
the faculty in Warwick-lane erect your statue in 
the very niche of Sir John Cutler's. 

I was going to tell you how sorry I am for your 
illness, but I \w\>e it is too late now : 1 can only 
say that I really was very sorry. May you live a 
hundred Christmases, and eat as many collars of 
brawn stuck with rosemary. Adieu, &c. 

• Of OKI-Park, near Durham. With this gentleman Mr. 
Gray contracted an acquaintance very early ; and though they 
were not etlucaieil at Eton, yet al^erwards at Cambridge, when 
the tkictor was fellow of Pembroke-Hall, they Ijecanie intimate 
friends, and continue*.! so to the time of Mr. Gray's death. 

t A servant of the vice-chancellor's for the time beins;, usu- 
ally known by the name of Blue Coat, whose busiucEs it is to 
attend acts for degrees, Ac, 

J i. e. Bachelor of civil law. 



TO DR. WHARTON. 

Peterhouse, April 26, 1744. 

You write so feelingly to Mr. Brown, and re- 
present your abandoned condition in terms so touch- 
ing, that what gratitude could not effect in several 
months, compassion has brought about in a few 
days ; and broke that strong attachment, or rather 
allegiance, which I and all here owe to our sove- 
reign lady and mistress, the president of jiresidenta 
anil head of heads, (if I may be jiermttted to pro- 
nounce her name, that inetfable Octogranmiaton) 
the jiower ol Laziness. You must know she had 
been pleased to appoint me (in preference to so 
many old servants of hers who had spent their 
whole Hves in qualifying themselves tor the office) 
grand picker of straws and push-pin player to her 
supinity, (for that is her title.) The lirst is much 
in the nature of lord president of the council ; and 
the other like the groom-porter, only without the 
profit ; but as they arc both things of very great 
honour in this country, I consider with myself the 
k>ad of envy attending such great charges ; and 
besides (between you and n\e) 1 found myself una- 
ble to support the fatigue of keeping up the ap- 
pearance that persi>ns of such dignity must do ; so 
1 thought proper to decline it, and e.\cust\l myself 
as well as 1 could. However, as you see such an 
affair must take up a good deal of time, and it has ■ 
always In'cn the jKiUcy of this court to proceed 
slowly, like the Imperial and that of Spain, in the 
dispatch of business you will on this account the 
easier forgive me, il" 1 have not answered your let- 
ter before. 

You desire to know, it seems, what character 
the poem of your young friend bears here.* 1 
wontler that you ask the oj)inion of a nation, where 
those, who pretend to judge, do not judge j\t all; 
and the rest (the wiser part) wait to catch the 
judgment of the world inunediately above them; 
that is, Dick's and the Rainbow Coffee-houses. — 
Your readier way would be to ask the ladies that 
keep the bars in tht>sc two theatres of criticism. 
However, to show you that 1 am a judge, as well 
as my countrymen, I will tell you, though I have 
rather turned it over than read it (but no matter ; 
no more have they,) that it seems to me al>ove the 
middling ; and now and then, for a little while, 
rises even to the best, particularly in description. 
It is oiten obscure, and even unintelligible ; ami 
too nnich infected with the Hutchinson jargon. In 
short, its great fault is, that it was published at 



* Pleasures of the Imaginatiwi:— From the posthumous 
publication of Dr. Akenside's Poems, it shenikl scent that the 
author had very much the same opinion altcrwanls of his own 
works which Mr. Gray here e.xpressts ; since he umlertCMka 
relorm of it, which must have given hint, had he concluded 
it, as much trouble as if he had written it entirely new. 



Let. 45, 46. 



LETTERS. 



99 



least nino years too enrJy. A ml so mi'thinka in a 
f'fw words, " d la mode du Temple," I have very 
j)ertly (li8|mtrh(^(l whiit may perhaps for several 
years have employed a very injrciiious man worth 
fifty of myself. 

You are much in the right to have a taste for 
Socrates ; \»\ was a divine man. I must tell you 
by way of news of tiie place, that the other day a 
certain new professor made an apoloijy for him an 
hour loni^ in tlie schools ; and all the world brouglit 
in Socrates guilty, except the people of his own 
college. 

The muse is gone, and left me in far worse com- 
pany ; if slie returns, you will hiuir of her. As 
to her child* (since you are so good as to inquire 
after it) it is but a puling chit yet, not a bit grown 
to speak of; I believe, poor thing, it has got the 
worms, that will carry it off at last. Mr. Trollope 
and I are in a course of tar-water ; ho for his pre- 
sent, and 1 for my future distempers. If you think 
it will kill me, send away a man and horse direct- 
ly ; for I drink like a fish. 



TO MR. WALPOLE. 

Cambrldgfl, Feb. 3, 1746; 

You are so good to inquire after my usual time 
of coming to town : it is at a season when even 
you, the perpetual friend of London, will, I fear, 
hardly be in it — the middle of June : and I com- 
monly return hither in Septcml)er ; a month when 
I may more probably find you at home. 

Our defeat to be sure u a rueful aft'air for the 
honour of the troops ; but the duke is gone it seems 
with the rapidity of a cannon-bullet to undefeat 
Us again. The common people in town at least 
know how to be afraid ; but we are such uncom- 
mon people here as to have no more sense of dan- 
ger, than if the battle had been fought when and 
where the battle of Cannm was. The perception 
of these calamities and of their consequences, that 
we are supposed to get from books, is so faintly im- 
pressed, that we talk of war, famine, and pestilence, 
with no more api)rehension than of a broken head, 
or of a coach overturned between York and Edin- 
burgh. I heard three people, sensible middle aged 
men (when the Scotch were said to bo at Stanford, 
and actually were nt Derby,) talking of hiring a 
chaise to go to Caxton (a place in the high road) 
to see the Pretender and the highlandcrs as they 
passed. 

I can say no more for Mr. Pope (for what you 
keej) in reserve may be worse than all the rest.) It 
is natural to wish the finest writer, one of them, 
we ever had, should be an honest man. It is for 
the interest even of that virtue, whose friend he 

• His poem " De Prlncipils CoRitnndl." 
30 



professed himself, and whose beauties he sung, that 
he should not be found a dirty animal. But, how- 
ever, this is Mr. Warburton's business, not mine, 
who may 8cril)ble his pen to the stumps and all in 
vain, if these facts are so. It is not from what ha 
told me about himself that I thought well of him, 
but from a humanity and goodness of heart, ay, 
and greatness of mind, that runs through his pri- 
vate correspondence, not less apparent than are a 
thousand little vanities and weaknesses mixed with 
those good qualities ; for nobody ever took him for 
a philosopher. 

If you know any thing of Mr. Mann's state of 
health and haj)piness, or the motions of Mr. Chute 
homewards, it will be a particular favour to inform 
mo of them, as I have not hoard this half-year 
from them. 



TO DR. WHARTON. 

Cambridge, December 11, 1746. 
I wour.D make you an oxcusr; (as indeed I ought,^ 
if they were a sort of thing I ever gave any credit 
to myself in these cases ; but I know they are ne- 
ver true. Nothing so silly as indolence when it 
hopes to disguise itself; every one knows it by its 
saunter, as they do his majesty (God bless him) ■ 
at a masquerade, by the (Irnmess of his tread and 
the elevation of his chin. However, somewhat I 
had to say that has a little shadow of reason in it. 
I have been in town (1 suppose you know) flaunt- 
ing about at all kind of public places with two 
friends lately returned from abroad. The world 
itself has some attractions in it to a solitary of six 
years' standing : and agreeable well-meaning peo- 
ple of sense (thank heaven there are so few of them) 
arc my peculiar magnet. It is no wonder the^n if 
I felt some reluctance at parting with them so 
soon ; or if my si)irits, when I returned back to 
my cell, should sink for a time, not indeed to storm 
and tempest, but a good deal below changeable. 
Besides, Seneca says (and my intvh of philosophy 
docs not pretend to be much above Seneca,) " .Vun- 
quam mores, (juos exluli, rcfcro. Alupiid ex eo 
qiuid composui, turbatur : aliquid ex his, quccfu- 
gavi, redit." And it will happen to such as us, 
mere imps of science. Well it may, when wisdom 
herself is forced often 

III Hwecl retired solilude 
To plume lier fcailii^rs, and lei grow her wingei 
Tluil 111 the varioii.s hiwtlo of resort ' fl 

Were all loo riifllod, and sometimes impaired ' ■ 

It is a foolish thing that without money one can 
not either live as one pleases, or where and with 
whom one pleases. Swift somewhere says, that 
money is liberty; and I fear money is friendship 
too and society, and almost every external blessing. 
It is a great, though an ill-natured, comfort, to seo 



30 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Let. 47. 



most of tliose who have it in plenty, without plea- 
sure, without liberty, uml without (Vienils. 

1 ftiu not iiIto;j;elher of your opinion us to your 
lustorioiil eonstolation in time of trouhle: u enlni 
nieliuuholy it may proiluee, a stiller sort of despair 
(and thiit only in some eireunistunees, and on some 
constitutions;) hut 1 douht no reuleonifort or eon- 
tent ctui over arise in thu human mind, but from 
hojic. 

I take it very ill you should have been in the 
twentieth year of the war,* and yet say notl>in<f of ^ 
the retreat before Syracuse: is it, or is it not, the; 
linest thinjr you ever read in your life 1 And how 
does Xenophon t>r I'lutareh ajjree with you 7 For 
my part 1 nnid Aristotle, Ids poetics, jwlitica, and 
morals; thoujjh I do not well know whieh is whieh. I 
In the Ih'st place, he is the hardest autlior by lar I j 
ever meddled with. Then ho has a dry concise- ; 
ness that makes one imaijiuo one is jierusinsj a 
table of contents ratiier than a biH>k ; it tastes tor 
nil the world like cho|iped hay, or rather like 
choppetl loijic; for he has a violent allection to that 

art, beiuj' in some sort his own invention; so that; 

. . ..... I 

lie oUen loses himself in little trillinij distinctions 

and verbid niceties; and, what is worse, leaves 

you to extricate hiuj as well as you can. Thinlly, 

he has sullered vastly from the transcribblers, 

ns all authors of great brevity necessarily must.; 

Fourthly and lastly, ho luis abundance of liiiel 

wncommon thinos, w Inch makes him well worth ! 

the pains he gives one. You see what you are to 

expect from him. 



TO MR. WALPOLE. 

January, 1747. 
It is doubtless an rncouragement to continue 
writing to you, when you tell me you answer me 
with pleasure: I have another reason which would 
make me very copious, had I any thing to say: it 
is, that 1 write to you with equal pleasure, though 
not with equal spirits, nor with like plenty of ma- 
terials: please to subtract then so much for spirit, 
and so much for matter; and \ou will tind me, 1 
hope, neither so slow, nor so short, as I nught 
otherwise seem. Besides, 1 had a mind to semi 
j'ou the remainder of Agrippim», that was lost in 
R wilderness o( papers. Certainly you do her too 
nuich honour: she seemed to mo to talk like an 
Oldboy, nil in figures and mert> poetry, instead of 
nature and the language of real passion. Do you 
remember Approdu- :voiis,i Ncron. — Who would 
not rather have thought of that half lino than all 
Mr. Rowe's flowers of eUHpience? However, you 
will lind the remainder here at the end in an out- 

• ThurytUclpg, I, vH. 

t Agvippiaa, iu Racine's tragedy of Brimunicus. B. 



rageous long speech : it was begun about four years 
ngo (it is a misfortune you know my age, else I 
might have added, when 1 was very young.) Poor 
West put a stop to that tragic torrent he saw 
breaking in upon him : — have a care, 1 warn you, 
not to set open the (lood-gate again, lest it ihowii 
you and me and tiie bishop and all. 

1 am very sorry to hear you treat philosophy and 
her followers like a parcel of monks and hermits, 
and think myself obliged lo vintlicate a profession 
1 honour, bitr true Je ii'm tifniir pas boutufue (as 
Madame Sevigii6 says.) Tlie first man that ever 
bore the name, if yon remend)er, used to say, that 
lite was like (he (Mympic games (the greatest pub- 
lic as8end)ly of his age and country,) vvhert^ some 
came to show their strength and agility of body, as 
the champions; others, as the musicians, orators, 
poets, and historians, to show their excell(>nee in 
those arts; tiie traders to get money ; and the bet- 
ter sort, to enjoy the spectacle, and judge of all 
these. 'J'hey did not tlien run away from society 
for fear of its temptations: they passed their days 
in the midst of it: conversation was their business: 
they cultivated (he arts of ix-rsunsiou, on pur[>oso 
to show men it was their interest, as well as their 
duty, not to be foolish, and falst^, and unjust ; and 
that tm) in many instances with success: which is 
not very strange ; for (hey slioweil by their life that 
their lessons were not impracticable ; and that plea- 
sures were no temptations, but to such as wanted 
a clear perception of (he pains annexed (o (hem.* 
Hut 1 have done speaking u la (.irecipie. Mr. 
RatdilVet maile n shitl to behave very rationally 
without their instructions, at a season which they 
tiHik a great deal of pains to t(>rtily themselves and 
others against : one would not desire to lose one's 
liead with a letter grace. I am particularly satis- 
fied with the Immanity of that last embrace to all 
(he pei>|>le about him. Sure it must be somewhat 
embarrassing to die b<>for» so mtich gotnl company ! 

You need not fear but posterity will 1hi ever glad 
to know the absurdity of their ancestoi's ; the fool- 
ish will be glad to know they were as toolish as 
they, and (he wise will be glad to find themselves 
wiser. You will please all (he world then; and 
if you recount miracles you will 1h^ believed so 
much the sooner. We are pleased when we won- 
tler ; and we believe because we are pleased. Folly 
and wisdom, and wonder and )>ieasuro, join with 



* Never, perhaps, was a niorp ndinimWn picnuii drawn of 
tnie pliiUKHipliv lunl iis iviil niul huixiiliiiit sm-viros; sorviooa 
m>t contiuoil lo llm sivoiliiiivo opinions of the stiulions, but 
niiapttxl 10 the conniioii inM-iK«t's of lifo, iinii pixnnotlng llio go- 
nonil Imppino^ of inankintl ; not U|x>n ihv cliimpricnl liHsis 
of a pystPiii, but on llio inunutablo foumliilions of irulli ami 
viituo. IJ. 

t llroihor to the earl of IVerwentwater. He was executed 
at 'rybm-n, IVooinUn', 171t>, for having been concerncil in th* 
JtibclUon in sVotliuul B. 



Let, 48, 49, 50. 



LETTERS. 



31 



me in desiring you would continue to entertain 
them : refuse us, if you can. Adieu, dear Sir ! 



TO MR. WALPOLE. 

Cambridge, March 1, 1747. 

As one ought to be particularly careful to avoid 
blunders in a compliment of condolence, it would 
l)e a sensible satisfaction to me (before I testify my 
Borrow, and the sincere part 1 take in your misfor- 
tune) to know for certain, who it is I lament. I 
knew Zara and Selima, (Selima was it, or Fati- 
ma ■?) or rather I knew them both together ; for I 
can not justly say wiiich was which. — Then as to 
your handsome cat, tlie name you distinguish her 
by, I am no less at a loss, as well knowing one's 
handsome cat is always the cat one likes best ; or, 
if one be alive and the other dead, it is usually the 
latter that is the handsomest. Besides, if the point 
were never so clear, I hope you do not think me so 
ill-bred or so imprudent as to forfeit all my interest 
in the survivor : Oh no ! I would rather seem to 
mistake, and imagine to be sure it must be the 
tabby one that had met with this sad accident. 
Till this affair is a little better determined, you will 
excuse me if I do not begin to cry ; 

"Tempus inane peto, requiem, spatiumque doloris." 

Which interval is the more convenient, as it gives 
time to rejoice with you on your new honours.* 
This is only a beginning; I reckon next week we 
shall hear you are a free-mason, or a gormogon at 
least. — Heigh ho ! I feel (as you to be sure have 
done long since) that I have very little to say, at 
least in prose. Somebody will be the better for it; 
I do not mean you, but your cat, feue mademoi- 
eelle Selime, whom I am about to immortalize for 
one week or fortnight, as follows :t ♦ ♦ ♦ — There's 
a poem for you ; it is rather too long for an epi- 
taph. 



TO DR. WHARTON. 

Stoke, June 5, 1743. 
Your friendship has interested itself in my af- 
fairs so naturally, that I can not help troubling 
you a little with a detail of them.t ♦♦*♦♦♦♦ 
And now, my dear Wharton, why must I tell you 



• Mr. Walpole was about this time elected a Fellow of the 
Royal Society. 

1 The reader need hardly be told, that the 4th ode Inthe col- 
lection of hia poems was inaerled in the place of theBO aater- 
jskB. This letter (afl some other Blight ones have been) Is print- 
ed chiclly to mark the dale of one of his composilions. 

tTho j)aragraph here omitted contained an account of Mr. 
Gray's loss of a house by fire in CornhiU, and the expense he 
should he at in rebuilding it. Though It was insured, he 
could at this time ill bear to lay out the additional sum neces- 
•ary for the purpose. 



a thing so contrary to my own wishes and yoursl 
I believe it is im)tossible for me to see you in the 
north, or to enjoy any of those agreeable hours I 
had flattered myself with. This business will 
oblige nie to he in town several times during the 
summer, particularly in August, when half the 
money is to be paid ; besides the good people hero 
would think ine the most careless and ruinous of 
mortals, if I should take such a journey at this 
time. The only satisfaction I can pretend to, is 
that of hearing from you, and particularly at this 
time when 1 was bid to expect the good news of an 
increase of your family. Your opinion of Diodorus 
is doubtless right ; but there are things in him very 
curious, got out of better authorities now lost. Do 
you remember the Egyptian history, and particu- 
larly the account of the gold mines'? My own 
readings have been cruelly interrupted : what I 
have been highly pleased with, is the new comedy 
from Paris by Gres.set, called lo Mechant ; if you 
have it not, buy his works all together in two little 
volumes: they are collected by the Dutch book- 
sellers, and consequently contain some trash ; but 
then there are the Ververt, the epistle to P. Eou- 
gcant, the Chartreuse, that to his sister, an ode on 
Ills country, and another on mediocrity, and the 
Sidnei, another comedy, all which have great 
beauties. There is also a poem lately published 
by Thomson, called the Castle of Indolence, with 
some good stanzas in it. Mr. Mason is my ac- 
quaintance; 1 liked that ode much, but have found 
no one else that did. He has much fancy, little 
judgment, and a good deal of modesty; I take him 
for a good and well-meaning creature ; but then 
he is really in simplicity a child, and loves every 
body he meets with: he reads little or nothing; 
writes abundance, and that with a design to make 
his fortune by it. My best compliments to Mrs. 
Wharton and your family : does that name include 
any body I am not yet acquainted with "J 



TO DR. WHARTON. 

Cambridge, August 8, 1749. 
I promised Dr. Keene long since to give you an 
account of our magnificence here ;♦ but the news- 
papers and he himself in person, have got the start 
of my indolence, so that by this time you are well 
acquainted with ail the events that adorned that 
week of wonders. Thus much I may venture to 
tell you, because it is probable nobody else has 
done it, that our friend ♦ ♦'s zeal and eloquence 
surpassed all power of description. Vesuvio in an 
eruption was not more violent than his utterance, 
nor (since I am at my mountains) Pelion, with all 



* The nuke of Newcastle's Installation as Chancellor of iho 
University. 



S3 



CRAPS WORKS. 



Lkt. 51, 5'i. 



its piiio-tivfH ill II storm of wiml, more iinix'tuous 
tlmii liin ucliim ; luul vft Uio soniiti^-hoUMi' still 
utiiiulH, 1111(1 (I llmiik lio(l) we arc iill .siifo iiiul well 
nt your norvico. 1 wns rondy to sink lor liiiii, uiul 
Bcun-i- dared to look atioiit mo, wlini 1 was siirr il 
was all over ; but soon loiiiid 1 iiiii;lil luivo s|>i(rt'il 
my confusion ; all iiooplo joined to npijlaud him. 
I'.very tliinij was <|iiil<' riijlit ; and I daro swoar not 
three iieojiie hero but think him a model of oratory ; 
for nil the duke's little eourt eamo with a resolu- 
tion to he i>leused ; and when the t<ine was oiue 
j»iven, tlu' imivt-rsity, who ever wait for the jiidif- 
ment of their Mtivrs, strurk into it with an ad- 
mirable harmony: for the rest of tho pmformanees, 
they were just what they usually are. Everyone, 
while i'l. lftstt>d, was very fjay ami very busy in the 
morninji, auil very owlish and very tipsy at iiiijht : 
1 make no exeeptioiia from tlie chaneellor to bhie- 
eoat. Mason's ode was the only enteilaiiiment 
that hail any tolerable elejjaiiee ; and, for my own 
part, I tliink it (with some little abatements) un- 
eommonly well on surh an oeeasion. Tray let iin* 
know your sentiments ; for doubtless you have seen 
it. Tiie author of it grows apnco into my good 
graees, as I know him more ; he is very iiifjenious, 
with jjreal ifood mUureand simplieity ; a little vain, 
but ill 80 harmless and so eomieal a way, that it 
tliH>s not ollend one at all ; a little ambitious, but 
withal so ignorant in the world and its ways that 
this does not. hurt him in oiie'v opinion ; so .sineer(< 
und so undisguised, that no mind with a spark of 
generosity, would ever think o( liiirliiisj him, he 
lies so open to injury; but so indolent, that if he 
«uin not oveivoiiu< this habit, all his good qualities 
will si>rinfy nothing at all. Atler all, 1 like him 
■o well, 1 could wish you knew liiin. 



TO Ills MOTHER. 

CmiiLriil),'.', Nov. 7, 17-19. 
TiiK unhappy news I have just received from 
you emially surprises aiul allhets me.* 1 have lost 
R person 1 loved very imieh, and have been used to 
from my infaney ; but am mueh more eoneeriied 
for your loss, tlie cirmiinslanees of which I forlu<ar 
to dwell vipon.as you must be too sensible of them 
yourself; and will, 1 fear, more and more need a 
consolation that no one eon give, rxcopt Ho who 
has pre.serveil her to you so many years, and, at 
last, wlien it was his pleasure, has taken lier from 
lis to himself; and perhaps, if we relleet upon what 
■he felt in this life, we nuiy ItH>k upon this as an 

*Ttin ilciitti of lUH mint Miti, Miiry AiXimIuis, \v1u> lUoil iho 
Ml oC NoviMiilior, luul was liiii ioil in ii vauli in Sioko ilunvli- 
yartl, lu-ar llio clmncol ilmir, la wliicli nise l\ia laoilicv ami 
btiiMMi' (iici-imliin; 10 tlio lUivciiou In his will) wcro al\cr 
Winb bmioO. 



instance of his goodnosa both to tier, and to thoso 
that lovi'd her. She iiii^rlit have lan;iuish<'d many 
years before our eyes, in a continual increase of 
pain, and totally helpless; she mi^^ht Imvo long 
wished to end her misery without beini; able to at- 
tain il ; or jierluips even lo.st all sense, and yet con- 
tinued to breathe; a sad spectacle to such as must 
have felt more for her than she could have dono 
Ibr herself However you may deplore your own 
loss, yet think that she is at last easy and happy: 
and has no more occasion to pity us than we her. 
I hope, and beg, you will support yourself with 
that resignation we owe to Him, who gave us our 
being for our goixl, and who deprives us of it for 
till" same reason. I would have coino to you di- 
rectly, but you do not say whether you desire 1 
should or not ; if you do, 1 beg I may know it, for 
there is nothing to hinder me, and I am in very 
wootl health. 



TO MR. WALPOLE, 

Soke, June 10: 1750. 
As I live in a place, where even the ordinary 
tattle of the town arrives not till it is stale, onil 
which produces no events of its own, you will not 
desire any excuse from me for writing so seldom, 
especially as of all people living I know you aro 
liie least a friend to letters spun out o( one's own 
brains, with all the toil and constraint that accom- 
panies sentimental protluctions. I have been hero 
at Stoke a few days (where 1 shall continue gotnl 
part of the summer;) and having put an end to a 
thing, whose beginning you have seen long ago, 
1 immediately sent it you.* You will, 1 hope, Kx)k 
upon it ill tiie light of a titinsf irilli nn end to it; 
ft merit that nuwt of my writings have wanted, 
and are like to want, hut which this epistle I am 
determined shall not want, wlicn it tells you tliat 
I am ever Yours. 

Nirf that I Imve done yet ; but who coxdil avoid 
the temptation of finishing so roundly and so cle- 
verly in the manner of good i.lueen Anne's days'! 
Now 1 have talked of writings; 1 have seen a Uwk, 
which is liy tiiis time in the pivss, against Midillo- 
ton (though without naming liini,) by Asheton. 
As far ns 1 can judge from a very hasty reading, 
lh<>re are things in it new ami ingenious, but 
rather tiH> prolix, and the style heiv and there sa- 
vouring loo strongly of sermon. 1 imagine it will 
do him credit. So much for other people, now to 
.vc//" again. You are desired to tell me your opinion, 
if you can talie the \wu\a, of these lines. 1 aui 
onco moiv, Ever yours. 



' Tills was Ujo Elegy in ttio diuali-yanl.— U. 



POEMS 



OP 



SM®MilS ©; 



(JDTrejEii* 



ODE I. 

ON THE SPRING. 

Lo ! where the rosy-bosoliicd hours, 

Fnir VftiUH* train, appear, 
Dioclime the long-cxiiectiri}^ flowers, 

And wake the purjjle year, 
The ttttic warbler pours her throat 
llespojisive to the cuckoo's note, 

The iiiitauj^ht harmony of Hjiring, 
While, whisiierini^ pleasure as they fly, 
Cool zcphyrH throuj^h the clear blue aky 

Their gathered fragrance fling. 

Whrrc-cr the oak's thick branches stretch 

A broader, browner shade. 
Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 

O'er-canopies the glade* 
Beside some water's rushy brink 
With mc the Muse shall sit, and tliink 

(At ease reclined in rustic state) 
How vain the ardour of the crowd. 
How low, how little, are the proud, 

How indigent the great. 

Still is the toiling hand of Care, 

The panting herds repose. 
Yet hark! how through the peopled air, 

The busy murmur glows I 
The insect youth are on the wing. 
Eager to taste the honeyed spring. 

And float amid the liquid noon;t 
Some lightly o'er the current skim. 
Some show their gayly-gildcd trim, 

duick-glancing to the sun.t 



-a bank 



O'er-canopicd wllh luscloua woodbine. 

S/iakap. Mid. Dream. 
t Narc per (DHtiUom liquidam. Virg. Georg. lib. 4. 

J sporting witli qulclt ginnco, 

Show U) Iho Bun tliclr waved rxwiw dr()[)t wltii eold. 

Milton's Paradise ImhI, b. 7. 



To contemplation's sober eye,* 

Such is the race of man, 
And they that creep and they that fly 

Shall end where they began. 
Alike the busy and the gay 
But flutter tiirough lifir's little day, 

In fortune's varying colours drest; 
Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance, 
Or chilled by Age, their airy danco 

They leave, in dust to rest. 

Methinks I hear, in accents low, 

Tho s])orlive kind re])ly. 
Poor moralist! and what art thou? 

A solitary fly ! 
Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
No hive hnst thou of lioar(i(!d sweets, 

No painti^l plumage to display ; 
On hasty wings thy youth is flown, 
Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — 

Wc frolic while 'tis May. 



ODE II. 

ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, \ 

Drowned in a 'l\h of Gold Fishes, i 
'TwAs on a lofty vase's side, 
Where China's gayest art had died 

The azure flowers that blow, 
Demurest of the taliivy kind, 
The pensive Sciima, reclined, 

Gazed on the lake below. 

Her conscious tail lier joy declared ; 
The fair round face, the snowy beard, 

The velvet of lusr paws. 
Her coat that with the tortoise vies, 
Her ears of jot, and emerald eyes. 

She saw, and purred applause. 



• While InBocU from llie llircsliold preach, &c. 
Mt. Green in. the Grotto. Dodnley'a Miscdlanica, vol. r. 
p. 101. 



34 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Still had she gazed, but, 'midst the tide, 
Two nngcl forms were seen to gUde, 

The Genii of the stream: 
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue, 
Through richest, purple, to the view 

Betrayed a golden gleam. 

The hapless nymph with wonder saw: 
A whisker first, and then a claw, 

With many an ardent wish, 
She stretched in vain to reach the prize: 
What female heart can gold despise 1 

What Cat's averse to fishi 

Presumptuous maid ! with looks intent, 
Again she stretched, again she bent. 

Nor knew the gulf between: 
(Malignant Fat^i sat by and smiled,) 
The slippery verge her feet beguiled; 

She tumbled headlong in. 

Eight times emerging from the flood, 
She mewed to every watery god 

Some sjieedy aid to send. 
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred. 
Nor cruel Tom or Susan heard : 

A fav'rite has no friend ! 

From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived. 
Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, 

And be with caution Iwld: 
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes. 
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize. 

Nor all that glistens gold. 

ODE III. 

ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. 

Ye distant Spires! ye antique Towers! 

That crown the watery glade 
Where grateful science still adores 

Her Henry's* holy shade; 
And ye that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor's heights the expanse below 

Of grove, of lawn, of mead, survey, 
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 

His silver- winding way ; 

Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade! 

Ah fields beloved in vain I 
Where once niy careless childhood strayed, 

A stranger yet to pain ! 
I feel the gales that from ye blow 
A momentary bliss bestow, 

As waving fresh their gladsome wing 
My weary soul they seem to sooth. 
And, redolentt of joy and youth. 

To breathe a second spring. 



* King Henry VI. founder of iho College. 
1 Aad boee Ijieir honey re«loleiu of spring. 

Dryden's Fubk on the Pythag. System. 



Say, father Thames! for thou hast seen 

Full many a sprightly race. 
Disporting on thy margcnt green, 

The paths of pleasure trace. 
Who foremost now delight to cleave 
With pliant arm thy glassy wave 7 

The captive linnet which enthrall 
What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle's speed, 

Or urge the flying ball ? 

While some, on earnest business bent, 

Their murmuring labours ply 
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constrsdnt, 

To sweeten liberty ; 
Some bold adventurers disdain 
The limits of their little reign. 

And unknown regions dare descry 
Still as they run they look behind. 
They hear a voice in every wind, 

And snatch a fearful joy. 

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, 

Less pleasing when possest; 
The tear forgot as soon as slied. 

The sunshine of the breast; 
Their buxom healtli of rosy hue. 
Wild wit, invention ever new, 

And lively cheer of vigour liorn ; 
The thoughtless day. the easy night, 
The spirits pure, the slumbers light 

That fly the approach of mom. 

Alas! regardless of their doom, 

The little victims play ! 
No sense have they of ills to come, 

Nor care beyond to-day : 
Yet see how all around 'em wait 
Tlie ministers of human fate, 

And black Misfortune's baleful train I 
Ah ! show tliem where in ambush stand, 
To seize their prey, the nmrderous band 1 

Ah ! tell them they are men. 

These shall the fury passions tear, 

The vultures of the mind; 
Disdainful anger, pallid fear. 

And shame that skulks behind; 
Or pining love shall waste their youth, 
Or jealousy, with rankling tooth, 

"That inly gnaws the secret heart; 
And envy wan, and faded care, 
Grim-visaged, comfortless despair. 

And sorrow's piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise. 
Then whirl the wretch from high, 

To bitter scorn a sacrifice. 
And grinning infamy, 

The stings of fidsehood those shall trj, 

And hard unkindness' altered eye, 



ODES. 



That mocks the tear it forced to flow; 
And ki'cn remorse, witli blood defiled, 
And moody machiess* liiughing wild 

Amid severest wo. 

Lo! in the vale of years beneath 

A grisly troop are seen, 
Tiie |iaiiiful family of death, 

More hideous than their queen: 
Tliis racks the joints, this fires the veins, 
That every lab'ring sinew strains, 

Those in the deeper vitals rage ; 
Lo ! poverty to fill the l)and, 
That numbs the soul with icy hand, 

And slow-consuming age. 

To each his sufferings; all are men 

Condemned alike to groan, 
The tender for another's pain, 

Th' unfeeling for his own. 
fet ah ! why should they know their fate 
Since sorrow never comes too late. 

And happiness too swiftly flies'? 
Thought would destroy their paradise. 
No more ; where ignorance is bliss 

'Tis folly to be wise. 



ODE IV. 



TO ADVERSITY. 

Daughter of Jove, relentless power. 

Thou tamer of the human breast, 
Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 

The bad affright, afflict the best ! 
Bound in thy adamantine chain. 
The proud are taught to taste of pain, 
And purple tyrants vainly groan 
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. 

When first thy sire to send on earth 

Virtue, his darling child, designed, 
To thee he gave the heavenly birth, 

And bade to form her infant mind; 
Stern rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore 
With patience many a year she bore : 
What sorrow was thou bad'st her know. 
And from tier own she learned to melt at others' 
wo. 

Sacred at thy frown terrific fly 

Self-pleasing folly's idle brood, 
Wild laughter, noise and thoughtless joy. 

And leave us leisure to be good. 
Light they disperse ; and with them go 
The summer friend, the ffattering foe: 
By vain j)rosperity received, 
To her they vow their truth, and are again be- 
lieved. 



* And Madness laughing in his ireful mood. 

Dryden'a Fable of Palamon and Arcite. 



Wisdom, in salilc garb arrayed, 

Immersed in rapt'roiis thouglit profound. 

And melanciioly, silent maid, 
With leaden eye, that loves the ground. 

Still on thy solemn steps attend ; 

Warm charity, the general friend, 

Willi justice, to herself severe. 

And pity, dropping sod the sadly-pleasing tear. 

Oh ! gently on thy suppliant's head, 

Dread goddess! lay thy chastening hand, 
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 

Nor circled with the vengeful band ; 
(As by the impious thou art seen,) 
With thundering voice and threatening mien, 
With screaming horror's funeral cry, 
Despair, and fell disease, and ghastly poverty. 

Thy form benign, O Goddess ! wear. 

Thy milder influence impart. 
Thy philosophic train be there. 

To soften, not to wound my heart : 
The generous spark extinct revive ; 
Teach me to love and to forgive ; 
Exact my own defects to scan. 
What others are to feel, and know myself a man. 



ODE V. 



the progress op poesy. — PINDARIC. 

Advertisement. 
When the author first piibliflhed tliis and the following Ode, 
he was advi.seil, oven t)y his fiicnrls, lo suhjoin some few 
explanatory notes, but liad too mucii respect for the under- 
standing of liis readers to tal<e tiiat liberty 

I. 1. 

Awake, iEolian lyre! awake,* 

And give to rapture all thy trembling strings ; 

B'rom Helicon's harmonious springs 

A thousand rills their mazy progress take ; 

The laughing flowers, (hat round them blow. 

Drink Ufe and fragrance as they flow. 

Now the rich stream of music winds along 

Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong. 

Through verdant vales and Ceres' golden reign ; 

Now rolling down the steep amain, 

Headlong, impetous, see it pour ; 

The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. 



• Awake, my glory ! awake, lute and harp. 

David's Psalms, 
Pindar styles his own poetry, with its musical accompani- 
ments, JEioWan son?, jTIolian strings, the breath of the JEoWast 
flute. The subject and simile, as usual with Pindar, are here 
united. The various sources of poetry, which gives life and 
lustre lo all it touches, are here descritxxl, as well in its quiet 
majestic progress, enriching every subject (otherwise dry and 
barren) with all the pomp of diction, and luxuriant harmony 
of numbers, as in its more rapid and irresistible course when 
swollen and hurried away by the conflict of tuniultuous piis* 
sions. 



86 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



1.2. 

Oh sovereign* of the willing soul, 

Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 

Enchanting shell ! the sullen cares 

And frantic passions hear thy soft control. 

On Thracia's hills the lord of war 

Has curbed the fury of liis car, 

And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command : 

Perching on the sceptred handt 

Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king 

"With ruffled plumes and flagging wing ; 

duenched in dark clouds of slumber lie 

The terror of his beak and lightning of his eye. 

I. 3. 

TheeJ the voice, the dance obey, 

Tempered to thy warbled lay : 

O'er IdaUa's velvet green 

The rosy-crowned loves are seen, 

On Cytherea's day, 

With antic sports and blue-eyed pleasures 

Frisking light in frolic measures : 

Now pursuing, now retreating, 

Now in circling troops they meet ; 

To brisk notes in cadence beating 

Glance their many-twinlding feet. 

Slow-melting strains their queen's approach declare; 

WHere'er she turns the graces homage pay : 

With arms sublime, that float upon the air, 

In gliding state she wins her easy way ; 

O'er her warm check and rising bosom move 

The bloom of young desire and purple light of love. 

II. 1. 

Man's feeble race what ills await !§ 
Labour and penury, the rack of pain, 
Disease, and sorrow's weeping train, 
And death, sad refuge from the storms of fate ! 
The fond complaint, my song ! disprove, 
And justify the laws of Jove. 
Say, has he given in vain the heavenly muse 1 
Night and all her sickly dews. 
Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, 
He gives to range the dreary sky, 
Till down the eastern clifl's afarll 
Hyperion's march they spy and glittering shafts of 
war. 



* Power of harmony to calm the turbulent passions of the 
Boul. Tlie thoughts are borrowed from the first Pythian of 
Pindar. 

t This is a weak imitation of Bome beautiful lines in the 
same ode. 

t Power of harmony to produce all the graces of motion in 
the body. 

§ To compensate the real or imaginary ills of life, the muse 
was given to mankind by the same Providence that semis the 
day by its cheerful presence to dispel the gloom and terrors of 
the nighL 

I Or seen the morning's well-appointed star. 
Come marching up the eastern hills aSai.— Cowley, 



II. 2. 

In climes* beyond the solar road.t 

Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 

The muse has broke the twilight-gloom 

To cheer the shivering native's dull abode : 

And oft beneath the odorous shade 

Of Chili's boundless forests laid. 

She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, 

In loose numbers, wildly sweet. 

Their feather-cinctured chiefs and dusky loves. 

Her track, where'er the goddess roves. 

Glory pursue, and generous shame, 

The unconquerable mind and freedom's holy flame. 

II. 3. 

Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep,t 
Isles that crown the .^gean deep, 
Fields that cool Ilissus laves. 
Or where Maeander's amber waves 
In lingering labyrinths creep. 
How do your tuneful echoes languish, 
Mute but to the voice of anguish 1 
Where each old poetic mountain 
Inspiration breathed around. 
Every shade and hallowed fountain 
Murmured deep a solemn sound. 
Till the sad nine, in Greece's evil hour. 
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains : 
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant power 
And coward vice, that revels in her chains, 
When Lat-ium had her lofty spirit lost. 
They sought, oh, Albion! next thy sea-encircled 
coast. 

III. 1. 

Far from the sun and summer gale, 

In thy green lap was nature's darling§ laid. 

What time, where lucid Avon strayed 

To him the mighty mother did unveil 

Her awful face ; the dauntless child 

Stretched forth liis httle arms, and smiled. 

This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear 

Richly paint the vernal year ; 

Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy ! 

This can unlock the gates of joy ; 

Of horror that, and thrilling fears. 

Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears. 



• Extensive influence of poetic genius over the remotest and 
most uncivilized nations ; its connexion with liberty, and the 
virtues tliat naturally attend on it. (See the BU-se, Norwegian, 
and Welsh Fragments, the Lapland and American Songs, &c) 

1 Extra anni solisque vias. — Virgil. 
Tutta lontana dal camin del sole. — Petrarch, Canz. 2. 

} Progress of poetry from Greece to Italy, and from Italy to 
England. Chaucer was not unacquainted with the writings 
of Dante or of Petrarch. The Earl of Surrey and Sir Thomas 
Wyatt had travelled in Italy, and formed their taste there : 
Spencer imitated the Italian writers, Milton improved on them : 
but this school expired soon after the restoration, and a new 
one arose on tlie French model, which has subsistcdever since, 

SShakspeare. 



ODES. 



37 



III. 2. 
Nor second he* that rode sublime 
Upon the seraph-wings of ecstacy, 
The secrets of the abyss to spy, 
lie passed llic flaming bounds of place and time ;t 
The living throne, tiic sappliire-blaze,t 
Where angels tremble while they gaze, 
He saw, but, blasted with excess of light, 
Closed his eyes in endless night. 
Behold where Drydcn's less presumptuous car 
Wide o'er the fields of glory bear 
Two coursers of ethereal racc,§ 
With necks in thunder clothedll and long resound- 
ing pace. 

III. 3. 

Hark ! his hands the lyre explore ! 

Bright-eyed fancy, hovering o'er, 

Scatters from her pictured urn 

Thoughts that breathe and words that burnjIT 

But ah ! 'tis heard no more** — 

Oh, lyre divine! what daring spirit 

Wakes thee now? though he inherit 

Nor the pride nor ample pinion 

That the Theban eagle bear,tt 

Sailing with supreme doniinion 

Through the azure deep of air, 

Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 

Such forms as glitter in the muse's ray 

With orient hues, unborrowed of the sun; 

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 

Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate. 

Beneath the good how far — but far above the great. 



• Milton. 

t flammaniia moenia rmindi. —Lucretiua, 

X For the spirit of the living creature was in the wlieels. 
And above tlie firmament, that was over their heads, was the 
likeness of a llironc, as the appearance of a sapphire stone. — 
This was the appearance of the glory of the Lord. — Eze- 
Mel, i. 20, 26, 28. 

5 Meant to cxpreasthe stately march and sounding energy 
of Uryden's rhymes. 

11 Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder 1—Ji»6. 

H Words that weep and tears that speak. — Cowley. 

" We have had in our language no other otles of the su- 
blime kind than thatofUryden on St. Cecllia'sday; for Cow- 
ley, who had his merit, yet wanKul judgment, etylc, and har- 
mony, fur Bucha task. 'I'hatof I'ope is not worthy of so great 
a man. Mr. Maaon, indeed, of late days, has touched the true 
chorda, and, with a niiisteiiy hand, in some of hischoruases — 
abovo all, in the last of Caractacus; 

Hark ! heard ye not yon footstep dread 'I ic. 

It Pindar compares himself to that bird, and his enemies to 
ravens that croak and clamour in vain below, while it pursues 
lu (light regardless of their noise. 



ODE VI. 

THE BARD. — PINDARIC. 

Advertisement. ■ 
The following Ode is founded on a tradition current in Wales, 
that Ekiward I. when he completed the contiuest of that 
country, ordered all tlie bards that fell into his hands to ba 
put to death. 

I. 1. 

" Ruin seize thee, ruthless king! 
Confusion on thy banners wait; 
Though fanned by conquest's crimson wing, 
They mock the air with idle state.* 
Helm nor hauberk 'st twisted mail. 
Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant! shall avail 
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears; 
From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!" 
Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pridet 
Of the first Edward scattered wild dismay, 
As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side! 
Ho wound with toilsome march his long array. 
Stout Glo'sterll stooti aghast in speccliless trance: ' 
To arms, cried Mortimer IT, and couched his quiv- 
ering lance. 

1.2. 

On a rock, whose haughty brow 
Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 
Robed in the sable garb of wo, 
With haggard eyes the poet stood ; 
(Loose his beard, and hoary hair** 
Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air,t+) 
And witli a master's hand and prophet's fire 
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre. 



" Mocking the air with colours idly spread. 

Shaksp. King John. 

t The hauberk was a texture of steel ringlets or rings inter- 
woven, forming a coat of mail that sat close to the body, and 
adapted itself to every motion. 

X The crested adder's pride. — Dryden'» Indian Queen. 

% Snowdon was a name given by the Saxons to that moun- 
tainous tract witich the WelHh themselves call Craigian-eryri : 
It included all the highlands of Caernarvonshire and Merio- 
nethshire, as far east as the river Conway. R. Hygden, speak- 
ing of the castle of Conway, built by King Edward I. says, 
Ardortum amnis Conway ad divuvi mantis Krery ; and 
Matthew of Westminster, (ad un, 1283) Apud Aherconway 
ad pedes monlis SnowdonitB fecit erigi castrum forte. 

II Rilbortde Clare, surnamcd the Red, Earl of Gloucester and 
Hertfcird, son-in-law to King Edward. 

11 Edmund do Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore. They both 
were I.ord Marchers, whose lands lay on the borders of Walei^ 
and probably accompanied the king in this expedition. 

" The Image was taken from a well known picture of Ra- 
phael, representing the Supremo Being in the vision of Eze- 
kiel. There are two of these paintings, both believed original; 
one at Florence, the other at Paris. 

tl Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind. , 

Milton't Paradise iMt, I 



30 



38 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



" Hark how each giant oak and desert cave 

Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! 

O'er thee, oh king ! their hundred arms they wave, 

Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; 

Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, 

To high-born Hoel's harp or soft Llewellyn's lay. 

1.3. 

" Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, 

That hushed the stormy main; 

Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: 

Mountains ! ye mourn in vain 

Modred, whose magic song 

Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topped head. 

On dreary Arvon's* shore they lie, ■- 

Smeared with gore and ghastly pale; 

Far, far aloof tlie affrighted ravens sail, " 

The famished eaglet screams and passes by. 

Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, 

Deart as the light that visits these sad eyes. 

Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart. 

Ye died amidst your dying country's cries 

No more I weep. They do not sleep : 
On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, 
I see them sit; they linger yet, 
Avengers of their native land ; 
'\^^h me in dreadful harmony they join, 
And weave§ with bloody hands the tissue of thy 
line." 

II. 1. 

' Weave the warp and weave the woof. 

The winding-sheet of Edward's race : 

Give ample room and verge enough 

The characters of hell to trace. 

Mark the year and mark the night 

When Severn shall re-echo with affright 

The shrieks of death through Berkley's roofs that 

ring. 
Shrieks of an agonizing king III 
She-wolf of France,ir with unrelenting fangs 
That tearest the bowels of thy mangled mate, 
From thee** be born who o'er thy country hangs 
The scourge of heaven. What terrors round him 

wait! 

• The shores of Caernarvonshire, opposite to the isle of An- 
glesey. 

t Camden and others observe, that eagles used annually to 

build their aerie among the rocks of Snowdon, which from 

thence (as some think) were named by tlie Welsh, Craigian- 

eryri, or the crags of the eagles. At this day (I am told) the 

ighest point of Snowdon is called The Eagle's Nest. That 

ird is certainly no stranger to this island; as the Scots, and 

le people of Cumberland, Westmoreland, &c. can testify: it 

ven has built its nest in the Peak of Derbyshire. [See Wil- 

. nigltby's Ornithol published by Ray.] 

+ As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 

That visit my sad heart.— SAaArsp. Julius CcBsar. 
§ See the Norwegian Ode that follows. 
I Edward D. cruelly butchered in Berkeley Castle. 
H Isabel of France, Edward n.'s adulterous queen. 
•• Triumphs of Edward Dl in France. 



Amazement in his van, with flight combined. 
And sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind. 

II. 2. 
' Mighty victor, mighty lord. 
Low on his funeral couch he lies* 
No pitying heart, no eye, afford 
A tear to grace his obsequies ! 
Is the sable warriort fledl 
Thy son is gone; he rests among the dead. 
The swarm that in thy noontide beam were born, 
Gone to salute the rising morn : 
Fair laughs the morn,t and soft the zephyr blows, 
While proudly riding o'er the azure realm, 
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, 
Youth on the prow and pleasure at the helm, 
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway. 
That hushed in grim repose expects his evening 
prey. 

II. 3. 

' Fill high the sparkling bowl,§ 

The rich repast prepare ; 

Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast. 

Close by the regal chair 

Fell thirst and famine scowl 

A baleful smile upon the baffled guest. 

Heard ye the din of battle bray, II 

Lance to lance and horse to horse? 

Long years of havoc urge their destined course, 

And through the kindred squadrons mow their 

way. 
Ye towers of Julius!^ London's lasting shame, 
With many a foul and midnight murder fed, 
Revere his consort's** faith, his father'stt fame, 
And spare the meek usurper's +t holy head. 
Above, below, the rose of snow,§§ 
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread ; 
The bristled Boarllll in infant gore 
Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 

* Death of that king, abandoned by his children, and even 
robbed in his last moments by his courtiers and mistress. 

t Edward the Black Prince, dead some tune before his father. 

J Magnificence of Richard II.'s reign. See Froissard, and 
other contemporary writers. 

§ Richard II. (as we are told by Archbishop Scroop, and the 
confederate lords, in their manifesto, by Thomas of Walsing- 
ham, and all the older writers) was starved to death. Tho 
story of his assassination by Sir Piers of E.xon is of much later 
dale. 

II Ruinous civil wars of York and Lancaster. 

H Henry VI., George Duke of Clarence, Edward V., Richard 
Duke of York, &c. believed to be murdered secretly in the 
Tower of London. The oldest part of that structure is vulgar- 
ly attributed to Julius Ciesar. 

"Margaret of Anjou, a woman of heroic spirit, who strug- 
gled hard to save her husband and her crown. 

tt Henry V. 

U Henry M. very near being canonized. Tlie line of Lan- 
caster had no right of inheritance to the crown. 

§§ The while and red Roees, devices of York and Lancaster. 

III! The silver Boar was the badge of Richard HI. whence ha 
was usually known in his own time by the name of The Boar 



ODES. 



39 



Now, brothers' ! bending o'er the accursed loom, 
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom, 

III. 1. 

' Edward, lo! to sudden fate 
(Weave we the woof; the thread is spun) 
Half of thy heart* we consecrate ; 
(The web is wove; the work is done.') 
" Stay, oh stay ! nor thus forlorn 
Leave me unblessed, unpitied, here to mourn. 
In yon bright track, that fires the western skies, 
They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height. 
Descending slow, their glittering skirts unroll! 
Visions of glory ! spare my aching sight. 
Ye unborn ages crowd not on my soul ! 
No more our long-lost Arthurt we bewail : 
All hail, ye genuine kings ;t Britannia's issue, 
haU! 

III. 2. 

" Girt with many a baron bold 
Sublime their starry fronts they rear, 
And gorgeous dames and statesmen old 
In bearded majesty appear ; 
In the midst a form divine. 
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line, 
Her Uon-port, her awe-commanding face,§ 
Attempered sweet to virgin grace. 
What strings symphonious tremble in the air! 
What strains of vocal transport round her play ! 
Hear from the grave, great Taliessinill hear ! 
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 
Bright rapture calls, and, soaring as she sings. 
Waves in the eye of heaven her many-coloured 
wings. 

III. 3. 

" The verse adorn again. 
Fierce war, and faithful love,Tr 



• Eleanor of Castile died a few years after the conquest of 
Wales. The heroic proofs she gave of her affection for her 
lord is well known. The monuments of his regret and sor- 
row for the loss of her are still to be seen at Northampton, 
Gaddington Waltham, and otJier places. 

I It was the common behef of the Welsh nation, that king 
Arthur was still alive in Fairyland, and should return again 
to reign over Britain. 

X Both Merlin and Taliessin had prophesied that the Welsh 
Bhould regain their sovereignty over this island, which seemed 
to be accomplished in the house of Tudor. 

§ Speed, relating an audience given by queen Elizabeth to 
Paul Dzialinski, ambassador of Poland, says, "And thus she, 
lion-like rising, daunted the malapert orator no less with her 
stately port and majestical deporture, than with the tartness 
of her princelie cheekes." 

I Taliessin, the chief of the bards, flourished in the 6th cen- 
tury. His works are still preserved, and his memory held in 
high veneration among his countrymen. 

H Fierce wars and faithful loves shall moralize my song. 
Spenser^s Poem to the Fairy Queen, 



And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest. 

In buskined measures move* 

Pale grief, and pleasing pain, 

With horrror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. 

A voicet as of the cherub-choir 

Gales from blooming Eden bear. 

And distant v/arblingt lessen on my ear, 

That lost in long futurity expire. 

Fond impious man! think'st thou yon sanguine 

cloud. 
Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day 1 
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood. 
And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
Enough for me: with joy I see 
The different doom our fates assign. 
Be thine despair and sceptred care ; 
To triumph and to die are mine." 
He spoke, and, headlong from the mountain's 

height. 
Deep in the roaring tide, he plunged to endless 

night. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

The Author once had thoughts (in concert with a friend) of 
giving a history of English poetry. In the introduction to it 
he meant to have produced some specimens of the style that 
reigned in ancient times among the neighbouring nations, or 
those who had subdued the greater part of this island, and 
were our progenitors: the following three imitations made a 
part of them. He afterwards dropped his design ; especially 
after he had heard that it was already in the hands of a person 
well qualified to do it justice both by his taste and hisreaearcli- 
es into antiquity. 



ODE VII. 

THE FATAL SISTERS. 

From the Norse tongue. 

To be found in the Orcades of Thermodus Tor^ 
foBxts, Hafnios, 1679, folio ; and also in Bartho- 
linus. Vitt er orpitfyrir Valfalli. cf-c. 

PREFACE. 

In the eleventh century, Sigurd, Earl of the 
Orkney islands, went with a fleet of ships, and a 
considerable body of troops, into Ireland, to the 
assistance of Sigtryg with the silken Beard, who 
was then making war on his father-in-law, Brian, 
king of Dublin. The earl and all his forces were 
cut to pieces, and Sigtryg was in danger of a to- 
tal defeat ; but the enemy had a greater loss by 
the death of Brian, their king, who fell in the ac- 
tion. On Christmas-day (the day of the battle) a 
native of Caithness, in Scotland, saw, at a dis- 
tance, a number of persons on horseback riding 
full speed towards a hill, and seeming to enter into 



* Shakspeare. t Milton. 

J The succession of the poets after Milton's time. 



40 

it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till, looking 
through an opening in the rock, he saw twelve gi- 
gantic figures, resembling women : they were all 
employed about a loom ; and as they wove, they 
sung the following dreadful song, which, when they 
had finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, 
and each taking her portion, galloped six to the 
north, and as many to the south. 

Now the storm begins to lower, 
(Haste, the loom of hell prepare,) 

Iron -sleet of arrowy shower* 
Hurtlest in the darkened air. 

Glittering lances are the loom 
' Where the dusky warp we strain, 

Weaving many a soldier's doom, 
Orkney's wo and Randver's bane. 

See the grisly texture grow, 
('Tis of human entrails made,) 

And the weights that play below 
Each a gasping warrior's head. 

Shafts for shuttles, dipt in gore, 
Shoot the trembling cords along : 

Sword, that once a monarch bore, 
Keep the tissue close and strong, 

Mista, black terrific maid 1 

Sangrida and Hilda see, 
Join the wayward work to aid ; 

'Tis the woof of victory. 

Ere the ruddy sun be set 

Pikes must shiver, javelins sing. 

Blade with clattering buckler meet, 
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring. 

(Weave the crimson web of war) 

Let us go, and let us fly, 
Where our friends the conflict share, 

Where they triumph, where they die. 

As the paths of fate we tread, 

Wading through the ensanguined field, 

Gondula and Geira spread 

O'er the youthful king your shield. 

We the reins to slaughter give, 
Ours to kill and ours to spare : 

Spite of danger he shall live : 
(Weave the crimson web of war.) 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



They whom once the desert beach 
Pent within its bleak domain. 

Soon their ample sway shall stretch 
O'er the plenty of the plain. 

Low the dauntless earl is laid, 
Gored with many a gaping wound: 

Fate demands a nobler head ; 
Soon a king shall bite the ground. 

Long his loss shall Erin* weep, 
Ne'er again his likeness see ;. 

Long her strains in sorrow steep. 
Strains of immortality 1 

Horror covers all the heath. 
Clouds of carnage blot the sun: 

Sisters ! weave the web of death : 
Sisters ! cease, the work is done. 

Hail the task and hail the hands ! 

Songs of joy and triumph sing ; 
Joy to the victorious bands. 

Triumph to the younger king. 

Mortal ! thou that hearest the tale 
Learn the tenor of our song ; 

Scotland through each winding vale 
Far and wide the notes prolong. 

Sisters ! hence with spurs of speed ; 

Each her thundering falchion wield ; 
Each bestride her sable steed : 

Hurry, hurry to the field. 



ODE VIII. 



Note.— The Valkyriur were female divinities, servants of 
Odin (or Wodin) in tlie Gothic mythology. Their name sig- 
nifies choosers of the slain. They were mounted on swifl 
horses, with drawn swords in their hands, and in the throng 
of battle selected such as were destined to slaughter, and con- 
ducted ihem U Valkalla, (the hall of Odin, or paradise of the 
brave,) where they attended the banquet, and served the de- 
parted heroes with horns of mead and ale. 

• How quick they wheeled, and flying, behind them shot 
Sharp sleet of arrowy shov/er.— Milt. Par. Reg. 

tXhe noiae of battle hurtled in the ah.—Shak. Jul. Cos. 



THE DESCENT OP ODIN. 

From the Norse tongue. 

To be found in Bartholinus, decausis contem' 
TiendcB mm-tis Hasnice, 1689, Quarto. 

TJpreis Odinn Allda gautr, &c 

Up rose the king of men with speed. 
And saddled straight his coal-black steed; 
Down the yawning steep he rode 
That leads to Hela'st drear abode. 
Him the dog of darkness spied ; 
His shaggy throat he opened wide, 
While from his jaws, with carnage filled. 
Foam and human gore distilled : 
Hoarse he brays with hideous din, 
Eyes that glow and fangs that grin, 



• Ireland. •_,.,■ 

tNiflheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations, consisted of nine 
worlds, to which were devoted aU such as died of sickness, 
old age, or by any other means than in battle ; over it presided 
Hela the goddess of Death. 



ODES. 



41 



And long pursues with fruitless yell 

The father of the powerful spell. 

Onward still his way he takes, 

(The groaning earth beneath him shakes,) 

Till full before his fearless eyes 

The portals nine of hell arise. 

Right against the eastern gate, 
By the moss-grown pile he sate. 
Where long of yore to sleep was laid 
The dust of the prophetic maid. 
Facing to the northern cUme, 
Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme, 
Thrice pronounced, in accents dread, 
The thrilling verse that wakes the dead, 
Till from out the hollow ground 
Slowly breathed a sullen sound. 

Proph. What call unknown, what charms pre- 
sume 
To break the quiet of the tomb 1 
Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite, 
And drags me from the realms of night 7 
Long on these mouldering bones have beat 
The wdnter's snows, the summer's heat. 
The drenching dews and driving rain 1 
Let me, let me sleep again. 
Who is he, with voice unbleat. 
That calls me from the bed of rest 1 

Odin. A traveller, to thee unknown, 
Is he that calls, a warrior's son. 
Thou the deeds of light shalt know; 
Tell me what is done below, 
For whom yon glittering board is spread, 
Drest for whom yon golden bed 1 

Proph. Mantling in the goblet see 
The pure beverage of the bee, 
O'er it hangs the shield of gold; 
'Tis the drink of Balder bold : 
Balder's head to death is given ; 
Pain can reach the sons of Heaven ! 
Unwilling I my lips unclose : 
Leave me, leave me to repose. 

Odin. Once again my call obey : 
Prophetess arise, and say, 
What dangers Odin's child await, 
Who the author of his fate 7 

Proph. In Hoder's hand the hero's doom; 
His brother sends him to the tomb. 
Now my weary lips I close ; 
Leave me, leave me to repose. 

Odin. Prophetess! my spell obey; 
Once again arise, and say. 
Who the avenger of his guilt 
By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt ? 

Proph. In the caverns of the west, 
By Odin's fierce embrace comprest, 
A wondrous boy shall Kinda bear, 
Who ne'er shall comb his raven hair, 
Nor wash his visage in the stream. 
Nor see the sun's departing beam, 

2P 



Till he on Hodefs corse shall smile 
Flaming on the funeral pile. 
Now my weary lips 1 close ; 
Leave me, leave me to repose. 

Odin. Yet a while my call obey: 
Prophetess ! awake, and say, i 

What virgins these, in speechless wo, 
That bend to earth their solemn brow, 
That their flaxen tresses tear, 
And snowy veils that float in air 7 
Tell me whence their sorrows rose, 
Then I leave thee to repose. 

Proph. Ha ! no traveller art thou ; 
King of men, I know thee now ; 
Mightiest of a mighty line 

Odin. No boding maid of skill divine 
Art thou, no prophetess of good. 
But mother of the giant-brood ! 

Proph. Hie thee hence, and boast at home,. 
That never shall inquirer come 
To break my iron-sleep again 
Till Lok* has burst his tenfold chain ; 
Never till substantial night 
Has re-assumed her ancient right, 
Till wrapped in flames, in ruin hurled, 
Sinks the fabric of the world. 






ODE IX. 

THE TRIOMPH OF OWEN: 

A Fi-agment. 

from Mr. Evan's specimen of the Welsh poetry. 
London, 1764, Quarto. 

ADVERTISEMENT. 

OWEN succeeded his father Griffin in the principality of 
North Wales, A. D. 1120: this battle was near forty years 
afterwards. 

Owen's praise demands my song, 
Owen swift and Owen strong. 
Fairest flower of Roderick's stem,. 
Gwyneth'st shield and Britain's gem. 
He nor heaps his brooded stores, 
Nor on all profusely pours, 
Lord of every regal art. 
Liberal hand and open heart. 



* Lok is the evil being, who continues in chains till the twi- 
light of the gods approaches, when he shall break his bonds; 
the human race, the stars, the sun, shall disappear, the earth 
sink in the seas, and fire consume the skies ; even Odin him- 
self, and his kindred deities, shall perish, For a farther ex- 
planation of this mythology, see Introduction a I' Histoira 
da Danemare, par Mons. Mallat. 1755, 4to; or rather a 
translation of it published in 1770, and entitled Northern An- 
tiquities, in which some mistakes in the original are judi ■ 
ciously corrected. 

t North Wales. 



49 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



BifT with hosts of inijjhty iiamo, 
Squadrons three a^raiiist liim coioo ; 
Tliis tho lorcp of Kiriii hiding; 
Side by side «s proudly riding; 
On \\vr sliadow long and guy 
Loi'hlin* ploughs tlu> wiitory way; 
TIkto tho Norman sails atiir, 
Catch the winds and join tlio war; 
l^lack and huge along thoy swoop, 
Burthens of tho angry deep. 

Dainitlfss on his native sands 
The dragon sont of Mona stands; 
In glitterring arms and glory drcst, 
High ho rears his ruby erest : 
There the thundering strokes begin, 
There the press ami tiiero the din, 
Talynialfra's roeky shore 
Kehoing in the battle's roar, 
("■heeked by the torrent-tide of biooil, 
l>aek\vard Meinai rolls his IKhhI, 
"While, heaped his master's feet luound, 
Prostrate \varrii>rs gnaw the ground. 
AVhere his glowing eyeballs turn, 
Thousand banners round him burn ; 
Where he points his purple si)ear. 
Hasty, hasty rout is there; 
Marking, with indignant eye, 
Fear to stop and shame tolly: 
There eonfusion, terror's child. 
Conflict iii'xcc and ruin wild, 
Agony, that pants for breath, 
Despair and honourable death. 



ODE X. 



THE DEATH OF IIOEL. 

From Uio WeW» of Anourim, sty UhI Tlio Monarcli of tho Bards. 

Ilejlou rishrd a hou t thrt imc of Talicssln , A . D. 570. 
^7ii*' Oilc h extracted from the (lododin. 

[Sco Mr. Evan's sqiecimons, pp. 71, 73.] 

Had 1 but the torrent's might, 

With headlong rage, ami wild aftright, 

Upon Deiru's squadrons hurled. 

To rush and sweep them from tho world 1 

Too, too secure in youthtul pride, 

By them my friend, my llocl, died, 

Great Ciaji's sou ; of Madixi old, 

He asked no heaps of hoarded gold ; 

Alone in nature's wealth arrayed. 

He asked and had the lovely maid. 

ToCattraeth's vale, in glittering row. 
Twice two huudrcil warrioi*s gi> ; 



t The ixnl Pnisou is tho ih-viw of Cuilwalliuler, whidi all 
tils descuuvliinls lKnx> on tholr lKu\iiere. 



Every warrior's manly neck 
Chains of regal honour deck, 
Wreathed in many a golden link : 
From the golden cup they drink 
Nectar that the bees produce, 
Or the grape's ecstatic juice. 
Flushed with mirth and hoixi thoy bum, 
But none from Cattraeth's vale return, 
Save Ai!ron brave, and Conan strong, 
(Bursting through tho bloody throng,) 
And 1, the meanest of them all, 
That live to weep and sing their fall. 



ODE XI. 

[for music] 

Porformod hi tho Scnnlp-houso, Cninhridgo, July 1, 1709, at 
(he hisijilliiiiDii of his (Jraco Aiigvisliis-IIonry-Filziw, Duke 
of tJmllon, Chancellor of Uio UiiivorMiy, 

I. 

"Hf.nck, avaunti ('tis holy ground,) 

Coinus and his miilnight crew, 
And ignorance with looks profound, 

And dreaming sloth of pallid Iiuo, 
Mad sedition's cry profane, 
Servitude that liugs her chain, 
Nor in these consecrated bowers. 
Let painted llattory hide her serpent-train in 

llowers. 
Nor envy base, nor creeping gain. 
Dare the muse's walk to stain, 
While bright-eyed science watches round: 
Hence away 1 'tis holy ground." 

II. 

From yonder realms of empyrean day 

Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay ; 

There sit tiie sainted sage, the bard divine. 

The few whom genius gave to shine 

Throughevery unborn ageand undiscovered clime. 

llajit in celestial transport they, 

Yet hither otl a glance fron> high 

They send of tender sympathy 

To bless the jilaco where on their opening soul 

Fii-st the genuine ardour stole. 

'Twas iMillon struck the deep-toned shell 

And, as tho choral warbUngs round him swell, 

Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime, 

And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme. 

III. 

" Ye brown o'er-arching groves ! 

That contemplation loves, 
Where wiilowy Camus lingei*s witli delight, 

Ol\ at the blush of dawn 

I trixl your level lawn, 
Oil wooed the gle;un of Cyntliia silver-bright 



ODES. 



43 



In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of folly, 
With freedom by my side and soft-eyed melan- 
choly." 

IV. 

But hark ! tlio portals sound, in pacing forth, 

With solemn steps and slow, 
Hii;h potentates, and dames of royal birth. 

And mitred fathers, in long order go: 
Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow* 
From haughty Gallia torn. 
And sad Chatillon,t on her bridal morn, 
Thatwej)! her bleeding love, and jjrincely Clare,* 
And Anjou's heroine,§ and the paler rose, II 
The rival of her crown, and of her woes. 
And either HenrylT there, 
The nnirdered saint, and the majestic lord. 
That broke the bonds of Homo. 
(Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, 
Their human passions now no more, 
Save charity, that glows beyond the tomb) 
All that on Granta's fruitful plain 
Rich streams of regal Iwunty [lOured, 
And bade those awful fanes and turrets rise 
To hail their Fitzroy's festal morning come ; 
And thus they speak in soft accord 
The lii^uid language of the skies : 



" What is grandeur, what is power ? 
Heavier toil, superior pain, 

• Eilwiiril III. who aiiiled the Fleiir dc hjs of Franco to the 
arms of Englanil. lie foumleJ Trinity (JoUogo. 

t Mary do Valentin, Countess of Peml)roko, ilaiightor of Guy 
de Chatillon, Comto do St. Paul In France, of whom tradition 
soys that her husband, Audemarde do Valentia, carl of Pem- 
broke, was slain at a tournament on tho day of his nuptials. 
She was tho foundress of Pembroko-College, or Hall, under tlio 
namo of Aula Mariic do Valentia. 

t Elizal)oth dc liurg, countess of Clare, was wife of Jolm do 
Burg, son and heir of tho carl of Ulster, and daughter of Gil- 
bert do Claro, earl of Gloucester, by Joan of Acres, daughter 
of Edward I. hence tho poet gives her Llio opithol of princely. 
Bho founded Clare-hill. 

§ Margaret of Anjou, wife ofllcnry VI. foundress of Queen's 
College. Tlio jwot has celebral<jd her coiijugid fidelity in a 
former ode. 

II Elizabeth Widville, wife of Edward IV. (hence called tho 
paler Rose, as being of tho house of York.) She added to the 
foundation of Margaret of Anjou. 

H Henry VI. and VIII. tho former the founder of King's, tlio 
ialt«r the greatest banelitctur to Trinity -CoUugc. 



What the bright reward we gain 1 
Tho grateful memory of the good. 
Sweet is the breath of vernal shower, 
The bee's collected treasures sweet. 
Sweet music's melting fall, but sweeter yet 
Tho still small voice of gratitude." 

VI. 

Foremost, and leaning from her golden cloud, 

The venerable Margaret* see! 
" Welcome, my noble son !" she cries aloud, 

" To this thy kindred train and mo : 
Pleased in thy lineaments we trace 
A Tudor'st fire, a Beaufort's grace: 
Thy liberal heart, thy judging eye, 
The flower unheeded shall descry, 
And bid it found heaven's altars shod 
The fragrance of its blushing head ; 
Shall raise from earth tho latent gem 
To glitter on tho diadem. 

VII. 

" Lo ! Granta waits to lead her blooming band ; 

Not obvious, not obtrusive, sho 

No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings, 

Nor dares with courtly tongue refined 

Profane thy inborn royalty of mind: 

She reveres herself and thee. 

With modest pride to grace thy youthful brow 

The laureat wrcatht that Cecil wore she brings, 

And to thy just, thy gentle hand 

Submits the fasces of her sway ; 

While spirits blest above, and men below, 

Join with glad voice the loud symphonious lay. 

'VIII. 

" Through tlio wild waves, as they roar, 
With watchful eye, and dauntless mien> 
Thy steady course of honour keep. 
Nor fear the rock nor seek the shore : 
The star of Brunswick smiles serene, 
And gilds the horrors of tho deep." 



* Count«ss of Richmond and Derby, the mother of Henry 
VII. foundress of St. John's and Christ's Colleges. 

t Tho Counlosa was a Ueaufort, and married to a Tudor; 
hence the application of this lino to tho duke of Grafton, who 
claims descent from both these families. 

} Ix)rd troaflurcr Hurleigh was chancellor of the Univeisity 
in the reign of queen Elizahotli. 



44 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



J^lfiiccUanfcfii* 



A LONG STORY. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

Mr. Gray's Elegy, previous to i(s publication, was handed 
about in MS. and had, amongst otlier admirers, the lady Cob- 
ham, who resided in the mansion-house at Stoke-Pogeis. The 
performance inducing hor to wish lor the author's acquaint- 
ance, laily Schaub and Miss Speed, then at her house, under- 
took to introduce lier to it. Those two ladies .waited upon the 
author at his aunt's .solitary habitation, where he at that time 
resided, and not finding him at home, they left a card behind 
them. Mr. Gray, surprised at such a compliment, returned 
the visit; and as the beginning of this intercourse bore some 
appearance of romance, he gave the humorous and hvely 
account o( it which the Long Story contains. 



In Britain's isle, no matter where, 
An ancient pile of buikling stands;* 

The Huntingdons and Hattons there 
Employed the power of fairy hands. 

To raise the ceilings fretted height, 
Each pannel in achievements clothing, 

Rich windows that exclude the light, 
And passages that lead to nothing. 

Full oft within the spacious walls, 
When he had fifty winters o'er him, 

My grave lord-kcepert led the brawls : 
The seal and maces danced before him. 

His bushy beard and shoe-strings green, 
His high-crowned hat and satin doublet. 

Moved the stout heart of England's queen, 

Though pope and Spaniard could not trouble it. 

What, in the very first beginning, 

Shame of the versifying tribe 1 
Your history whither arc you spinningl 

Can you do nothing but describe 7 

A house there is (and that's enough) 
From whence one fatal morning issues 

A brace of warriors,t not in buff", 

But rustling in their silks and tissues. 

* The mansion-house at Stoko-Pogeis, then in possession of 
viscountess Cobham. The style of building which we now 
call queen Elizabeth's, is here admirably de.scribcd, both with 
regard to its beauties and defects; and the third and fourth 
stanzas delineate the ftmtaslic manners of her lime with 
equal truth and huniour. The house formerly belonged to 
the earls of Huntingdon and the family of Hatlon. 

t Sir Christopher llatton, promoted by Queen Elizabeth for 
his graceful person and fine dancing. Rrawls were a sort of 
a figurc-danco then in vogue, and probably deemed as elegant 
as our modem cotillions, or still more modern quatlrilles. 

} The reader is already apprised who tlieee ladies were ; the 



The first came cap-d-pee from France, 

Her conquering destiny fulfilling, 
Whom meaner beauties eye askance. 

And vainly ape her art of killing. 

The other Amazon kind Heaven 

Had armed with, spirit, wit, and satire; 

But Cobham had the polish given. 
And tipped her arrows with good-natore. 

To celebrate her eyes, her air — 
Coarse panegyrics would but tease her; 

Melissa is her iiom dc guerre; 
Alas ! who would not wish to please her ! 

With bonnet blue and capuchine, 

And aprons long, they hid their armour, 

And veiled their weapons bright and keen 
In pity to the country farmer. 

Fame in the shape of Mr. P — t,"" 
(By this time t^ll the parish know it) 

Had told that thereabouts there lurked 
A wicked imp they called a poet. 

Who prowled the country far and near, 
Bewitched the children of the peasants, 

Dried up the cows and lamed the deer. 
And sucked the eggs and killed the pheasants. 

My lady heard their joint petition. 

Swore by her coronet and ermine, 
She'd issue out her high commission 

To rid the manor of such vermin. 

The heroines undertook the task ; 

Through lanes unknown, o'er stiles they ven- 
tured, 
Rapped at the door, nor stayed to ask. 

But bounce into the parlour entered. 

The trembling family they daunt, 

They flirt, they sing, they laugh, they tattle. 

Rummage his mother, pinch his aunt, 
And up stairs in a whirlwind rattle. 

Each hole and cupboard they explore. 
Each creek and cranny of his chamber, 



two descriptions are prettily contrasted ; and nothing can ba 
more happily turned than the compliment to lady Cobham in 
the eighth stanza, 

• 1 have been told that this gentleman, a neighbour and ac- 
qaintance of Mr. Gray's in the country, was much displeased 
at the liberty here taken with his name, yet surely without 
any great reason. 



MISCELLANIES. 



45 



Run hurry scurry round the floor, 
And o'er the bed and tester clamber; 

Into the drawers and china pry, 

Papers and books, a huge imbroglio ! 

Under a tea-cup he might lie, 

Or creased like dog's cars in a folio. 

On the first marching of the troops, 
The muses, hopeless of his pardon, 

Conveyed him underneath their hoops 
To a small closet in the garden. 

So rumour says, (who will believe'?) 

But that they left the door a-jar. 
Where safe, and laughing in his sleeve 

He heard the distant din of war. 

Short was his joy ; he little knew 
The power of magic was no fable ; 

Out of the window wisk they flew. 
But left a spell upon the table. 

The words too eager to unriddle. 
The poet felt a strange disorder ; 

Transparent birdlime formed the middle, 
And chains invisible the border. 

So cunning was the apparatus. 

The powerful pothooks did so move him, 
That will he nill to the great house 

He went as if the devil drove him. 

Yet on his way (no sign of grace, 
For folks in fear arc apt to pray) 

To Phoebus he preferred his case. 

And begged his aid that dreadful day. 

The godhead would have backed his quarrel: 
But with a blush, on recollection. 

Owned that his quiver and his laurel 
'Gainst four such eyes were no protection. 

The court was sat, the culprit there : 

Forth from their gloomy mansions creeping, 

The lady Janes and Jones repair, 
And from the gallery stand peeping ; 

Such as in silence of the night 

Come (sweep) along some winding entry, 
(Styack* has often seen the sight) 

Or at the chapel-door stand sentry ; 

In peaked hoods and mantle tarnished. 
Sour visages enough to scare ye, 

High dames of honour once that garnished 
The drawing-room of fierce queen Mary! 

The peeress comes: the audience stare. 
And doff their hats with due submission; 

6he courtesies, as she takes her chair. 
To all the people of condition. 



The bard with many an artful fib 

Had in imagination fenced him. 
Disproved the arguments of Squib,* 

And all that Groomt could urge against him. 

But soon his rhetoric forsook him 
When he the solemn hall had seen ; 

A sudden fit of ague shook him ; 
He stood as mute as poor Macleane.t 

Yet something he was hbard to mutter, 
" How in the park, beneath an old tree, 

(Without design to hurt the butter, 
Or any malice to the poultry,) 

He once or twice had penned a sonnet. 
Yet hoped that he might save his bacon : 

Numbers would give their oaths upon it, 
He ne'er was for a conjuror taken." 

The ghostly prudes, with hagged§ face. 
Already had condemned the sinner : 

My lady rose, and with a grace 

She smiled, and bid him come to dinner.ll 

" Jesu-Maria ! Madam Bridget, 

Why, what can the viscountess mean!" 

Cried the square hoods, in woful fidget ; 
" The times are altered quite and clean ! 

" Decorum's turned to mere civility ! 

Her air and all her manners show it : 
Commend me to her affability ! 

Speak to a commoner and poet !" 
[Here 500 stanzas are lost.] 

And so God save our noble king. 
And guard us from long-winded lubbers, 

That to eternity would sing. 
And keep my lady from her rubbers. 



ELEGY 
WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CiroRCIIYARR 

The curfew toUsIT the knell of parting day. 
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea. 

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way. 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 



• The house-keeper. 

2s* 



' The steward. t Oroom of the chamber. 

I A famous highwayman, hanged the week before. 

§ Hagged, i. e. the face of a witch or hag. Tlio epithet hag- 
gard has been sometimes mistaken as conveying tlie same 
idea, but it means a very dilTeient tiling, viz. wild and farouche, 
and is taken from an unreclaimed hawk called a haggard. 

II Here the story finishes; iho exclamation of the ghoeta, 
which follows, is characteristic of the Spanish manners of the 
age when they arc supposed \a have lived ; and the 000 stan- 
zas said to be lost, may be imagined to contain the remainder 
of their long-winded expostulation. 

H squila di lontano 

Che paia'l giorno pianger, che si muore, 

Danic, Purgat, L 8> 



46 



GRAY'S WORKS. 



Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save wlierc the beetle wheels his droninjr flight, 
And drowsy tiuklings lull the distant folds ; 

Save that from yonder ivy-raantled tower 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 

Beneath those rugged eli^^, that yew-troe's shade, 
Whore heaws the turfin many a mouldering heap, 

Each in liis naTrow cell for ever laid. 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed. 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn. 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more tlie blazing hearth shall burn, 
Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 

No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow ort the stubborn glebe lias broke ; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke. 

Let not ambition mock tlieir useful toil, 
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure: 

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. 
And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave, 

Await alike the inevitable hour : 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud ! impute to these the fault, 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. 

Where thro' the long drawn aisle and fretted vault. 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath 1 
Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or flattery sooth the dull cold ear of death 1 

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed. 
Or waked to ecstacy the living lyre. 

But knowledge to their eyes her aniple page. 
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er uinoll ; 

Chill (lenury represseil their noble rage. 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of j)urest ray ecreno 

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 



Some vill.age-Hampdcn, that with dauntless breast 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 

Some mute inglorious Milton, here may rest, 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

The applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. 
And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbade ; nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but theircriines confined ; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne. 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

Or heap the shrine of lu.\ury and i)ridc 
With incense kindled at the muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,* 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray j 

Along the cool sequestered vale of life 
They kept the noiseless tonour of their way. 

Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shaj)eless sculpture 
decked 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their name,thoir years,spelt by the unlettered muse, 
The place of fame and elegy supply, 

And many a holy text around she strews, 
That leach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey 

This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 
Nor cast one longing lingering look behind 1 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 
E'en in our ashest live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonoured dead. 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 

If chance, by lonely contemplation led. 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
" Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away. 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 



* Tliis part of the elejry ditfers from the first copy. The 
following stanza was excluded with the othoralterations : 
Ilavk ! how the sacred cahii, Ilial bivallies aroiuul, 

Hids every tierce tunnilliioiis paseion cejine, 
In still small accents wlii.-5pering fiviu (ho ground, 
A gratel'ul earnest of eternal peace, 
t Ch'i veggio nel pensicr, doleti mio I'uoco, 
Fredda una lingua, etducbegli ix-chi clilufi 
Khuancrdi'oppo noi picn JifavUle.— Pefmroft, Son. 169. 



MISCELLANIES. 



47 



" There, at tlie foot of yonder nodding beach, 
That wreaths its old fantastic root so high, 

His listless k'ligtli at noon-tide would he stretch, 
And pore upon tlie brook that bubbles by. 

" Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; 

Now drooping, woful wan ! like one forlorn. 
Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 

" One morn I missed him on the accustomed hill. 
Along the heath,"* and near his fav'ritc tree; 

Another came ; nor yet beside the rill. 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he : 

•' The next, with dirges due, in sad array. 

Slow through the churchway-path we saw liim 
borne : 

Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Graved on the stone beneatli yon aged thorn. "t 

EPITAPH. 

Herk rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
A youth to fortune and to fame unknown : 

Fair science frowned not on his lininl)lc birth, 
And melancholy marked him lor her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send ; 
He gave to misery all he had, a tear; 

Ho gained from Heaven ('twas all ho wished) a 
friend. 

No further seek his merits to disclose. 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 

(There they alike in trembling lio])e reposct) 
The bosom of his Father and his God. 



EPITAPH. 

ON MRS. MARY CLARKE.§ 

Lo ! where this silent marble weeps, 
A friend, a wife, a mother, sleeps ; 



• Mr. Gray forgot, when ho displaced, by tho preceding 
Btanza, liis bcauiiriil dcscripiion of the evening hauQt, the 
reference to it wliicli lie had here left: 

Hini have we seen the greenwood side .ilong. 

While o'er the heath wo hied, our labour done. 
Oft lis the wondlark piped her niro\Vell .song, 
With wistlVd eyes pursue the setting sun. 
1 1n the early editions the following lines were added, but 
tlie parenthesis was thought too long : 

There scattered ofl, the earliest of tho year, 

By hands unseen, arc sliowers of vinktH found ; 
The redbreast loves to build and warble there, 
And little footsteps lightly print the ground. 

} PaventDsa speme. Petrarch, Son. 

§This lady, the wife of Dr. Clarke, physician at P.psom, 
died April 27th, 1757, and is buried in the cjiurch of P.ecken- 
hmn, Kent, 



A heart, within whose sacred cell. 

The peaceful virtues loved to dwell: 

Adection warm, and faith sincere, 

And soil humanity were there. 

In agony, in death, resigned, 

She felt the wound she led behind. 

Her infant image here below 

Sits smiling on a father's wo, , 

Whom what awaits while yet he strays 

Along the lonely vale of days 1 

A pang, to secret sorrow dear, 

A sigh, an unavailing tear. 

Till time sliall every grief remove 

With life, with memory, and with love. 



TRANSLATION FROM STATIUS. 

TntRD in the labours of the disc came on. 
With sturdy step and slow, Hippomedon ; 
Artful and strong he poised tho well-known weight 
By Phlcgyas warned, and fired by Mnestheus' fate, 
That to avoid, and this to cjnulate. 
His vigorous arm he tried before he flung, > ^J//tk 
Braced all his nerves and evt^ry sinew strung, 
Then with a tempest's whirl and wary eye 
Pursued his cast, ahd hurled the orb on high ; 
The orb on high, tenacious of its course, » 
True to the mighty arm that gave it force, 
Far overleajis all bound, and joys to see 
Its ancient lord secure of victory : 
The theatre's green height and woody wall 
Tremble ere it precipitates its fall ; 
The ])onderous mass sinks in tht; cleaving ground, 
Wiiile vales and woods and echoing hills rebound. 
As when from jEtiia's smoking summit broke, 
The eyeless Cyclojis heaved the craggy rock, 
Where ocean frets beneath the dashing oar, 
And parting surges round the vessel roar; 
'I'was tliere he aiiniMl the meditated harm, 
And scarce Ulysses 'scaped his giant arm. 
A tiger's pride the victor bore away, 
With native spots and artful labour gay, 
A shining bonier round the margin rolled. 
And calmed the terrors of his claws in gold. 
Cambridge, May 8th, 1736. 



GRAY OF HIMSELF. 

Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune, 
He had not the method of making a fortune : 
Gould love and could hate, so was thought some- 
thing odd ; 
No very great wit, he believed in a God : 
A post or a pension he did not desire. 
But leil church and state to Charles Townscnijl 
and Sciuirc. 



THE 



:©/" 



OP 



JAMES BEATTIE, LL.D. 



4'; 



eontcittoi* 



Page. 
AilfoofDr. JamesBcattio, jj 

TIIE MINSTREL Book I. 7 

Book II. " 8 

POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 

Odo (o Roliroment, jg 

-— ""I""' "ib. 

Ode on Lord Ilay'a Binh Day, I7I 



PigmaBo-gerano-machia: The battle of the Pigmies 

and Cranes, jg 

The Ilarea : A Fable, ' 20 

f'-P' '22 

Eintaph : being part of an Inacripiion for a monu- 
mcnt to be erected by a Gentleman to Uie memory 

of his Lady, '23 

TIio Hennit, ' . ' ib 

Epitaph on the Author, by himself, . . . ' . ju 



!%' 



mit nut of wv. sawcfis m^iiit. 



Dn. Jamks Beattie was born at Laurencekirk, 
in the county of Kincardine, Scotland, on the 25th 
day of October, 1735. His father, who was a 
farmer of no considerable rank, is said to have had 
a turn for reading and for versifying : but, as he 
died in 1742, when his son James was only seven 
years of age, bo could have had no great share in 
forming his mind. 

James was sent early to the only school his birth- 
place afforded, where he passed his time under the 
instruction of a tutor named Milne, whom he used 
to represent " as a good grammarian, and tolerably 
skilled in the Latin language, but destitute of taste, 
as well as of some other qualifications essential to 
a good teacher." He is said to have preferred 
Ovid as a school-author, whom Mr. Beattie after- 
wards gladly exchanged for Virgil. Virgil he had 
been accustomed to read with great delight in 
Ogilvy's and Dryden's translations, as he did Ho- 
mer in that of Pope ; and these, with Thomson's 
Seasons and Milton's Paradise Lost, of all which 
he was very early fond, probably gave him that 
taste for poetry which he afterwards cultivated with 
80 much success. Ho was already, according to 
his biographer, inclined to make verses, and among 
Jiis school-ftillowH went by the name of the Poet. 

At this school he made great proficiency, by 
unremitting diligence, which, he was sensible, was 
the only stock ho could command ; and he ajjpcar- 
cd to much advantage on his entering Marischal 
College, Aberdeen, in 1749, where he obtained the 
first of those bursaries lefl for the use of students, 
whose parents arc unable to support the entire 
expenses of academical education. Here he first 
studied Greek under princi|)al Thomas Biackwell, 
author of the Inquiry into the Life and Writings 
of Homer; Letters concerning Mythology; and 
Memoirs of the Court of Augustus ; a teacher, 
who, with much of the austerity of ])edantry, was 
kind to his diligent sdiolars, and found in Mr. 
Beattie a dis])OHilion worthy of cultivation and of 
patronage. The other professor, witii whom Mr. 
Beattie was particularly connected, was Dr. Alex- 
ander Gerard, author of the Genius and Eviden- 
ces of Christianity ; Essays on Taste and Genius ; 
and other works. Under these gentlemen, his 
proficiency, Iwtli at college and during the vaca- 
tions, was very exemplary, and he accumulated a 
much more various stock of general knowledge 
than is usual with young men whose destination 



is the church. The delicacy of his health requir- 
ing amusement, he found, as he supiwsed, all that 
amusement can give in cultivating his musical ta- 
lents, which were very considerable. But there 
is reason to think that his hours of relaxation were 
too few, and that the earnestrtesa with which he 
dissuaded his son from excessive study, arose from 
his repenting that he had not paid more attention 
to the exercises which promote health. 

The only science in which he made no extraor- 
dinary proficiency, and to which ho even seemed 
to have a dislike, was mathematics. In this, in- 
deed, he performed the requisite tasks, but was 
eager to return to subjects of taste or general lite- 
rature. In every other l)ranch of academical stu- 
dy, ho never was satisfied with what he learned 
within the walls of the college. 

In 1753, having gone through every preparatory 
course of study, he took the degree of master of 
arts, the only one attainable by students (except 
of medicine) in any of the universities of Scotland. 
The first degree of bachelor is not known, and 
that of doctor of laws or divinity is usually be- 
stowed on application, at any time of life after 
leaving college, without the necessity of kcej)ing 
terms. Mr. Beattie, therefore, at tliis time tech- 
nically finished his education, and had a i)rofcssion 
to seek. He had hitherto been supported by the 
generous kindness of an elder brother ; but he was 
anxious to exonerate his family from any farther 
burden. With this laudable view, there being a 
vacancy for the office of schoolmaster and ])arish- 
clcrk, to the parish of Fordoun, adjoining to Lau- 
rencekirk, he accepted the a|){)ointnK'nt August G, 
17.53. There can be no doubt tliat ho j)erlbrmcd 
the duties of this situation with punctuality, but it 
was neither suited to his disposition, nor a<lvan- 
tageous to his progress in life. I'he emoluiiieiits 
were very scanty, the site remote and obscure ; and 
there was nothing in it to excite emulation or gra- 
tify the ambition which a young man, conscious as 
he must have been of superior powers and know- 
ledges, might indulge without j)reKumpti(m. IIo 
obtained in this place, however, a few friends, par- 
ticularly Lord Gardcnstown, and Lord Monbod- 
do, who distinguisluid him with encouraging no- 
tice; and his imagination was dfilighted by the 
beautiful and sublime scenery of the place, which 
ho appears to have contemjilated with the eye of a 
poet. His leisure hours he employpd on some 



IV 



LIFE OF DR. JAMES BEATTIE. 



poetical attenipta, which, as they were published in 
the Scots Magazine, with his initials, and some- 
times with his place of abode, must have contri- 
buted to make him yet more known and respected. 

The church of Scotland was at this time the 
usual resource of well educated young men, and 
with their academical stores in full memory, there 
were few difficulties to be surmounted before their 
entrance on the sacred office. Although this 
church presents no temptations to ambition, Mr. 
Beattie appears to have regarded it as the only 
means by which ho could obtain an independent 
rank in life ; and with his diligence, was confident 
that the transition from the studies "of philosophy 
and ethics to that of divinity, would be easj'. Ho 
returned, therefore, during the winter to Marischal 
College, and attended the divinity lectures of Dr. 
Robert Pollock, of that college, and of professor 
John Lumsdcn, of King's, and performed the ex- 
ercises required by the rules of both. One of his 
fellow-students informed Sir William Forbes, that 
during their attendance at the divinity-hall, he 
heard Mr. Beattie deliver a discourse, which met 
with much commendation, but of which it was re- 
marked by the audience, that he spoke poetry in 
prose. 

While the church seemed his only prospect, and 
one which he never contemplated with satisfaction, 
although few young men lived a more pious and 
regular life, there occurred, in 1757, a vacancy for 
one of the masters of the grammar-school of Aber- 
deen, a situation of considerable importance in all 
respects. The school, which is a public ibunda- 
tion, is conducted by a rector, or head master, and 
three subordinate masters; the whole is in the 
patronage of the magistrates of the city, who are, 
however, governed in their choice by the i.s.suc of 
a very severe trial of the candidate's ability, car- 
ried on by the jjrofessors of the university. On 
this occasion, Mr. Beattie was advised to become 
a candidate; but he was diffident of his qualifica- 
tions, and did not think himself so fully possessed 
of the graiumatical niceties of the Latin language, 
as to be able to answer readily, any question tliat 
might be put to him by older and more experienced 
judges. In every part of his life, it may be here 
observed, Beattie appears to have formed an exact 
estimate of his own talents ; and in the present 
instance he failed just where he expected to fail, 
rather in the circumstantial than the essential re- 
quisites for the situation to which he aspired. The 
other candidate was accordingly preferred. But 
Beattie's attempt was attended with so little loss 
of reputation, that a second vacancy occurring a 
few months afler, and two candidates appearing, 
both unqualified for the office, it was presented to 
him by the magistrates in the most handsome man- 
ner, without the form of a trial, and he immedi- 
ately entered upon it in June, 1758. He was now 



in the midst of literary society, and had easy ac- 
cess to books, and his colloquial talents daily in- 
creased the number of his friends. His emolu- 
ments were not great, but his situation had a con- 
sequence in the opinion of the public, which to so 
young a man was not a little flattering. 

He had not long been an usher at this school be- 
fore he published a volume of poems. An author's 
first appearance is always an important era. Mr. 
Beattie's was certainly attended with circumstances 
that are not now common. This volume was an- 
nounced to the public in a more humble manner 
than the present state of literature is thought to 
demand in similar cases. On the 10th of March, 
1700, not the volume itself, but Proposals for print- 
ing original Poems and Translations were issued. 
The poems appeared accordingly on the IGth of 
February, 1701, and were published both in Lon- 
don and Edinburgh. They consisted partly of 
original composition, and partly of the pieces for- 
merly printed in the Scots Magazine, but altered 
and corrected; a practice which Beattie carried 
almost to excess in all his poetical works. 

The praise bestowed on this volume was very 
nattering. The English critics who then dispensed 
the rewards of literature, considered it as an ac- 
quisition to the republic of letters, and pronounced 
that, since Mr. Gray (whom in their opinion Mr. 
Beattie had chosen for his model) they had not met 
with a poet of more harmonious numbers, more 
l)leasing imagination, or more spirited expression. 
This verdict they endeavoured to confiruj by ex- 
tracts from the Ode to Peace, and the Triumj)!! of 
Melancholy. But notwithstanding praises which 
so evidently tended to give a currency to the poems, 
and which were probably repeated with eager- 
ness by the friends who had encouraged the pub- 
lication, the author, upon more serious considera- 
tion, was so dissatisfied with this volume as to 
destroy every copy he could procure. Nor was 
this a sudden or splenetic humour in Beattie. 
Some years afler, when his taste and judgment 
became fully matured, he refused to acknowledge 
above four of them; namely. Retirement, Ode to 
Hope, Elegy on a Lady, and the Hares, and these 
he almost re-wrote before he would permit them 
to be printed with the Minstrel. 

But notwithstanding the lowly opinion of the 
author, these poems, during their first circulation, 
which was chiefly in manuscrij)t, contributed so 
much to the general reputation he acquired, that 
he was considered as an honour to his country, 
and deserving of a higher rank among her fa- 
voured sons. Accordingly a vacancy happening 
in Marischal College, his friends made such earn- 
est applications in his behalf, that in Sei)teml)er, 
1700, he was appointed by the royal patent pro- 
fessor of philosophy. His dei)artment in this ho- 
nourable office extended to moral philosophy and 



LIFE OP DR. JAMES BEATTIE. 



logic; and it added, in his mind, a very affecting 
importance to it, that his was the last course of in- 
struction previous to the students leaving college, 
and dispersing themselves in the world. 

This promotion was sudden and unexpected; 
and it may be supposed that a youth of twenty- 
five must have been ill prepared to give a course 
of lectures, and a train of instructions on subjects 
which had been but imperfectly treated by veteran 
philosophers. Yet it is evident from his printed 
works, that most of the subjects which belong to 
his province, had been familiarized to him by a long 
course of reading and thinking, and that he had 
very early accustomed himself to composition; and 
it is highly probable that he brought into the pro- 
fessor's chair, such a mass of materials, as could 
with very little trouble be moulded into shape for 
his immediate purpose. It is certain, however, 
that such was his diligence, and such his love of 
those studies, that within a few years he was not 
only enabled to deliver an admirable course of lec- 
tures on moral philosophy and logic, but also to 
prepare for the press those works on which his 
fame rest.s; all of which, there is some reason to 
think, were written, or nearly written, before he 
gave the world the result of his philosophical stu- 
dies in the celebrated Essay on Truth. It may be 
added likewise, that the rank he had at this time 
attained in the university entitled him to associate 
more on a level with Reid and with Campbell, with 
Gerard and with Gregory, men whose opinions 
were in many points congenial, and who have all 
been hailed by the sister country among the revi- 
vers of Scotch literature. With the gentlemen 
already mentioned, and a few others, he formed a 
society, or club, for the discussion of literary and 
philosophical subjects. A part of their entertain- 
ment was the reading a short essay, composed by 
each member in his turn. It is supposed that the 
works of Reid, Campbell, Beattie, Gregory, and 
Gerard, or at least the outlines of them, were first 
discussed in this society, either in the form of es- 
says, or of a question for familiar conversation. 

In 1765, Mr. Beattie published the Judgment 
of Paris, a poem, in 4to. Its design was to prove 
that virtue alone is capable of affording a gratifica- 
tion adequate to our whole nature ; the pursuits 
of ambition or sensuality promising only partial 
happiness, as l)eing adapted not to our whole con- 
stitution, but only to a part of it. The reception 
of this poem, however, was unfavourable, and al- 
thoucrh he added it to a new addition of his poems 
in 176G, yet it was never again reprinted, and even 
iiis biographer has declined reviving its memory 
by an extract. 

Although he had acquired a station in which 
his talents were displayed with great advantage, 
and commanded a very high degree of respect, the 
publication of the Essay on Truth was the great 



era of his life ; for this work carried his fame far 
beyond all local bounds and local partialities. It is 
not, however, necess.-rj' to enter minutely into the 
history of a work so well known. 

When this work was completed, so many diffi- 
culties occurred in procuring it to be published, 
that his friends. Sir William Forbes and Mr. Ar- 
buthnot, were obliged to become the purchasers, 
unknown to him, at a price with which they 
thought he would be satisfied. Sir Wilham ac- 
cordingly wrote to him that the manuscript was 
sold for fifty guineas, as the price of the first edi- 
tion. In a very grateful letter addressed to his 
friends, he answered that " the price really ex- 
ceeded his warmest expectations." 

The first edition of this essay was published in 
an octavo volume, in 1770, and bought up with 
such avidity that a second was called for, and pub- 
lished in the following year. The interval was 
short, but as the work had excited the public at- 
tention in an extraordinary degree, the result of 
the public opinion had reached the author's ear, 
and to this second edition he added a postscript, in 
vindication of a certain degree of warmth of which 
he had been accused. 

The Essay on Truth, whatever objections were 
made to it, (and it met with very few public oppo- 
nents,) had a more extensive circulation than pro- 
bably any work of the kind ever published. This 
may be partly attributed to the charms of that 
popular style in which the author conveyed liis 
sentiments on subjects which his adversaries had 
artfully disguised in a metaphysical jargon, the 
meaning of which they could vary at pleasure ; but 
the eagerness with which it was sought arose 
chiefly from the just praise bestowed upon it by 
the most distinguished friends of religion and learn- 
ing in Great Britain. With many of these, of 
high rank, both in church and state, the author 
had the satisfaction of dating his acquaintance 
from the publication of this work. There appear- 
ed, indeed, in the public in general, an honourable 
wish to grace the triumph of sound reasoning over 
pernicious sophistry. Hence, in less than four 
years, five large editions of the Essay were sold. 
It was translated into several foreign languages, 
and attracted the notice of many eminent persons 
in France, Germany, Holland, Italy, and other 
parts of the continent. 

Among other marks of respect, the University 
of Oxford conferred the degree of Doctor of Laws 
on the author ; and on his second arrival in Lon- 
don, he was graciously received by the king, who 
bestowed a pension on him, and admitted him to 
a private conference. It was in July, 1771, that 
Dr. Beattie first visited London, and commenced 
a personal acquaintance with men of the highest 
eminence, with Lord Mansfield and Lord Lyttel- 
ton, Drs. Hurd, Porteus, Johnson, Mr. Burke, 



VI 



LIFE OP DR. JAMES BEATTIE. 



atul, indi'otl, the wliolo of tho lilcrnry rtooioty, 
wlioso rinivcrHtitiiUis liiivo licoii ho plciimuilly do- 
tailcd liv Mr. Iliwwcll. lit' rctnnifil to Scotluiul 
with a iniiul i-iovntftl and cliccrccl liy t\w priiisc, 
the kimiiic'Hs, iiiitl liio iiHlromijjo of Iho jjoimI ami 

jrrciit. 

Soon nllcr his visit to I.oiitloti, lie w«« Holicitcil, 
by a viTy llattcrin^ |)ro|M)Hal, sent tlirou}{ii tin- 
huiidii of Dr. Porlotw, to filter into tlio ohiin'li of 
Kiiijluiid, A Hiiniiar oHit had Iwoii inado hoiih> 
limn lu'foro, by tho Archliishop of York, hut dr- 
(iiiu-d. It was now ronrwiul witli more iin|M>rt(i- 
nity, and iiroducctl from him the im|>ortaiit riMiHoiiit 
which oliliifcd him slill to di'i-fmo an olVcr which 
he could not hut consiilor as " jjreiitniid <;ciicroH«." 
By tlicsc rcaNi>nfl, cominnnicatcd in a letter to Dr. 
Porteus, \vt' liiid liiiit lie was apprehensive of the 
injury that mijjht he »loiu' to liie eauiio he had es- 
poused, if his enemies should have any fjroiiiul for 
i>sserlin>; lliat he had written his Kssay on Truth, 
with II view to promotion : and he was likewise 
of opinion that it nii'^ht have the appearance of 
levity and insiueerity, and i>ven of waul of priiiei- 
jile, were he to ijuit, witiiout any other tij>i>inrnt 
motive tlian that of hi'tlcrin<; his circumstances, 
tho ohurcli of which he liad uniformly Iwen r 
inemher. (>lher reasons he assii;ncil, on this oc- 
casion, of some, hut less wi'ii;ht, all which pre- 
vailed on his Irieiids to desist from farther 8oli«"ita- 
tioii, while they honoured the motives by which 
he was inlluiMiecil. In llu' same year he refused 
the olll'r of a professor's chair in the University 
of l''.i!inliuvf;h, considerini; his present situation as 
best adapted ti> his habits and to his usefulness, 
and apprehendiiiL; that the formation of a new so- 
ciety of Iriciids miftfht not be so i-asy or ajjreeable 
in a jilact" where the enemies of his principles were 
numerous. To sonu' of his fritMids, howovor, those 
reasons did not appiMir very sound. 

Althoujjh Mr. l?catlie had seemiiiijly witlidrawn 
his claims as a poet, by cancelinjj us many copies 
of his juvenile attempts as ho could procure, he 
was n(>t so unconscious of his talents, us to relin- 
quish what was an early and favourite pursuit, 
and in whii-h he had probably passed some of his 
most doli<;litfiil hours. A few mouths nITer the 
npjK^arancc of the l-'ssay on Truth, he published 
tho first luuik of the Minstrel, in ltd, hut without 
his name, In coiisc(pu>nce of this omission, the 
ptHMU was exaiuinod with all that ri<jour of criticism 
which may be expccteil in the cast< of a work, for 
which the author's name can ueitln-r nlliird protec- 
tion nor apoloijy. He was praised for haviiii; 
ndopted tho measur»> of Spenser, beoauso lie had 
the hiippy enthusiasm of that writer to support 
and render it aijrceable ; but objections were made 
to tho limitation of his plan to tho pn>fossion of the 
IVlinstrcl, wh(>il si> much supt-rior interest mii;ht 
ho oxcitwl by ourryiuj; him on through tho prac- 



tice of it. It was objected, also, that tho senti^ 
meiit of the ilrst stan/a apix-ared too cUmi n copy 
from a passaije in Ciray's celeliruled clej^y ; aixl se- 
vernl lines were pointed out as ilne(|ual, and iit- 
consistent with the ^(Miernl measure, or with tho 
dii;nily of the subject. These objections appeur 
to have coincided with the author's recoiiHidcratioii: 
and he not only adopted various alterations ro- 
commended by his friends, particularly by Mr. 
(<rav, but introduced others, which luadi' the sub- 
sc(|ueiit editions of his piKMUs far more jH>rl°ect thuil 
the first. 

The Minstrel, however, in its first form, con- 
tained HO many passages of genuine poetry, tho 
poetry of nature and of feelinj;, nnd was so eagerly 
ajiplaiided by thost^ whose riijht of opinion was in- 
contestable, that it soon ran through four editions; 
and ill 1771, the author proiluced the second U)ok. 
This, although of n more |)hilonophical cast, and 
less rich in those descriplii>ns which appe;J to 
every heart, yet containetl imagery so noble, and 
so many proofs of the '' lively, plastic imagination," 
ns to place the author in the first ranks of nuHlerii 
piH'try. As the success t>f the s«'cond Umk was 
not infi'rior to that of the first, it was the general 
wish that the author would fulfil his promise by 
completing llie inter»>sting subject; but the in- 
creasing business of I'ducalion, the cares of n 
liuiiily, and tho state of his health, originally deli- 
cate, and never robust, di-prived him {i( the timo 
and thought which he considered as re(|iiisite. In 
1777, however, he was induccti to publisii th<< two 
l)arts of the Minstrel together, and to add a few 
of his juvenile [loeiiis. In his advertisement ho 
iiilbrms us, that "they are all of which he is will- 
ing to be coiisidereil us the author." About thiii 
timi> some |k>oius wert^ oscrihoil to him which ho 
never wrote; and those j)ieces which he wished to 
consign to oblivion, wore published by persons whi> 
hoped to prollt by tho established funic of the 
author. 

Dining tho proceding year, (ITTC) he ])ropan>(I 
for tho pr»iss a now edition of tho I'ssay on Truth, 
in a more elegant form than it had hitiierto worn, 
and alleiuied with circumstances of public esliviii 
which wore very flattering. The subscription luiv 
ney was a guinea, but we are not certain that suIk. 
scribers wire limilcil to that sum. The list of sul>- 
scribcrs amounleil to four hundred and seventy- 
six names, of men nnd women of the first rank in 
lite, and of all the distinguished literary characters 
of the time. The copies subscribed ti>r amounted 
to seven hundn-d and thirty two, so that no incon- 
siderable sum must have accrued in this delicate 
manniT to the author. Dr. Ib-attie was by no 
means rich ; his pension was only two hundred 
pouiuls, and tho annual amount of liis professor- 
ship never reached that sum. 

The I'Issays luKlod to this volunW, and whidi 



LIFE OF DR. JAMES BEATTIE. 



vu 



lie oilerwards printed separately in octavo, were 
on I'octry and Muhic: on Laughter and Liidi- 
•croiis ConiiK>sition ; and on the Utility of ClaHHic.al 
Learning. Tlie firHt, wliicli was written in 1702, 
when tlie author had only reached liin twenty- 
seventh year, cvina-s a great fund of readiti(j;, aii<i 
Hucli ae(|uaintance with ancient and modern litera- 
ture, and Huch diM-rirniuation in oltjectu of criticimn, 
an are ruri^ly found in |jerHonH of that ajrc. 

During; a viwit to the nietro|K)lin, in 17H4, Dr. 
Beatlie oubinitted to the liishop of London, with 
whoHC friendHhip he had lon^ been honoured, a 
part of a work whicli at that prelaUsn denire he 
publibheiiin 178G, entitled, Evidc^nces of the Chria- 
tian ilclii^ion briefly and plainly Htuted, 2 vols, 
rinio. 'I'hiH likewise formed part of his con- 
cluding K'cturcH to hiH claHH, and he generally dic- 
tated an abutract of it to tUciu in the couriie of the 
setuiion. 

In the [irefucc to his DisHertationn, he intimated 
a design of publishing the whole of his Lectures 
on Moral Science, but from this he was diverted, 
lie was encouraged, however, to [)r(!Hent to the 
public, in a correct and somewhat cidarged Ibrm, 
the abstract which he used to dictate to his scho- 
lars. Accordingly, in 17'J0, he published his EIo- 
inents of Moral Science, vol. i. 8vo. 

In vol. ii. there occurs a dissertation against the 
slave trade, which the author informs us he wroti; 
in 1778, with a view to a separate ])ublication. 
lie exjJOHcd the weak defences set up for that 
abominable traffic with great acuteness, and thus 
had the honour to contribute to that mass of con- 
viction, which at length became irresistible, and 
delivered the Britisli nation from her greatest re- 
proach. 

To the second volume of the Transactions of 
the Royal Society of Edinburgh, published in 1790, 
he contributed Remarks on some Passages of the 
Sixth Book of the iEneid. This was, in fact, a 
dissertation on the Mythology of the Romans, as 
poetically described by Virgil, in the episode of 
the descent of JEncaa into hell; and his object 
was to vindicate his favourite pcjet from the cliarg<; 
of impiety, &c. brought against him by Warburton 
and others. In the same year he is said to have 
superintended an edition of Addibon's periodical 
pa|)crs, published at Edinburgh, in 4 vols. 8vo. 
In this, however, ho contributed only a few notes 
to Tickell's Life of Addison, and to Dr. Johnson's 
remarks. It were to be wished he had done more; 
Addison never had a warmer admirer, nor a more 
successful imitator. Ho always recommended 
Addison's style to his pupils, and it is evident 
from the whole of his works tliat it was his own 
model. 

In 1794, appeared the last work ouy author com- 
posed, and its history requires some notice of his 
femily. In 17G7, he married Miss Mary Dun, 



daught<r of Dr. James Dun, rector or head master 
of the grammar school of AberdeiMi, a man of 
great personal worth, and an excellent classical 
scholar. 

With this lady Dr. Beattic enjoyed for many 
years as much felicity as the married state can af- 
ford; and wlurii she visited London with him, she 
siiun^d am|)Iy in the respect paid to him, and in 
the cHteiwii of his illuntrious I'ricnilH. Hy her ho 
had two sons, James Uay, so named from tlie Earl 
of Errol, one of his old and steady friends; and 
Montague, from the celebrated Mrs. Montague, in 
whose h()us<! Dr. IJeattie frefpieiilly residtul when 
in London. While these children were very 
young, Mrs. Heattie was seized with an indisposi- 
tion, which, in sjjite of all care and skill, termi- 
nated in the painful necessity of separation from 
her husi)aiid. The care of the childnui now de- 
volved on the father, whose sensibility received 
such tt shock from the melancholy insanity alluded 
to, as could only b(! aggravaUul by an apprehen- 
sion that the consecjuences of Mrs. Beatlie's dis- 
order might not be confincid to herself. This 
alarm, whi<li oflt;n i)reycd on his spirits, proved 
happily without foundation. His children grew 
uj) without the smallest appearance of hereditary 
evil; i)ut wh<!n tluiy had just begun to repay his 
care by a display of early genius, sweetness of tem- 
per and filial affeclion, he was compelled to re- 
sign them IkjIIi to an untimely grave. His eldest 
son died November 19, 17!K), in his twenty-second 
year; and his youngest March 14, 179G, in his 
eighteenth year. The death of the latter was oc- 
casioned by a rapid fever. The suddenness of tho 
shock made it more deeply felt by tho father, as 
he had not yot recovered from the loss of the eld- 
est, who was taken from him by tho slow process 
of consumption. 

Soon after tho death of James Hay, his father 
drew up an account of his Life and Character; to 
which were add(!d. Essays and Fragments, written 
by tliis extraordinary youth. Dr. Beattie waa af- 
terwards induced to ])crmit the Life and some of 
the Essays and Fragments to be printed for pub- 
lication. The Life is a most interesting and af- 
fecting narrative. It is impossible, indeed, to con- 
template without emotion the exquisite tenderness 
of an afTectionate and mourning parent, soothing 
himself by the remembrance of filial piety and 
departed cxexillence, and humbly, yet fondly, en- 
deavouring to engage the Hym[)atliie8 of the world 
of a genius that might have proved one of its 
brightest ornaments. 

After tlic loss of this amiable youth, who in 
1787 had been a[)j)ointed successor to his father, and 
had occasionally lecturexl in the professor's chair, 
Dr. Beattie resumed that employment himself, and 
continued it, although with intervals of sickness 
and depression, until ttio unexpected death of his 



Vlll 



LIFE OF DR. JAMES BEATTIE. 



eecond and last child, in 1796. His hopes of a 
successor of his name and family, had ))rol)ably 
been revived in this youth, v?ho exhibited many 
proofs of early genius, and for some time before his 
death had prosecuted his studies with great assi- 
duity. But here too he was compelled again to 
subscribe to the uncertainty of all human pros- 
pects. Great, however, as the affliction was, it 
would be pleasing to be able to add that he ac- 
quiesced vs'ith pious resignation, and laid hold on 
the hopes he knew so well how to recommend, and 
which yet might have cheered, if not gladdened 
his declining life. But from this period he began 
to withdraw from society, and broodfil over the 
sorrows of his family, until they overpowered his 
feelings, and abstracted him from all the comforts 
of friendship and all powers of consolation. Of 
the state of bis mind, Sir William Forbes has 
given an instance so touching, that no apology 
can be necessary for introducing it here. 

"The death of his only surviving child com- 
pletely unhinged the mind of Dr. Beattie, the first 
symptoms of which, ere many days had elapsed, 
■was a temporary but almost total loss of memory, 
respecting his son. Many times be could not re- 
collect what had become of him : and after search- 
ing in every room in the house, he would say to 
bis neice, Mrs. Glennie, ' You may think it strange, 
but I must ask you if I have a son, and where ho 
isl" She then felt herself under the painful ne- 
cessity of bringing to his recollection his son Mon- 
tague's sufferings, which always restored him to 
reason. And he would often, with many tears, 
express his thankfulness that be had no child, say- 
ing, ' How could I have borne to see their elegant 
minds mangled with madness!" When he looked 
for the last time, on the dead body of bis son, be 
said ' I have now done with the world :' he ever 
after seemed to act as if be thought so." 

The last three years of bis life were passed in 
hopeless solitude, and he even relinquished his 
correspondence with many of those remote friends 
with whom be had long enjoyed the soothing in- 
terchange of elegant sentiment and friendly at- 
tachment. His health, in this voluntary confine- 
ment, gradually decayed, and extreme and pre- 
mature debihty, occasioned by two paralytic 
strokes, terminated his good and useful life on the 
18th day of August, 1803. His reputation was so 
well founded and so extensive, that he was uni- 
versally lamented as a loss to the republic of let- 
ters, and particularly to the University to which 
be had been so long a public benefactor and an 
honour. 

Of his general character a fair estimate maybe 
formed from his works, and it is no small praise 
that his life and writings were in strict conformity 
with each other, 
j^ Whatever reputation Dr. Beattie enjoyed from 



his philosophical and critical works, his praise was 
yet higher in all the personal relations of public 
and private life. His excellence as an instructor 
may be gathered from bis printed works ; but it re- 
mains to be added, that few men have exceeded 
him in anxious and kind attentions to his pupils. 
It was his practice, while they were under his care, 
to invite them by small parties to his bouse, and 
unbend his mind in gay conversation, encouraging 
them to speak with famiUarity on common topics, 
and to express their doubts with freedom on any 
subjects connected with their studies. 

None were more affected by his melancholy re- 
treat from society, than those who could recollect 
him in his happier days of health and hope. He 
bad a keen reUsh for social intercourse, and was 
remarkably cheerful and communicative. It has 
not yet been mentioned, but it may be observed 
from various parts of bis writings, that he had a 
turn for humour, and a quick sense of the ridicu- 
lous. This, however, was so chastened by the ele- 
gance of his taste, and tlie benevolence of his dis- 
position, that whatever fell from him of that kind 
was devoid of coarseness or asperity. In conver- 
sation he never endeavoured to gain superiority, 
or to compel attention, but contrived to take his 
just share, without seeming to interrupt the loqua- 
city of others. He bad, however, what most men 
have who are jealous of their reputation, a degree 
of reserve in promiscuous company, which be en- 
tirely discarded among those whom be loved and 
in whom he confided. 

In London it is yet remembered that his collo- 
quial talents were much admired, and no doubt 
procured him a long continuance of those friend- 
ships with men of rank, which are rarely to be 
preserved without something more than the mere 
possession of genius. His modest and engaging 
manners rendered him equally acceptable to the 
courtly and elegant Mansfield, and to the rough 
and unbending Johnson. To Mrs. Montague's 
literary parties be was ever most acceptable ; and 
be lived with the then bishop of London, with Sir 
Joshua Reynolds, and with Mr. Burke, on terms 
of the easiest intimacy. If flattery could have 
spoiled him, he had enough; as in England, for 
whatever reason, bis character always stood high- 
er even than in his own country. 

Dr. Beattie's person was rather above the mid- 
dle size. His countenance was very mild, and his 
smile uncommonly placid and benign. His eyes 
were remarkably piercing and expressive, and 
there was a general composure in his features 
which Sir Joshua Reynolds has given admirably 
in the picture, which has been engraven for his 
life by Sir William Forbes. 

His frame was apparently stout, and even ro- 
bust, but this certainly was not the case. Its ori- 
ginal conformation may have been that of strength 



LIFE OF DR. JAMES BEATTIE. 



IX 



and vigour; but he had frequent interruptions 
from sickness, at a very early period of life. As 
he advanced he discovered all the delicate and va- 
letudinary temperament of genius. At the age 
of forty-five he had the walk and manner and pre- 
cautions that are usually observable at sixty, and 
was much afflicted with head-ache, and other 
symptoms that are commonly called nervous. 



The Life of Dr. Beattie published by Sir Wil- 
Ham Forbes, exhibits him in the character of an 
epistolary writer. His letters embrace a very large 
portion of the literary history of his time, but it 
may be doubted whether they have always tlie ease 
and vivacity which are expected in this department 
of composition. 



2 a* 



'# 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OP 



sr^ffias 



k ^Ifc^®^ 



Kfit M^inutxtl; 



OR, 



THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS 



PREFACE. 

The design was, to trace the progress of a poeti- 
cal genius, born in a rude age, from the first dawn- 
ing of fancy and reason, till that period at which 
he may be supposed capable of appearing in the 
world as a Minstrel, that is, an itinerant Poet and 
Musician: — a character which, according to the 
notions of our forefathers, was not only respecta- 
ble, but sacred. 

I have endeavoured to imitate Spenser in the 
measure of his verse, and in the harmony, simpli- 
city, and variety of his composition. Antique ex- 
pressions I have avoided; admitting, however, 
some old words, where they seemed to suit the 
subject : but I hope none will be found that are 
now obsolete, or in any degree not intelligible to 
a reader of English poetry. 

To those who may be disposed to ask, what 
could induce me to write in so difficult a mea- 
sure, I can only answer, that it pleases my ear, 
and seems, from its Gothic structure and original, 
to bear some relation to the subject and spirit of 
the Poem. It admits both simplicity and magnifi- 
cence of sound and of language, beyond any other 
stanza that I am acquainted with. It allows the 
sententiousness of the couplet, as well as the more 
complex modulation of blank verse. What some 
critics have remarked, of its uniformity growing 
at last tiresome to the ear, will be found to hold 
true only when the poetry is faulty in other re- 
epects. 



THE MINSTREL. 



Me vero primum dulces ante omnia Musae, 
Quorum sacra fero, ingeti perculsusamore, 
Accipiant. — Virff. 



BOOK I. 
I. 

Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb 
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines 

afar; 
Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime 
Has felt the influence of malignant star, 
And waged with Fortune an eternal war 
Checked by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, 
And Poverty's unconquerable bar. 
In life's low vale remote has pined alone. 
Then drop'd into the grave, unpitied and unknown! 

IL 

And yet, the languor of inglorious days 

Not equally oppressive is to all : 

Him, who ne'er listened to the voice of praise, | 

The silence of neglect can ne'er appal. 

There are, who deaf to mad Ambition's call, 

Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of 

Fame; 
Supremely blessed, if to their portion fall 
Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim 
Had he whose simple tale these artless lines pro- 
claim. 



BEATTIE'S WORKS. 



III. 

The rolls of fame I -will not now explore; 
Nor need I here describe in learned lay, 
How forth the minstrel fared in days of yore, 
Right glad of heart, though homely in array; 
His waving locks and beard all hoary gray: 
While, from his bending shoulder, decent hung 
His harp, the sole companion of his way. 
Which to the whistling wind responsive rung; 
And ever, as he went, some merry lay he sung. 

IV. 

Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, 
That a poor villager inspires my strain; 
With thee let Pageantry and Power abide : 
The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign; 
Where through wild groves at eve the lonely 

swain 
Enraptured roams, to gaze on Nature's charms; 
They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain, 
The parasite their influence never warms, 
Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms. 

V. 

Though richest hues the peacock's plumes 

adorn. 
Yet horror screams from his discordant throat. 
Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the morn. 
While warbling larks on russet pinions float ; 
Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote, 
Where the gray linnets carol from the hill: 
O let them ne'er, with artificial note, 
To please a tyrant, strain the little bill, 
But sing what heaven inspires, and wander where 

they will. 

VI. 

Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand; 
Nor was perfection made for man below : 
Yet all her schemes with nicest art are planned, 
Good counteracting ill, and gladness wo. 
With gold and gems of Chilian mountains glow; 
If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise: 
There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow; 
Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies. 
And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the 
eyes. 

VII. 

Then grieve not thou, to whom the indulgent 

Muse 
Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire; 
Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse 
The imperial banquet, and the rich attire: 
Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre. 
Wilt thou debase the heart which God refined? 
No; let thy heaven-taught soul to heaven aspire, 
To fancy, freedom, harmony, resigned ; 
Ambition's groveling crew for ever left behind. 



VIII. 

Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul 
In each fine sense so exquisitely keen. 
On the dull couch of Luxury to loll, 
Stung with disease and stupified with spleen; 
Fain to implore the aid of Flattery's screen, 
E'en from thyself thy loathsome heart to hide, 
(The mansion then no more of joy serene) 
Where Fear, Distrust, Malevolence, abide, 
And impotent Desire, and disappointed Pride ! 

IX. 

O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! 
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields; 
All that the genial ray of morning gilds, 
And all that echoes to the song of even. 
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, 
And all the dread magnificence of heaven, 
O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be for- 
given! 

X. 

These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health, 
And love, and gentleness, and joy, impart: 
But these thou must renounce, if lust of wealth 
E'er wins its way to thy corrupted heart; 
For, ah! it poisons like a scorpion's dart; 
Prompting the ungenerous wish, the selfish 

scheme, 
The stern resolve, unmoved by pity's smart, 
The troublous day, and long distressful dream — 
Return, my roving Muse, resume thy purposed 

theme, 

XI. 

There lived in gothic days, as legends tell, 
A shepherd-swain, a man of low degree : 
Whose sires, perchance, in fairy-land might 

dwell, 
Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady. 
But he, I ween, was of the north countrie:* 
A nation famed for song, and beauty's charms; 
Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free; 
Patient of toil; serene, amidst alarms; 
Inflexible in faith ; invincible in arms. 

XII. 

The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made, 
On Scotia's mountains fed his Uttle flock; 
The sickle, scythe, or plough, he never swayed; 
An honest heart was almost all his stock ; 



* There is hardly an ancient ballad, or romance, wherein 
a minstrel or harper appears, but he is characterized, by way 
of eminence, to have been " of the north countrie." It is pro- 
bable, that under this appellation were formerly comprehend- 
ed all the provinces to the north of tlie TieaU—See Percy's 
Essay on the English Minstrels, 



THE MINSTREL. 



His drink the Hving water from the rock : 
The milky dams supplied his Iward, and lent 
Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock ; 
And he, though oft with dust and sweat be- 
sprent, 
Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er 
they went. 

XIII. 

From labour health, from health contentment 

springs, 
Contentment opes the source of every joy: 
He envied not, he never thought of, kings; 
Nor from those appetites sustained annoy, 
That chance may frustrate, or indulgence 

cloy: 
Nor Fate his calm and humble hopes beguiled; 
He mourned no recreant friend, nor mistress 

coy. 
For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smiled, 
And her alone he loved, and loved her from a child. 

XIV. 

No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast. 
Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife; 
Each season looked delightful as it past. 
To the fond husband and the faithful wife: 
Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd-life 
They never roamed; secure beneath the storm 
Which in ambition's lofty land is rife, 
Where peace and love are cankered by the 
worm 
Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform. 

XV. 

The wight, whose tales these artless hnes unfold, 
Was all the offspring of this humble pair : 
His birth no oracle or seer foretold : 
No prodigy appeared in earth or air, 
Nor aught that might a strange event declare. 
You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth ; 
The parent's transport, and the parent's care; 
The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and 

worth; 
And one long summer-day of indolence and 

mirth. 

XVI. 

And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy- 
Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye : 
Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude nor toy, 
Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy. 
Silent, when glad ; affectionate, though shy ; 
And now his look was most demurely sad, 
And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why; 
The neighbours stared and sighed, yet blessed 
the lad; 
Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some be- 
lieved him mad. 



XVII. 

But why should I his childish feats display? 
Concourse, and noise, and toil, he ever fled; 
Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray 
Of squabbUng imps, but to the forest sped, 
Or roamed at large the lonely mountain's head ; 
Or, where the maze of some bewildered stream 
To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led. 
There would he wander wild, till Phoebus' beam, 
Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team. 

XVIII. 

The' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed, 

To him nor vanity nor joy could bring; 

His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would 

bleed 
To work the wo of any living thing, 
By trap or net ; by arrow or by sling ; 
These he detested, those he scorned to wield : 
He wished to be the guardian, not the king, 
Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field : 
And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might 
yield. 

XIX. 

Lo ! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves 
Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine ; 
And sees, on high, amid the' encircling groves, 
From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine : 
While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join, 
And Echo swells the chorus to the skies. 
Would Edwin this majestic scene resign 
For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies'? 
Ah ! no : he better knows great Nature's charma 
to prize. 

XX. 

And oft he traced the uplands, to survey, 
When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn, 
The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain 

gray, 
And lake, dim gleaming on the smoky lawn ; 
Far to the west the long long vale withdrawn, 
Where twilight loves to linger for a while ; 
And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn, 
A villager abroad at early toil. — 
But lo ! the sun appears ! and heaven, earth, ocean, 

fimile. 

XXI. 

And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb, 
When all in mist the world below was lost: 
What dreadful pleasure ! there to stand subUme, 
Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast, 
And view the' enormous waste of vapour tost 
In billows, lengthening to the' horizon round. 
Now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now em- 
bossed ! 



BEATTIE'S WORKS. 



And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, 
Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar pro- 
found ! 

XXII. 

In truth he was a strange and wayward wight. 
Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene: 
In darkness, and in storm, he found delight; 
Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene 
The southern sun diffused his dazzling shene. 
E'en sad vicissitude amused his soul : 
And if a sigh would sometimes intervene, 
And down his cheek a tear of pity roll, 
A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wished not to control. 

XXIII. 

" O ye wild groves, O where is now your bloom 7" 
(The Muse interprets thus his tender thought) 
" Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy 

gloom. 
Of late so grateful in the hour of drought 1 
Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought 
To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake? 
Ah ! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought! 
For now the storm howls mournful through the 

brake. 
And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake. 

XXIV. 

" Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool. 
And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty 
crowned ! 
; Ah ! see, the' unsightly slime, and sluggish pool, 
f Have all the solitary vale imbrowned ; 

Fled each fair form, and mute each melting 

sound. 
The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray: 
And, hark ! the river, bursting every mound, 
Down the vale thunders; and with wasteful 
sway. 
Uproots the grove, and rolls the shattered rocks 
away. 

XXV. 

" Yet such the destiny of all on earth ; 
So flourishes and fades majestic Man ! 
Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth, 
t And fostering gales a while the nursling fan : 
O smile, ye heavens, serene ; ye mildews wan. 
Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime, 
Nor lessen of his life the little span: 
Borne on the swift, though silent, wings of Time, 
Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime. 

XXVI. 

" And be it so. Let those deplore their doom. 
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn : 
' But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb. 

Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn. 



Shall spring to these sad scenes no more return'? 
Is yonder wave the sun's eternal bed ? — 
Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn, 
And spring shall soon her vital influence shed, 
Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead. 

XXVII. 

" Shall I be left abandoned in the dust, 
When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive 
Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust. 
Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live ? 
It is for this fair Virtue oft must strive 
With disappointment, penury, and pain ? — 
No: Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive 
And man's majestic beauty bloom again, 
Bright through the' eternal year of Love's triumph- 
ant reign." 

XXVIII. 

This truth sublime his simple sire had taught, 
In sooth, 'twas almost all the shepherd knew, 
No subtle nor superfluous lore he sought, 
Nor ever wished his Edwin to pursue : — 
" Let man's own sphere," (quoth he) " confine 

his view ; 
Be man's peculiar work his sole delight." 
And much, and oft, he warned him to eschew 
Falsehood and guile, and aye maintain the right, 
By pleasure unseduced, unawed by lawless might. 

XXIX. 

"And from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Wo, 
O never, never turn away thine ear ; 
Forlorn in this bleak wilderness below. 
Ah ! what were man, should Heaven refuse to 

hear! 
To others do (the law is not severe) 
What to thyself thou wishest to be done : 
Forgive thy foes ; and love thy parents dear. 
And friends, and native land ; nor those alone ; 
All human weal and wo learn thou to make thine 



own. 



I) 



XXX. 



See in the rear of the warm sunny shower, 
The visionary boy from shelter fly ! 
For now the storm of summer-rain is o'er. 
And cool, and fresh, and fragrant, is the sky ! 
And, lo ! in the dark cast, expanded high, 
The rainbow brightens to the setting sun : 
Fond fool, that deem'st the streaming glory nigh, 
How vain the chase thine ardour has begun ! 
'Tis fled afar, ere half thy purposed race be run. 

XXXI. 

Yet couldst thou learn, that thus it fares with 

age. 
When pleasure, wealth, or power, the bosom 

warm. 



THE MINSTREL. 



& 



This baffled hope might tame thy manhood's 

rage, 
And disappointment of her sting disarm.— 
But why should foresight thy fond heart alarm 1 
Perish the lore that deadens young desire ! 
Pursue, poor imp, th' imaginary charm, 
Indulge gay Hope, and Fancy's pleasing fire : 
Fancy and Hope too soon shall of themselves ex- 
pire. 

XXXII. 

When the long-sounding curfew from afar 
Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale. 
Young Edwin, Ughted by the evening star, 
Lingering and listening, wandered down the 

vale: 
There would he dream of graves, and corses pale : 
And ghosts, that to the charnel-dungeon throng. 
And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail, 
Till silenced by the owl's terrific song, 
Or blasts that shrieks by fits the shuddering isles 

along. 

XXXIII. 

Or, when the setting moon, in crimson dyed, 
Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep. 
To haunted stream, remote from man he hied. 
Where fays of yore their revels wont to keep ; 
And there let Fancy roam at large, till sleep 
A vision brought to his intranced sight : 
And first, a wildly-murmuring wind 'gan creep 
Shrill to his ringing ear ; then tapers bright. 
With instantaneous gleam, illumed the vault of 
Night. 

XXXIV. 

Anon, in view a portal's blazoned arch 
Arose ; the trumpet bids the valves unfold ; 
And forth an host of little warriors march, 
Grasping the diamond lance, and targe of gold : 
Their look was gentle, their demeanor bold, 
And green their helms, and green their silk attire; 
And here and there, right venerably old. 
The long robed minstrels wake the warbling 
wire, 
And some with mellow breath the martial pipe 
inspire. 

XXXV. 

With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear, 
A troop of dames from myrtle-bowers advance ; 
The Uttle warriors doff the targe and spear. 
And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance: 
They meet, they dart away, they wheel askance j 
To right, to left, they thrid the flying maze ; 
Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, then 

glance 
Rapid along: with many-coloured rays 
Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forests blaze. 



XXXVI. 

The dream is fled. Proud harbinger of day, 
Who scar'dst the vision with thy clarion shrill, 
Fell chanticleer ! who oft has reft away 
My fancied good, and brought substantial ill! 
O to thy cursed scream, discordant still, 
Let Harmony aye shut her gentle ear. 
Thy boastful mirth, let jealous rivals spill, 
Insult thy crest, and glossy pinions tear, 
And ever in thy dreams the ruthless fox appear. 

XXXVII. 

Forbear, my Muse. Let Love attune thy line. 
Revoke the spell. Thine Edwin frets not so :— 
For how should he at wicked chance repine. 
Who feels from every chance amusement flow 1 
E'en now his eyes with smiles of rapture glow. 
As on he wanders through the scenes of morn, 
Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow. 
Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn, 
A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are born. 

XXXVIII. 

But who the melodies of morn can tell? 

The wild brook babbling down the mountain 

side ; 
The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; 
The pipe of early shepherd dim descried 
In the lone valley; echoing far and wide 
The clamorous horn along the cliflfs above ; 
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide; 
The hum of bees, and linnet's lay of love. 
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove. 

XXXIX. 

The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark ; 
Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid 

sings; 
The whistling ploughman stalks afield ; and, 

hark! 
Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon 

rings; 
Through rustling corn the hare astonished 

springs ; 
Slow tolls the village clock the drowsy hour ; 
The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; 
Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower. 
And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour. 

XL. 

O Nature, how in every charm supreme ! 
Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new ! 
O for the voice and fire of seraphim. 
To sing thy glories with devotion due ! 
Bless'd be the day I 'scaped the wrangling crew, 
From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' sty ; 
And held high converse with the godUke few. 
Who to th' enraptured heart, and ear, and eye, 
Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody. 



BEATTIFS WORKS. 



XLI. 

Hence I ye, who snare and stupefy the mind, 
Sophists, of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane! 
Greedy and fell, though impotent and bhnd, 
Who spread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane, 
And ever ply your venomed fangs amain! 
Hence to dark Error's den, whose rankling 

slime 
First gave you form, hence', lest the muse should 

deign, 
(Though loth on theme so mean to waste a 

rhyme) 
With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime. 

XLII. 

But hail, ye mighty masters of the lay, 
Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth ! 
Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay, 
Amused my childhood, and informed my youth. 
O let your spirit still my bosom sooth; 
Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings 

guide ! 
Your voice each rugged path of life can smooth ; 
For well I know, wherever ye reside, 
There harmony and peace and innocence abide. 



XLIII. 

Ah me! abandoned on the lonesome plain, 
As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore, 
Save when against the winter's drenching rain, 
And driving snow, the cottage shut the door : 
Then, as instructed by tradition hoar. 
Her legends when the Beldam 'gan impart, 
Or chaunt the old heroic ditty o'er, 
Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart; 
Much he the tale admired, but more the tuneful 
art. 

XLIV. 

Various and strange was the long-winded tale; 
And halls, and knights, and feats of arms, dis- 
played; 
Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale, 
And sing, enamoured of the nut-brown maid ; 
The moonlight revel of the fairy glade; 
Or hags, that suckle an infernal brood, 
And ply in caves the' unutterable trade,* 
Midst liends and sceptres, queench the moon in 
blood. 
Yell in the midnight storm, or ride the infuriate 
flood. 

XLV. 
But when to horror his amazement rose, 
A gentler strain the Beldam would rehearse, 
A tale of rural life, a tale of woes, 



The orphan-babes,* and guardian-uncle fierce: — 
O cruel ! will no pang of pity pierce 
That heart, by lust of lucre seared to stone! 
For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse. 
To latest times shall tender souls bemoan 
Those helpless orphan-babes, by thy fell arts un- 
done. 

XLVI. 

Behold, with berries smeared, with brambles 

torn,* 
The babes, now famished, lay them down to die. 
Midst the wild howl of darksome woods forlorn. 
Folded in one another's arms they lie; 
Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry ; 
"For from the town the man returns no more." 
But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance dar'st 

defy. 
This deed with fruitless tears shall soon deplore, 
When Death lays waste thy house, and flames con- 
sume thy store. 

XLVII. 

A stifled smile of stern vindictive joy 
Brightened one moment Edwin's startling tear.— 
" But why should gold man's feeble mind decoy 
And Innocence thus die by doom severe?' 
O Edwin ! while thy heart is yet sincere. 
The' assaults of discontent and doubt repel : 
Dark, e'en at noontide, is our mortal sphere ; 

But let us hope; to doubt, is to rebel ; 

Let us exult in hope, that all shall yet be well. 



• AUu«ion to Shakspeare : " A deed without a name." 

Macbeth, Act 4, Scene 1. 



XLVIII. 

Nor be thy generous indignation checked. 
Nor checked the tender tear to Misery given: 
From Guilt's contagious power shall that pro- 
tect. 
This soften and refine the soul for Heaven. 
But dreadful is their doom, whom doubt has 

driven 
To censure Fate, and pious Hope forego: 
Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven, 
Perfection, beauty, life, they never know. 
But frown on all that pass, a monument of wo. 

XLIX. 
Shall he, whose birth, maturity, and age, 
Scarce fill the circle of one summer day; 
Shall the poor gnat with discontent and rage 
Exclaim, that " Nature hastens to decay;" 
If but a cloud obstruct the solar ray, 
If but a momentary shower descend 1 
Or shall frail man Heaven's dread decree gain- 
say. 
Which bade the series of events exton-J, 
Wide through unnumbered worids, and ages with- 
out end 1 

• See the fine old baUad, caUed " the Children in the Wood." 



THE MINSTREL. 



One part, one little part, we dimly scan 
Through the dark medium of life's feverish 

dream; 
Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, 
If but that little part incongruous seem. 
Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem ; 
Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise. 
O, then renounce that impious self-€steera. 
That aims to trace the secrets of the skies: 
For thou art but of dust; be humble and be wise ! 

LI. 

Thus Heaven enlarged his soul in riper years. 
For Nature gave him strength and fire, to soar 
On Fancy's wing above tliis vale of tears; 
Where dark cold-hearted sceptics, creeping, pore 
Through microscope of metaphysic lore : 
And much they grope for truth, but never hit. 
For why? their powers, inadequate before, 
This art preposterous renders more unfit ; 
Yet deem they darkness light, and their vain blun- 
ders wit. 

LII. 

Nor was this ancient dame a foe to mirth : 
Her ballad, jest, and riddle's quaint device, 
Oft cheered the shepherds round their social 

hearth ; 
Whom levity or spleen could ne'er entice 
To purchase chat or laughter, at the price 
Of decency. Nor let it faith exceed. 
That Nature forms a rustic taste so nice: — 
Ah ! had they been of court or city breed, 
Such delicacy were right marvellous indeed. 

LIII. 

Oft when the winter-storm had ceased to rave. 
He roamed the snowy waste at even, to view 
The cloud stupendous, from the Atlantic wave 
High towering, sail along the horizon blue : 
Where midst the changeful scenery, ever new. 
Fancy a thousand wondrous forms descries 
More wildly great than ever pencil drew, 
Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size, 
And glittering cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise. 

LIV. 

Thence musing onward to the sounding shore. 
The lone enthusiast oft would take his way. 
Listening with pleasing dread to the deep roar 
Of the wide-weltering waves. In black array 
When sulphurous clouds rolled on the vernal day. 
Even then he hastened from the haunt of man, 
Along the trembling wilderness to stray. 
What time the lightning's fierce career began. 
And o'er Heaven's rending arch the rattling thun- 
der ran. 

2R 



LV. 
Responsive to the sprightly pipe, when all 
In sprightly dance the village-youth were joined, 
Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall. 
From the rude gambol far remote reclined, 
Soothed with the soft notes warbling in the wind. 
Ah then, all jollity seemed noise and folly: 
To the pure soul by Fancy's fire refined, 
Ah, what is mirth but turbulence unholy. 
When with the charm compared of heavenly me- 
lancholy ! 

LVI. 

Is there a heart that music can not melt 7 

Alas ! liow is that rugged heart forlorn ! 

Is there, who ne'er those mystic transports felt 

Of solitude and melancholy born 1 

He needs not woo the Muse ; he is her scorn. 

The sophist's rope of cobweb he shall tvnne ; 

Mope o'er the schoolman's peevish page; or 

mourn, 
And delve for life in Mammon's dirty mine ; 
Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glut- 
ton swine. 

LVII. 

For Edwin fate a nobler doom had planned; 
Song was his favourite and first pursuit : 
The wild harp rang to his advent'rous hand, 
And languished to his breath the plaintive flute. 
His infant muse, though artless, was not mute : 
Of elegance as yet he took no care ; 
For this of time and culture is the fruit ; 
And Edwin gained at last this fruit so rare « 
As in some future verse I purpose to declare. 

LVIII. 

Meanwhile, whate'er of beautiful or new, 
Sublime or dreadful, in earth, sea, or sky. 
By chance, or search, was offered to his view, 
He scanned with curious and romantic eye. 
Whate'er of lore tradition could supply 
From gothic tale, or song, or fable old. 
Roused him, still keen to listen and to pry. 
At last, though long by Penury controlled, 
And Solitude, his soul her graces 'gan unfold. 

LIX. 

Thu« on the chill Lapponian's dreary land, 
For many a long month lost in snow profound. 
When Sol from Cancer sends the season bland. 
And in their northern cave the Storms are bound; 
From silent mountains, straight, with starthng 

sound. 
Torrents are hurled ; green hills emerge ; and lo. 
The trees with, ibliage, cliffs with flowers are 

crowned ; 



8 



BEATTIE'S WORKS. 



Pure rills through vales of verdure warbling go; 
And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's heart 
o'erflow* 

LX. 

Here pause, my gothic lyre, a little while; 
The leisure hour is all that thou canst claim : 
But if Arbuthnott on this labour smile, 
New strains ere long shall animate thy frame, 
And his applause to me is more than fame ; 
For still with truth accords his taste refined. 
At lucre or renown let others aim, 
I only wish to please the gentle mind, 
Whom Nature's charms inspire, and love of hu- 
man-kind. 



BOOK II. 



Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam, 
Rectique ciiltus pectora roborant. 



Hot 



I. 



Of chance or change O let not man complain ; 
Else shall he never never cease to wail : 
For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain 
Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale, 
All feel the assault of fortune's fickle gale , 
Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doomed ; 
Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble 

vale. 

And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass en- 
tombed. 
And where the Atlantic rolls wide continents have 

bloomed.^ 

II. 

But sure to foreign climes we need not range, 
Nor search the ancient records of our race, 
To learn the dire effects of time and change. 
Which in ourselves, alas ! we daily trace. 
Yet at the darkened eye, the withered face, 
Or hoary hair, I never will repine : 
But spare, O Time ! whate'er of mental grace. 
Of candour, love, or sympathy divine, 
Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame is 
mine. 

III. 

So I, obsequious to Truth's dread command, 
Sh2dl here without reluctance change my lay, 



• Spring and Autumn are hardly known to the Laplanders. 
About the lime the sun entera Cancer, their fields, which a 
week before were covered with enow, appear on a sudden full 
of grass and flowers. — Scheffer's History of Lapland, p. 16. 

t Robert Arbuthnot, &q. a near relation of the celebrated 
Dr. Arbuthnot, and one of the meet intimate aasociates of Dr. 
Seattle. 

t See Plato's Timeus. 



And smite the gothic lyre with harsher hand ; 
Now when I leave that flowery path for aye 
Of childhood, where I sported many a day. 
Warbling and sauntering carelessly along ; 
Where every face was innocent and gay, 
Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue. 
Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin's infant song. 

IV. 

" Perish the lore that deadens young desire,"* 
Is the soft; tenor of my song no more. 
Edwin, though loved of Heaven, must not aspire 
To bliss, which mortals never knew before. 
On trembhng wings let youthful fancy soar. 
Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy ; 
But now and then the shades of life explore ; 
Though many a sound and sight of wo annoy. 
And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy. 



Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows : 
The weakly blossom, warm in summer-bower. 
Some tints of transient beauty may disclose ; 
But ah ! it withers in the chilling hour. 
Mark, yonder oaks, superior to the power 
Of all the warring winds of Heaven they rise, 
And from the stormy promontory tower. 
And toss their giant arms amid the skies. 
While each assailing blast increase of strength 
supplies. 

VI. 

And now the downy cheek and deepened voice 
Gave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime ; 
And walks of wider circuit were his choice. 
And vales more wild, and moimtains more sub- 
lime. 
One evening, as he framed the careless rhyme, 
It was his chance to wander far abroad, 
And o'er a lonely eminence to climb, 
Which heretofore his foot had never trode ; 
A vale appeared below, a deep retired abode. 

VII. 

Thither he hied, enamoured of the scene : 
For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic spell, 
Here scorched with lightning, there with ivy 

green 
Fenced from the north and east this savage dell; 
Southward, a mountain rose with easy swell, 
Whose long long groves eternal murmur made; 
And toward the western sun a streamlet fell. 
Where, through the cliffs, the eye remote sur- 
veyed 
Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold 
arrayed. 



* See Book L Stanza XXXL 



THE MINSTREL, 



9 



VIII. 

Along this narrow valley you might see 
The wild deer sporting on the meadow grouna ; 
And, here and there, a solitary tree 
Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crowned: 
Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound 
Of parted fragments tumbling from on high ; 
And from the summit of that craggy mound 
The perching eagle oft was heard to cry, 
Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky. 

IX. 

One cultivated spot there was, that spread 
Its flowery bosom to the noonday beam. 
Where many a rose-bud rears its blushing head. 
And herbs for food with future plenty teem. 
Soothed by the lulling sound of grove and stream 
Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul : 
He minded not the sun's last trembling gleam. 
For heard from far the twilight curfew toll ; 
When slowly on his ear these moving accents 
Btole : — 



"Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled 

breast, 
And woo the weary to profound repose ; 
Can Passion's wildest uproar lay to rest. 
And whisper comfort to the man of woes ! 
Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes, 
And Contemplation soar on seraph-wings. 
O Solitude ! the man who thee foregoes. 
When lucre lures him, or ambition stings. 
Shall never know the source whence real grandeur 

springs. 

XI. 

" Vain man, is grandeur given to gay attire? 
Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid : — 
To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hirel 
It is thy weakness that requires their aid : — 
To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid? 
They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm : — 
To hosts, through carnage who to conquest 

wadel 
Behold the victor vanquished by the worm ! 
Behold, what deeds of wo the locust can perform ! 

XII. 

" True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind 
Virtue has raised above the things below. 
Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resigned, 
Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her deadliest 

blow." 
— This strain from midst the rocks was heard 

to flow 



In solemn sounds. Now beamed the evening 

star; 
And from embattled clouds emerging slow, 
Cynthia came riding on her silver car ; 
And hoary mountain-chffs shone faintly from afar. 

XIII. 

Soon did the solemn voice its theme renew ; 
(While Edwin, wraptin wonder, listening stood) 
"Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu. 
Scorned by the wise, and hated by the good 1 
Ye only can engage the servile brood 
Of Levity and Lust, who, all their days, 
Ashamed of truth and liberty, have woo'd, 
And hugged the chain, that glittering on their 

gaze 
Seems to outshine the pomp of Heaven's empyreal 

blaze. 

XIV. 

" Like them, abandoned to Ambition's sway, 
I sought for glory in the paths of guile; 
And fawned and smiled, to plunder and be- 
tray. 
Myself betrayed and plundered all the while ; 
So gnawed the viper the corroding file: 
But now with pangs of keen remorse I rue 
Those years of trouble and debasement vile : — 
Yet why should I this cruel theme pursue ? 
Fly, fly, detested thoughts for ever from my view. 

XV. 

" The gusts of appetite, the clouds of care, 
And storms of disappointment, all o'erpast; 
Henceforth no earthly hope with Heaven shall 

share 
This heart, where peace serenely shines at 

last. 
And if for me no treasure be amassed. 
And if no future age shall hear my name, 
I lurk the more secure from Fortune's blast. 
And with more leisure feed this pious flame, 
Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes 

of fame. 

XVI. 

" The end and the reward of toil is rest. 

Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace ! 

Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power pos- 
sessed, 

Who ever felt his weight of wo decrease? 

Ah ! what avails the lore of Rome or Greece, 

The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious 
string. 

The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece, 

All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring, 
If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride, the bosom wring! 



10 



BEATTIE'S WORKS. 



XVII. 

" Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb 
With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of re- 
nown, 
In the deep dungeon of some gothicdome, 
Where night and desolation ever frown. 
Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down ; 
Where the green grassy turf is all I crave, 
With here and there a violet bestrown, 
Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave ; 
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my 
grave. 

XVIII. 

" And thither let the village swain repair; 
And, light of heart, the village maiden gay. 
To deck with flowers her half-disheveled hair, 
And celebrate the merry morn of May. 
There let the shepherd's pipe the live-long day 
Fill all the grove with love's bewitching wo ; 
And when mild Evening comes with mantle 

gray, 
Let not the blooming band make haste to go. 
No ghost nor spell my long and last abode shall 

know. 

XIX. 

" For though I fly to 'scape from Fortune's rage. 
And bear the scars of envy, spite, and scorn ; 
Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage, 
Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn : 
For virtue lost, and ruined man, I mourn. 
O man! Creation's pride. Heaven's darling 

child. 
Whom Nature's best, divinest gifts adorn. 
Why from thy home are truth and joy exiled. 
And all thy flivourite haunts with blood and tears 

defiled ] 

XX. 

" Along yon glittering sky what glory streams ! 
What majesty attends night's lovely queen ! 
Fair laugh our vidleys in the vernal beams ; 
And mountains rise, and oceans roll between, 
And all conspire to beautify the scene: 
But, in the mental world what chaos drear! 
What forms of mourniul, loathsome, furious 

mien ! 
O when shall that Eternal Morn appear. 
These dreadful forms to chase, tliis chaos dark to 

clear 1 

XXI. 

" O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven. 
In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light. 
Rose from , the' abyss : when dark Confusion, 

driven 
Down down the bottomless profound of night, 



Fled, where he ever flies thy piercing sight! 
O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray 
To blast the fury of oppressive might. 
Melt the hard heart to Love and Mercy's sway, 
And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on 
the way !" 

XXII. 

Silence ensued : and Edwin raised his eyes 
In tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart: 
" And is it thus in courtly life, (he cries) 
That man to man acts a betrayer's part? 
And dares he thus the gifts of Heaven pervert, 
Each social instinct, and sublime desire 1 — 
Hail, Poverty ! if honour, wealth, and art, 
If what the great pursue, and learned admire. 
Thus dissipate and quench the soul's ethereal firet" 

XXIII. 

He said, and turned away ; nor did the Sage 
O'erhear, in silent orisons employed. 
The Youth, his rising sorrow to assuage. 
Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoyed: 
For now no cloud obscures the starry void ; 
The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills; 
Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoyed, 
A soothing murmur the lone region fills 
Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills, 

XXIV. 

But he from day to day more anxious grew: — • 
The voice still seemed to vibrate on his ear, 
Nor durst he hope the hermit's tale untrue ; 
For Man he seemed to love, and Heaven to fear, 
And none speaks false, where there is none to 

hear. 
" Yet, can man's gentle heart become so fell "J 
No more in vain conjecture let me wear 
My hours away, but seek the hermit's cell ; 
'Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dis- 
pel." 

XXV. 

At early dawn the Youth his journey took, 
And many a mountain passed and valley wide, 
Then reached the wild ; where in a flowery nook, 
And seated on a mossy stone, he spied 
An ancient man : his harp lay hinj beside : 
A stag sprang from the j)asture at his call, 
And, kneeling, licked the withered hand that tied 
A wreath of woodbine round his antlers tall, 
And hung his lolly neck with many a floweret 
small. 

XXVI. 

And now the hoary Sage arose, and saw 
The wanderer approaching: innocence 
Smiled on his glowing cheek, but modest awe 
Depressed his eye, that feared to give offence : 



THE MINSTREL. 



11 



" Who art thou, courteous stranger? and from 

whence ? 
Why roam thy steps to this abandoned dale V 
" A shepherd boy (the Youth replied) far hence 
My habitation ; hear my artless tale ; 
Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear assail. 

XXVII. 

" Late as t roamed, intent on nature's charms, 
I reached at eve this wilderness profound ; 
And leaning where yon oak expands her arms, 
Heard these rude clifls thine awful voice re- 
bound, 
(For in thy speech I recognise the sound :) 
You mourned for ruined man, and virtue lost, 
And seemed to feel of keen remorse the wound. 
Pondering on former days, by guilt engrossed, 
Or in the giddy storm of dissipation tossed. 

XXVIII. 

" But say, in courtly life can craft be learned. 
Where knowledge opens, and exalts the soul 1 
Where fortune lavishes her gifts unearned, 
Can selfishness the liberal heart control 1 
Is glory there achieved by arts, as foul 
As those which felons, fiends, and furies plan 1 
Spiders ensnare, snakes poison, tigers prowl ; 
Love is the godlike attribute of man : 
O teach a simple Youth this mystery to scan ! 

XXIX. 

" Or else the lamentable strain disclaim. 
And give me back the calm, contented mind ; 
Which, late, exulting, viewed in Nature's frame, 
Goodness untainted, wisdom unconfined, 
Grace, grandeur, and utility combined ; 
Restore those tranquil days, that saw me still 
Well pleased with all, but most with humankind, 
When Fancy roamed through Nature's works 
at will," 
Unchecked by cold distrust, and uninformed of ill." 

XXX. 

"Wouldst thou (the Sage replied) in peace re- 
turn 
To the gay dreams of fond romantic youth, 
Leave me to hide, in this remote sojourn, 
From every gentle ear the dreadful truth : 
For if my desultory strain with ruth 
And indignation make thine eyes o'erflow, 
Alas ! what comfort could thy anguish sooth, 
Shouldst thou the extent of human folly know. 
Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads 
to wo. 

XXXI. 

" But let untender thoughts afar be driven ; 
Nor venture to arraign the dread decree : 
For know, to man, as candidate for Heaven, 
32 2r'» 



The voice of the Eternal said, be free; 
And this divine prerogative to thee 
Does Virtue, Happiness, and Heaven convey; 
Nor Virtue is the child of Liberty, 
And Happiness of Virtue ; nor can they 
Be free to keep the path who are not free to stray. 

XXXII. 

" Yet leave me not. I would allay that grief. 
Which else might thy young virtue overpower; 
And in thy converse I shall find relief. 
When the dark shades of melancholy lour; 
For solitude has many a dreary hour, 
Ev'n when exempt from grief, remorse and pain: 
Come often then ; for, haply, in my bower. 
Amusement, knowledge, wisdom thou may'st 

gain. 
If I one soul improve, I have not lived in vain." 

XXXIII. 

And now, at length to Edwin's ardent gaze 
The Muse of history unrolls her page : 
But few, alas ! the scenes her art displays, 
To charm his fancy, or his heart engage. 
Here Chiefs their tliirst of power in blood as- 
suage. 
And straight their flames with tenfold fierceness 

burn; 
Here smiling Virtue prompts the patriot's rage. 
But lo, ere. long, is left alone to mourn. 
And languish in the dust, and class the abandoned 
urn. 

XXXIV. 

" Ah, what avails (he said) to trace the springs 
That whirl of empire the stupendous wheel! 
Ah, what have I to do with conquering kings, 
Hands drenched in blood, and breasts begirt with 

steel ? 
To those whom Nature taught to think and feel, 
Heroes, alas! are things of small concern: 
Could History man's secret heart reveal, 
And what imports a heaven-born mind to learn, 
tier transcripts to explore what bosom would not 

yearn ! 

XXXV. 

" This praise, Cheronean Sage,* is thine : 
(Why should this praise to thee alone belong 1) 
All else from Nature's moral path decline. 
Lured by the toys that captivate the throng ; 
To herd in cabinets and camps, among 
Spoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride ; 
Or chaunt of heraldry the drowsy song, 
How tyrant blood, o'er many a region wide. 
Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide. 



• Plutarch. 



12 



BEATTIE'S WORKS. 



XXXVI 

" Oh, who of man the story will unfold, 
Ere victory and empire wrought annoy, 
In that elysian age (misnamed of gold) 
The age of love, and innocence, and joy, 
When all were great and free ! man's sole em- 
ploy 
To deck the bosom of his parent earth ; 
Or toward his bower the murmuring stream de- 
coy, 
To aid the floweret's long-expected birth, 
And lull the bed of peace, and crown the board 
of mirth. 

XXXVII. 

" Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval groves, 
Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent. 
Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves. 
His eye still smiling, and his heart content : 
Then, hand in hand. Health, Sport, and La- 
bour went ; 
Nature supplied the wish she taught to crave ; 
None prowled for prey, none watched to circum- 
vent : 
To all an equal lot Heaven's bounty gave; 
No vassal feared his lord, no tyrant feared his 
slave. 

XXXVIII. 

" But ah ! th' historic Muse has never dared 
To pierce those hallowed bowers : 'tis Fancy's 

beam 
Poured on the vision of th' enraptured Bard, 
That paints the charms of that delicious theme. 
Then hail, sweet Fancy's ray ! and hail the dream 
That weans the weary soul from guilt and wo ! 
Careless what others of my choice may deem, 
I long where Love and Fancy lead to go. 
And meditate on Heaven ; enough of earth I 

know." — 

XXXIX. 

" I can not blame thy choice, (the Sage replied) 
For soft and smooth are Fancy's flowery ways: 
And yet, e'en there, if lefl^ without a guide, 
The young adventurer unsafely plays. 
Eyes dazzled long by Fiction's gaudy rays. 
In modest Truth no light nor beauty find : 
And who, my child, would trust the meteor-blaze, 
Thatsoonmust fail, and leavethewandercrblind, 
More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had 
shinedl 

XL. 

" Fancy enervates, while it sooths, the heart. 
And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight: 



To joy each heightening charm it can impart, 

But wraps the hour of wo in tenfold night. 

And often, when no real ills aflright. 

Its visionary fiends, an endless train, 

Assail with equal or superior might. 

And tiirough the throbbing heart, and dizzy 

brain. 
And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than 

mortal pain. 

XLI. 

" And yet, alas ! the real ills of life 
Claim the full vigour of a mind prepared. 
Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife, 
Its guide Experience, and Truth its guard. 
We fare on earth as other men have fared : 
Were they successful? Let not us despair. 
Was disappointment oft their sole reward 1 
Yet shall their tale instruct, if it declare 
How they have borne the load ourselves are doomed 
to bear. 

XLII. 

" What charms th' historic Muse adorn, from 

spoils. 
And blood, and tyrants, when she wings her 

flight. 
To hail the patriot Prince, whose pious toils 
Sacred to science, liberty, and right, 
And peace, through every age divinely bright, 
Shall shine the boast and wonder of mankind! 
Sees yonder sun, from his meridian height, 
A lovelier scene than Virtue thus enshrined 
In power, and man with man for mutual aid com- 
bined"? 

XLIII. 

" Hail, sacred Polity, by Freedom reared ' 
Hail, sacred Freedom, when by Law restrained ! 
Without you, what were manl A groveling herd 
In darkness, wretchedness, and want enchained. 
Sublimed by you, the Greek and Roman reigned 
In arts unrivalled : Oh, to latest days. 
In Albion may your influence, unprofaned, 
To godlike worth the generous bosom raise ; 
And prompt the Sage's lore, and fire the Poet's 
lays ! 

XLIV. 

" But now let other themes our care engage. 
For lo, with modest yet majestic grace, 
To curb Imagination's lawless rage, 
And from within the cherished heart to brace, 
Philosophy appears. The gloomy race 
By Indolence and moping Fancy bred, 
Fear, Discontent, Solicitude give place, 
And Hope and Courage brighten in their stead, 
While on the kindling soul hci vital beams are shed. 



THE MINSTREL. 



13 



XLV. 

'* Then waken from long lethargy to life* 
Tlie seeds of happiness, and powersof thought; 
Then jarring appetites forego their strife, 
A strife by ignorance to madness wrought. 
Pleasure by savage man is dearly bought 
With fell revenge, lust that defies control, 
With gluttony and death. The mind untaught 
Is a (lark waste, where fiends and tempests howl : 
As Phoebus to the world, is Science to the soul. 

XLIV: 

"And Reason now through Number, Time, 

and Space, 
Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye. 
And learns from facts compared, the laws to trace, 
Whose long progression leads to Deity. 
Can mortal strength presume to soar so high? 
Can mortal sight, so oft bedimmed with tears, 
Such glory bear? — forlo, the shadows fly 
From Nature's face ; Confusion disappears, 
And order charms the eyes, and harmony the ears. 

XLVII. 

" In the deep windings of the grove, no more 
The hag obscene, and grisly phantom dwell; 
Nor in the fall of mountain-stream, or roar 
Of winds, is heard the angry spirit's yell ; 
No wizard mutters the tremendous spell, 
Nor sinks convulsive in prophetic swoon ; 
Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets swell. 
To ease of fancied pangs the labouring moon, 
Or chase the shade tliat blots the blazing orb of 
noon. 

XLVIII. 

" Many a long-lingering year, in lonely isle, 
Stun'd with th' eternal turbulence of waves, 
Lo, with dim eyes, that never learned to smile. 
And trembling hands, the famished native craves 
Of Heaven his wretched fare : shivering in caves. 
Or scorched on rocks, he pines from day to day ; 
But Science gives the word ; and lo, he braves 
The surge and tempest, lighted by her ray, 
And to a happier land waft.s merrily away. 

XLIX. 

"And e'en where Nature loads the teeming plain 
With the full pomp of vegetable store. 
Her bounty, unimproved, is deadly bane : 
Dark woods and rankling wilds, from shore to 
shore 



• The influence of the philosophic Spirit, in humanizing 
Iheminil, and preparing it for intellectual exertion, and deli- 
cate pleasure; — in exploring, by the help of geometry, the 
system of the universe; in banishing superstition ; in promot- 
ing iiuvigaiion, agriculture, medicine, and moral and political 
•cience : from Stanza XLV. to Stanza LV, 



Stretch their enormous gloom ; which to explore 
E'en Fancy trembles in her si)righlliest mood ; 
For there each eyeball gleams with lust of gore, 
Nestles each murderous and each monstrous 

brood. 
Plague lurks in every shade, and steams from every 

flood. 



" 'Twas from Philosophy man learned to tame 
The soil by plenty to intemperance fed. 
Lo, from the echoing axe, and thundering flame, 
Poison and plague and yelling rage are fled : 
The waters, bursting from their slimy bed, 
Bring health and melody to every vale : 
And, from tlie breezy main, and mountain's head, 
Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale. 
To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering 
gale, 

LI. 

" What dire necessities on every hand 
Our art, our strength, our fortitude require ! 
Of foes intestine with a numerous band 
Against this little throb of life conspire ! 
Yet Science can elude their fatal ire 
Awhile, and turn aside Death's leveled dart,' 
Sooth the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire. 
And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the 
heart. 
And yet a few sofl; nights and balmy days impart. 

LII. 

" Nor less to regulate man's moral frame 
Science exerts her all-composing sway. 
Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame, 
Or pines to Indolence and Spleen a prey. 
Or Avarice, a fiend more fierce than they ? 
Flee to the shade of Academus' grove ; 
Where cares molest not, discord melts away 
In harmony, and the pure passions prove 
How sweet the words of truth breathed from the 
lips of Love. 

LIII. 

" What can not Art and Industry perform, 
When Science plans the progress of their toil 1 
They smile at penury, disease, and storm ; 
And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil. 
When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil 
A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage 
Order transforms to anarchy and spoil. 
Deep-versed in mah the philosophic Sage 
Prepares with lenient hand their frenzy to assuage. 

LIV. 

'"Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind, 
From situation, temper, soil, and clime 



14 



EEATTIE'S WORKS. 



Explored, a nation's various powers can bind 
And various orders, in one form sublime 
Of polity, that, midst the wrecks of time. 
Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear 
The assault of foreign or domestic crime, 
While public faith, and public love sincere, 
And Industry and Law maintain their ways se- 



vere. 



LV. 



Enraptured by the Hermit's strain, the Youth 
Proceeds the path of Science to explore ; 
And now, expanding to the beams of Truth, 
New energies, and charms unknown before, 
His mind discloses : Fancy now no more 
Wantons on fickle pinion throughthe skies ; 
But fixed in aim, and conscious of her power, 
Sublime from cause to cause exults to rise. 
Creation's blended stores arranging as she flies. 

LVI. 

Nor love of novelty alone inspires. 
Their laws and nice dependencies to scan ; 
For mindful of the aids that hfe requires, 
And of the services man owes to man, 
He meditates new arts on Nature's plan ; 
The cold desponding breast of Sloth to warm, 
The flame of Industry and Genius fan, 
And Emulation's noble rage alarm. 
And the long hours of Toil and Solitude to charm. 

LVII. 

But she, who set on fire his infant heart. 
And all his dreams and all his wanderings shared 
And blessed, the Muse and her celestial art, 
Still claim the enthusiast's fond and first regard. 
From Nature's beauties variously compared 
And variously combined, he learns to frame 
Those formsof bright perfection, which the Bard, 
While boundless hopes and boundless views in- 
flame, 
Enamoured consecrates to never-dying fame. 

LVIII. 

Oflate, with cumbersome, though pompous show, 
Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface. 
Through ardour to adorn ; but Nature now 
To his experienced eye a modest grace 
Presents, where Ornament the second place 
Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design 
Subservient still. Simplicity apace 
Tempers his rage : he owns her charm divine. 
And clears the ambiguous phrase, and lops the 
unwieldy line. 

LIX. 

Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains) 
What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole, 



When the great Shepherd of the Mantuan plains* 

His deep majestic melody 'gan roll : 

Fain would I sing, what transport stormed his 

soul. 
How the red current throbbed his veins along, 
When, like Pelides, bold beyond control. 
Gracefully terrible, sublimely strong, 
Homer raised high to heaven, the loud, the impe- 
tuous song. 

LX. 

And how his lyre, though rude her first essays. 
Now skilled to sooth, to triumph, to complain, 
Warbling at will through each harmonious maze, 
Was taught to modulate the artful strain, 
I fain would sing : — but ah ! I strive in vain. 
Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound. 
With trembling step, to join yon weeping train 
I haste, where gleams funereal glare around, 
And, mixed with shrieks of wo, the knells of death 
resound. 

LXI. 

Adieu, ye lays that Fancy's flowers adorn, 
The soft amusement of the vacant mind ! 
He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn. 
He, whom each Virtue fired, each Grace refined, 
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind !— 
He sleeps in dust. — Ah, how should I pursue 
My theme? — To heart-consuming grief resigned. 
Here on his recent grave 1 fix my view. 
And pour my bitter tears. — Ye flowery lay«, adieu ! 

LXII. 

Art thou, my Gregory ,+ for ever fled 1 

And am I left to unavailing wo? 

When fortune's storms assail this weary head. 

Where cares long since have shed untimely 

snow. 
Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go"? 
No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers : 
Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow. 
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears. — 
'Tis meet that I should mourn: — flow forth afresh, 

my tears! 



• Virgil. 

t This excellent person died suddenly, on the 10th of Febru- 
ary, 1773. The conclusion of the poem was written a few days 
after. Dr. Gregory, who is here lamented, has made his me- 
mory beloved by almost every class of readers from his beau- 
tiful and affecting address to his daughters, published after his 
death, with the title of "A Father's Legacy." He published 
in his lifetime " A comparative View of (he Stale and Facul- 
ties of Man, with those of the Animal World ;" and " Lectures 
on the Duties and Offices of a Physician." He was Professor 
of Medicine in the University of Aberdeen, and afterwards of 
Edinburgh, held the medical rank of first physician to his 
Majesty for Scotland, and arrived at high eminence in the 
practice of his profession. See a further and very interesting 
account of him in Sir W. Forbes' Life of Dr. Beattie. 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



15 



JJocmsji on Scleral (Dcc^Toionsss* 



RETIREMENT. 



AN ODE. 

When in the crimson cloud of Even 

The lingering light decays, 

And Hesper on the front of heaven 

His glittering gem displays ; 

Deep in the silent vale unseen, 

Beside a lulling stream, 

A pensive Youth, of placid mien, 

Indulged this tender theme. 

" Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled 

High o'er the glimmering dale; 

Ye woods, along whose windings wild 

Murmurs the solemn gale; 

Where Melancholy strays forlorn, 

And Wo retires to weep, 

What time the wan moon's yellow horn 

Gleams on the western deep : 

" To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms 

Ne'er drew Abition's eye, 

'Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms, 

To your retreats I fly: 

Deep in your most sequestered bower 

Let me at last recline. 

Where Solitude, mild, modest power! 

Leans on her ivied shrine. 

"How shall I woo thee, matchless Fair! 

Thy heavenly smile how win"? 

Thy smile, that smooths the brow of Care, 

And stills the storm within. 

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove 

Thine ardent votary bring, 

And bless his hours, and bid them move 

Serene, on silent wing 1 

" Oft let remembrance sooth his mind 
With dreams of former days. 
When, in the lap of Peace reclined, 
He framed his infant lays ; 
When Fancy roved at large, nor Care 
Nor cold Distrust alarmed ; 
Nor Envy, with malignant glare, 
His simple youth had harmed. 

" 'Twas then, O Solitude ! to thee 
His early vows were paid. 
From heart sincere, and warm, and free, 
Devoted to the shade. 



Ah, why did Fate his steps decoy 
In stormy paths to roam. 
Remote from all congenial joy 1 — ' 
O take the Wanderer home. 

" Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine, 
Thy charms my only theme ; 
My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine 
Waves o'er the gloomy stream. 
Whence the scared owl on pinions gray 
Breaks from the rustling boughs. 
And down the lone vale sails away 
To more profound repose. 

" O while to thee the woodland pours 

Its wildly warbling song, 

And balmy from the bank of flowers 

The zephyr breathes along; 

Let no rude sound invade from far, 

No vagrant foot be nigh. 

No ray from Grandeur's gilded car 

Flash on the startled eye. 

" But if some pilgrim through the glade 

Thy hallowed bowers explore, 

O guard from harm his hoary head, 

And listen to his lore ; 

For he of joys divine shall tell 

That wean from earthly wo. 

And triumph o'er the mighty spell 

That chains this heart below. 

" For me no more the path invites 

Ambition loves to tread ; 

No more I climb those toilsome heights 

By guileful Hope misled ; 

Leaps my fond flattering heart no more 

To Mirth's enlivening strain ; 

For present pleasure soon is o'er. 

And all the past in vain." 



ODE TO HOPE, 

I. L 

THOU, who glad'st the pensive soul. 

More than Aurora's smiles the swain forlorn, 

Left all night long to mourn 

Where desolation frowns, and tempests howl ; 

And shrieks of wo, as intermits the storm. 

Far o'er the monstrous wilderness resound. 

And cross the gloom darts many a shapeless fornv 

And many a fire-eyed visage glares around, 



16 



BEATTIE'S WORKS. 



O come, and be once more my guest: 

Come, for thou oft thy suppliant's vow hast heard, 

And oft with smiles indulgent cheered 

And soothed him into rest, 

I. 2. 

Smit by thy rapture-beaming eye 

Deep flashing through the midnight of their mind, 

The sable bands combined, 

Where Fear's black banner bloats the troubled sky. 

Appalled retire. Suspicion hides her head, 

Nor dares th' obliquely gleaming eyeball raise; 

Despair, with gorgon-figured veil o'erspread, 

Speeds to dark Phlegethon's detested maze. 

Lo, startled at the heavenly ray, 

With speed unwonted Indolence upsprings, 

And, heaving, lifts her leaden wings. 

And sullen glides away : 

I. 3. 

Ten thousand forms, by pining fancy viewed. 

Dissolve, — Above the sparkling flood 

When Phoebus rears his awful brow, 

From lengthening lawn and valley low, 

The troops of fen-born mists retire. 

Along the plain 

The joyous swain 

Eyes the gay villages again, 

And gold-illumined spire ; 

While on the billowy ether borne 

Floats the loose lay's jovial measure ; 

And light along the fairy Pleasure, 

Her green robes glittering to the morn, 

Wantons on silken wing. And goblins all 

To the damp dungeon shrink, or hoary hall. 

Or westward, with impetuous flight. 

Shoot to the desert realms of their congenial Night. 

II. 1. 

When first on Childhood's eager gaze 

Life's varied landscape, stretched immense around. 

Starts out of night profound, 

Thy voice incites to tempt tli' untrodden maze. 

Fond he surveys thy mild maternal face, 

His bashful eye still kindling as he views, 

And, while thy lenient arm supports his pace. 

With beating heart the upland path pursues: 

The path that leads, where hung sublime, 

And seen afar, youth's gallant trophies, bright 

In Fancy's rainbow-ray, invite 

His wingy nerves to climb. 

II. 2. 

Pursue thy pleasurable way, 

Safe in the guidance of thy heavenly guard. 

While melting airs are heard, 

And soft-eyed cherub forms around thee play : 

Simplicity, in careless flowers arrayed. 

Prattling amusive in his accent meek; 



And Modesty, half turning, as afraiJ, 

The smile just dimpling on his glowing cheek! 

Content and Leisure hand in hand 

With Innocence and Peace, advance and sing; 

And Mirth, in many a mazy ring. 

Frisks o'er the flowery land. 

II. 3. 

Frail man, how various is thy lot below ! > 

To-day though gales propitious blow, 

And Peace, soft gliding down the sky. 

Lead Love along and Harmony, 

To-morrow the gay scene deforms: 

Then all around 

The thunder's sound 

Rolls rattling on through heaven's profound, 

And down rush all the storms. 

Ye days, that balmy influence shed. 

When sweet Childhood, ever sprightly. 

In paths of pleasure sported lightly. 

Whither, ah whither are ye fledl 

Ye cherub-train, that brought him on his way, 

O leave him not midst tumult and dismay ; 

For now youth's eminence he gains : 

But what a weary length of lingering toil remains. 

III. 1. 

They shrink, they vanish into air. 

Now Slander taints with pestilence the gale; 

And mingling cries assail. 

The wail of Wo, and groan of dim Despair. 

Lo, wizard Envy from his serpent eye 

Darts quick destruction in each baleful glance 

Pride smiling stern, and yellow Jealousy, 

Frowning Disdain, and haggard Hate advance; 

Behold, amidst the dire array. 

Pale withered Care his giant stature rears, 

And lo, his iron hand prepares 

To grasp its feeble prey. 

III. 2. 

Who now will guard bewildered youth 

Safe from the fierce assault of hostile ragel 

Such war can Virtue wage. 

Virtue, that bears the sacred shield of Truth ! 

Alas ! full oft on Guilt's victorious car 

The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne ; 

While the fair captive, marked with many a scar, 

In lone obscurity, oppressed, forlorn. 

Resigns to tears her angel form. 

Ill-fated youth, then whither wilt thou fly 1 

No friend, no shelter now is nigh : 

And onward rolls the storm. 

III. 3. 

But whence the sudden beam that shoots along? 
Why shrink aghast the hostile throng 1 
Lo, from amidst Aflliction's night, 
Hope bursts all radiant on the sight: 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



17 



Her worda the troubled bosom sooth :— 

" Why thus dismayed 1 

Though foes invade, 

Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid, 

Who tread the path of truth. 

'Tis I, who smooth the rugged way, 

I, who close the eyes of Sorrow, 

And with glad visions of to-morrow 

Repair the weary soul's decay. 

When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing 

heart, 
Dreams of heaven's opening glories I impart. 
Till the freed spirit springs on high 
In rapture too severe for weak mortaUty." 



ODE. 

ON LORD hay's BIRTH-DAY. 

A MUSE, unskilled in venal praise. 
Unstained with flattery's art; 
Who loves simplicity of lays 
Breathed ardent from the heart; 
While gratitude and joy inspire, 
Resumes the long unpractised lyre, 
To hail, O Hay, thy natal morn: 
No gaudy wreath of flowers she weaves, 
But twines with oak the laurel leaves, 
Thy cradle to adorn. 

For not on beds of gaudy flowers 

Thine ancestors reclined, 

Where Sloth dissolves, and Spleen devours 

All energy of mind. 

To hurl the dart, to ride the car, 

To stem the deluges of war, 

And snatch from fate a sinking land ; 

Trample the invader's lofty crest, 

And from his grasp the dagger wrest. 

And desolating brand: 

'Twas this, that raised thy illustrious line 

To match the first in fame ! 

A thousand years have seen it shine 

With unabated flame ; 

Have seen thy mighty sires appear j 

Foremost in Glory's high career, ; 

The pride and pattern of the brave: 

Yet pure from lust of blood their fire, 

And from Ambition's wild desire, 

They triumphed but to save. 

The Muse with joy attends their way 
The vale of peace along; 
There to its lord the village gay 
Renews the grateful song. 
Yon castle's glittering towers contain 
No pit of wo, nor clanking chain. 
Nor to the suppliant's wail resound ; 
The open doors the needy bless, 
Th' unfriended hail their calm recess, 
And gladness smiles axouad. 



There to the sympathetic heart 
Life's best deUghts belong, 
To mitigate the mourner's smart, 
To guard the weak from wrong. 
Ye sons of Luxury be wise : 
Know, happiness for ever flies 
The cold and soUtary breast ; 
Then let the social instinct glow, 
And learn to feel another's wo, 
And in his joy be blessed. 

O yet, ere Pleasure plants her snare 

For unsus}x;cting youth : 

Ere Flattery her song prepare 

To check the voice of Truth ; 

O may his country's guardian power 

Attend the slumbering Infant's bower, 

And bright inspiring dreams impart j 

To rouse the hereditary fire. 

To kindle each sublime desire, 

Exalt and warm the heart. 

Swift to reward a Parent's fears, 
A Parent's hopes to crown, 
Roll on in peace ye blooming years, 
That rear him to renown ; 
When in his finished form and face 
Admiring multitudes shall trace 
Each patrimonial charm combined, 
The courteous yet majestic mien. 
The liberal smile, the look serene. 
The great and gentle mind. 

Yet, though thou draw a nation's eyes. 

And win a nation's love ; 

Let not thy towering mind despise 

The village and the grove. 

No slander there shall wound thy feme, 

No ruffian take his deadly aim, 

No rival weave the secret snare : 

For Innocence, with angel smile. 

Simplicity, that knows no guile. 

And Love and Peace are there. 

When winds the mountain-oak assail. 
And lay its glories waste; 
Content may slumber in the vale. 
Unconscious of the blast. 
Through scenes of tumult while we roam 
The heart, alas ! is ne'er at home, 
It hopes in time to roam no more; 
The mariner, not vainly brave. 
Combats the storm, and rides the wave, 
To rest at last on shore. 

Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe. 
How vain your mask of state ! 
The good alone have joy sincere. 
The good alone are great; 
Great, when amid the vale of peace 
They bid the plaint of sorrow cease, 



18 



BEATTIE'S WORKS. 



And hear the voice of artless praise ; 
As, when along the trophicd plain 
Sublime they lead the victor's train, 
Wliile shouting nations gaze. 



PJGM^O- GERANOMACHJA : 

THE BATTLE OP 

THE PIGMIES AND CRANES, 

[From the Latin of Addison, 1762.] 

Thr pigmy people, and the feathered train, 
Mingling in mortal combat on the plain, 
I sing. Ye muses favour my designs, 
Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines; 
The flashing swords and fluttering wings display, 
And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray : 
(>ranes darting with disdain on tiny foes, 
Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumbered 
woes. 

The wars and woes of heroes six feet long 
Have oft resounded in Pierian song. 
Who has not heard of Colehos' golden fleece. 
And Argo manned with all the flower of Greece 1 
Of Thebes' fell brethren, Theseus stern of face. 
And Peleus' son unrivaled in the race, 
iEneas founder of the Roman line. 
And William glorious on the banks of Boyne 1 
Who has not learned to weep at Pompey's woes, 
And over Blackmore's epic page to doze ? 
'Tis I, who dare attempt unusual strains, 
Of hosts unsung, and unfrequented plains ; 
Of small shrill trump, and chiefs of little size, 
And armies rushing down the darkened skies. 

Where India reddens to the early dawn, 
Winds a deep vale from vulgar eye withdrawn : 
Bosomed in groves the lowly region lies. 
And rocky mountains round the border rise. 
Here, till the doom of Fate its fall decreed. 
The empire flourished of the pigmy-breed; 
Here Industry performed, and Genius planned. 
And busy multitudes o'crspread the land. 
But now to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray. 
Tempting tlu'ough craggy clifl's the desperate way, 
He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth, 
Its godlings mouldering on the abandoned hearth ; 
And starts, where small white bones are spread 

around, 
" Or little footsteps lightly print the ground ;" 
While the proud crane her nest securely builds. 
Chattering amid the desolated fields. 

But difterent fates befel her hostile rage. 
While reigned, invincible through many an age. 
The dreaded pigmy : roused by war's alarms 
Forth rushed the madding mannikin to arms. 
Fierce to the field of death the hero flics ; 
The faint cran6 fluttering flaps the ground, and 
dies; 



And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load !) 
With bloody bill loose dangling marks the road: 
And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay. 
And often made the callow young his prey; 
With slaughtered victims heaped his board, and 

smiled 
To avenge the parent's trespass on the child. 
Oft, where his feathered foe had reared her nest, 
And laid her eggs and household gods to rest, 
Burning for blood, in terrible array. 
The eighteen-inch militia burst their way ; 
All went to wreck; the infant foemen fell, 
When scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell. 

Loud uproar hence, and rage of arms arose. 
And the fell rancour of encountering foes ; 
Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc 

whelms. 
And Death's grim visage scares the pigmy realms. 
Not half so furious blazed the warlike fire 
Of Mice, high theme of the Mseonian lyre ; 
When bold to battle marched th' accoutred frogs. 
And the deep tumult thundered through the bogs. 
Pierced by the javelin-bulrush, on the shore 
Here agonizing rolled the mouse in gore ; 
And there the frog (a scene full sad to see !) 
Shorn of one leg, slow sprawled along on three; 
He vaults no more with vigorous hopes on high. 
But mourns in coarsest croaks his destiny. 
And now the day of wo drew on apace, 
A day of wo to all the pigmy race. 
When dwarfs were doomed (but penitence was 

vain) 
To rue each broken egg, and chicken slain. 
For roused to vengeance by repeated wrong. 
From distant climes the long-billed regions throng: 
From Strymon's lake, and Cayster's plashy meads, 
And fens of Scythia, green with rustling reeds ; 
From where the Danube winds through many a 

land, 
And Mareotis laves th' Egyptian strand. 
To rendezvous they waft on eager wing. 
And wait assembled the returning Spring. 
Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of 

flight. 
Whet their keen beaks, and twisting claws, for 

fight; 
Each crane the pigmy power in thought o'erturns. 
And every bosom for the battle burns. 

When genial gales the frozen air unbind. 
The screaming legions wheel, and mountthe wind. 
Far in the sky they form their long array. 
And land and ocean stretched immense survey 
Deep, deep beneath ; and, triumphing in pride. 
With clouds and winds commixed, innunierous 

ride ; 
'Tis wild obstreperous clangor all, and heaven 
Whirls, in tempestuous undulation driven. 

Nor less th' alarm that shook the worid below, 
Where marched in pomp of war th' embattled foej 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



19 



Where mannikins with haughty step advance, 
And graap the shield, and couch the quivering 

lance ; 
To right and left the lengthening lines they form, 
And ranked in deep array await the storm. 

High in the midst the chieftain dwarf was seen, 
Of giant stature, and imperial mien. 
Full twenty inches tall he strode along, 
And viewed with lofty eye the wondering throng ; 
And, while with many a scar his visage frowned. 
Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound 
Of beaks and claws, disclosing to their sight 
The glorious meed of high heroic might. 
For with insatiate vengeance he pursued, 
And never-ending hate, the feathery brood. 
Unhappy they, confiding in the length 
Of horny beak, or talons' crooked strength, 
Who durst abide his rage ; the blade descends, 
And from the panting trunk the pinion rends : 
Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more, 
The trunk, disfigured, stiffens in its gore. 
What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force ! 
What heaps of chicken carnage marked his course ! 
How oft, O Strymon, thy lone banks along, 
Did wailing echo waft the funeral song I 

And now from far the mingling clamours rise. 
Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies. 
From skirt to skirt of heaven, with stormy eway, 
A cloud rolls on, and darkens all the day. 
Near and more near descends the dreadful shade, 
And now in battailous array displayed, 
On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire. 
The cranes rush onward, and the fight require. 

The pigmy warriors eye, with fearless glare. 
The host thick swarming o'er the burthened air ; 
Thick swarming now, but to their native land 

Doomed to return a scanty straggling band. 

When sudden, darting down the depth of heaven, 
Fierce on th' expecting foe the cranes were driven, 
The kindling frenzy every bosom warms, 
The region echoes to the clash of arms: 
Loose feathers from th' encountering armies fly, 
And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky. 
To breathe from toil, upsprings the panting crane, 
Then with fresh vigour downward darts again. 
Success in equal balance hovering hangs. 
Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs. 
The bird transfixed in bloody vortex whirls. 
Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls ; 
There, while the life-blood bubbles from his 

wound. 
With little feet the pigmy beats the ground ; 
Deep from his breast the short short sob he draws. 
And, dying, curses the keen-pointed claws. 
Trembles the thundering field, thick covered o'er 
With falchions, mangled wings, and streaming 

gore. 
And pigmy arms, and beaks of ample size, 
And here a claw, and there a finger lies. 

28 



Encompassed round with heaps of slaughtered 
foes, 
All grim in blood the pigmy champion glows. 
And on th' assailing host impetuous springs, 
Careless of nibbling bills, and flapping wings; 
And midst the tumult wheresoe'er he turns, 
The battle with redoubled fury burns; 
From every side th' avenging cranes amain 
Throng, to o'erwhelm this terror of the plain. 
When suddenly (for such the will of Jove) 
A fowl enormous, sousing from above. 
The gallant chieftain clutched, and, soaring high, 
(Sad chance of battle !) bore him up the sky. 
The cranes pursue, and clustering in a ring, 
Chatter triumphant round the captive-king. 
But ah ! what pangs each pigmy bosom wrung, 
When, now to cranes a prey, on talons hung, 
High in the clouds they saw their helpless lord, 
His wriggling form still lessening as he soared. 

Lo, yet again with unabated rage 
In mortal strife the mingling hosts engage. 
The crane with darted bill assaults the foe, 
Hovering, then wheels aloft to 'scape the blow : 
The dwarf in anguish aims the vengeful wound; 
But whirls in empty air the falchion round. 

Such was the scene, when midst the loud alarms 
Subhme th' eternal Thunderer rose in arms. 
When Briareus, by mad ambition driven. 
Heaved Pelion huge, and hurled it high at hearen: 
Jove rolled redoubling thunders from on high. 
Mountains and bolts encountered in the sky ; 
Till one stupendous ruin whelmed the crew. 
Their vast limbs weltering wide in brimstone blue. 

But now at length the pigmy legions yield. 
And winged with terror fly the fatal field. 
They raise a weak and melancholy wail, 
All in distraction scattering o'er the vale. 
Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend ; 
Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend : 
With unrelenting ire they urge the chase, 
Sworn to exterminate the hated race. 

'Twas thus the pigmy name, once great in war. 
For spoils of conquered cranes renowned afar, 
Perished. For, by the dread decree of heaven, 
Short is the date to earthly grandeur given; 
And vain are all attempts to roam beyond 
Where Fate has fixed the everlasting bound. 
Fallen are the trophies of Assyrian power. 
And Persia's proud dominion is no more; 
Yea, though to both superior far in fame, 
Thine empire, Latium, is an empty name. 

And now with lofty chiefs of ancient time 
The pigmy heroes roam the Elysian clime. 
Or, if belief to matron-talcs be due. 
Full oft, in the belated shepherd's view, 
Their frisking forms, in gentle green arrayed, 
Gambol secure amid the moonlight glade. 
Secure, for no alarming cranes molest. 
And all their woes in long oblivion rest: 



90 



BEATTIE'S WORKS. 



Down the deep dale, and narrow winding way, 
They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay : 
'Tis joy and froUc all, where'er they rove, 
And Fairy people is the name they love. 



THE HARES. 

A FABLE. 

Yes, yes, I grant the sons of earth 
Are doomed to trouble from their birth. 
We all of sorrow have our share ; 
But say, is yours without compare? 
Look round the world ; perhaps you'll find 
Each individual of our kind 
Pressed with an equal load of ill. 
Equal at least : — Look further still, 
And own your lamentable case 
Is little short of happiness. 
In yonder hut that stands alone 
Attend to Famine's feeble moan; 
Or view the couch where Sickness lies, 
Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes. 
His frame by strong convulsion torn, 
His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn. 
Or see, transfixed with keener pangs, 
Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs ; 
Whistles the wind ; he starts, he stares, 
!Nor Slumber's balmy blessings shares; 
Despair, Remorse, and Terror roll 
Their tempests on his harassed soul. 
But here perhaps it may avail 
To' enforce our reasoning with a tale. 

Mild was the morn, the sky serene, 
The jolly hunting band convene; 
The beagle's breast with ardour burns. 
The bounding steed the champaign spurns 
And Fancy oil the game descries 
Through the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes. 

Just then, a council of the hares 
Had met, on national affairs. 
The chiefs were set ; while o'er their head 
The furze its frizzled covering spread. 
Long lists of grievances were heard, 
And general discontent appeared : 
" Our harmless race shall every savage. 
Both quadruped and biped, ravage? 
Shall horses, hounds, and hunters still 
Unite their wits, to work us ill 7 
The youth, his parent's sole delight. 
Whose tooth the dewy lawns invite. 
Whose pulse in every vein beats strong. 
Whose limbs leap light the vales along, 
May yet ere noontide meet his death, 
And lie dismembered on the heath. 
For youth, alas! nor cautious age, 
Nor strength, nor speed, eludes their rage. 
In every field we meet the foe. 
Each gale comes fraught with sounds of wo; 



The morning but awakes our fears, 
The evening sees us bathed in tears, 
But must we ever idly grieve. 
Nor strive our fortunes to relieve 1 
Small is each individual's force: 
To stratagem be our recourse; 
And then, from all our tribes combined. 
The murderer to his cost may find 
No foes are weak, whom Justice arms. 
Whom Concord leads, and Hatred warms. 
Be roused ; or liberty acquire, 
Or in the great attempt expire." 
He said no more; for in his breast 
Conflicting thoughts the voice suppressed : 
The fire of vengeance seemed to stream 
From his swoln eyeball's yellow gleam. 

And now the tumults of the war. 
Mingling confusedly from afar. 
Swell in the wind. Now louder cries 
Distinct of hounds and men arise. 
Forth from the brake, with beating heart. 
The' assembled hares tumultuous start. 
And, every straining nerve, on wing. 
Away precipitately spring. 
The hunting band, a signal given, 
Thick thundering o'er the plain are driven; 
O'er cliff abrupt, and shrubby mound. 
And river broad, impetuous bound ; 
Now plunge amid the forest shades, 
Glance through the openings of the glades; 
Now o'er the level valley sweep. 
Now with short steps strain up the steep; 
While backward from the hunter's eyes 
The landscape like a torrent flies. 
At last an ancient wood they gained, 
By pruner's axe yet unprofaned. 
High o'er the rest, by Nature reared, 
The oak's majestic boughs appeared; 
Beneath a copse of various hue 
In barbarous luxuriance grew. 
No knife had curbed the rambling sprays. 
No hand had wove the' implicit maze. 
The flowering thorn, self-taught to wind. 
The hazle's stubborn stem intwined, 
And bramble twigs were wreathed around, 
And rough fur7,e crept along the ground. 
Here sheltering, from the sons of murther. 
The hares drag their tired limbs no further. 

But lo, the western wind ere long 
Was loud, and roared the woo<3s among; 
From rustling leaves, and crashing boughs, 
The sound of wo and war arose. 
The hares distracted scour the grove. 
As terror and amazement drove; 
But danger, wheresoe'er they fled. 
Still seemed impending o'er their head. 
Now crowded in a grotto's gloom, 
All hopes extinct, they wait their doom. 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



21 



Dire waa the silence, till, at length, 
Even from despair deriving strength, 
With bloody eye, and furious look, 
A daring youth arose, and spoke : — 

" O wretched race, the scorn of Fate, 
Whom ills of every sort await ! 
O, cursed with keenest sense to feel 
The sharpest sting of every ill ! 
Say ye, who, fraught with mighty scheme, 
Of liberty and vengeance dream. 
What now remains 1 To what recess 
Shall we our weary steps address, 
Since fate is evermore pursuing 
All ways, and means to work our ruin 1 
Are we alone, of all beneath, 
Condemned to misery worse than death ! 
Must we, with fruitless labour, strive 
In misery worse than death to live I 
No. Be the smaller ill our choice : 
So dictates Nature's powerful voice. 
Death's pang will in a moment cease ; 
And then. All hail, eternal peace!" 
Thus while he spoke, his words impart 
The dire resolve to every heart. 

A distant lake in prospect lay. 
That, glittering in the solar ray. 
Gleamed through the dusky trees, and shot 
A trembling light along the grot : 
Thither with one consent they bend, 
Their sorrows with their lives to end. 
While each, in thought, already hears 
The water hissing in his ears. 
Fast by the margin of the lake. 
Concealed within a thorny brake, 
A linnet sate, whose careless lay 
Amused the solitary day. ^ 

Careless he sung, for on his breast 
Sorrow no lasting trace impressed ; 
When suddenly he heard a sound 
Of swill feet traversing the ground. 
Q.uick to the neighbouring tree he flies. 
Thence trembling casts around his eyes; 
No foe appeared, his fears were vain ; 
Pleased he renews the sprightly strain. 

The hares, whose noise had caused his fright, 
Saw with surprise the linnet's flight. 
" Is there on earth a wretch, (they said) 
Whom our approach can strike with dread 1 
An instantaneous change of thought 
To tumult every bosom wrought. 
So fares the system-building sage. 
Who, plodding on from youth to age. 
At last on some foundation-dream 
Has reared aloft his goodly scheme, 
And proved his predecessors fools. 
And bound all nature by his rules ; 
So fares he in that dreadful hour. 
When injured Truth exerts her power, 



Some new phenomenon to raise ; 
Which, bursting on his frighted gaze, 
From its proud summit to the ground 
Proves the whole edifice unsound. 

" Children," thus spoke a hare sedate. 
Who oft had known the' extremes of fate, 
" In slight events the docile mind 
May hints of good instruction find. 
That our condition is tlie worst, 
And we with such misfortunes cursed 
As all comparison defy. 
Was late the universal cry. 
When lo, an accident so slight 
As yonder little linnet's flight. 
Has made your stubborn heart confess 
(So your amazement bids me guess) 
That all our load of woes and fears 
Is but a part of what he bears. 
Where can he rest secure from harms, 
Whom e'en a helpless hare alarms 1 
Yet he repines not at his lot, 
When past, the danger is forgot : 
On yonder bough he trims his wings. 
And with unusual rapture sings ; 
While we, less wretched, sink beneath 
Our lighter ills, and rush to death. 
No more of this unmeaning rage, 
But hear, my friends, the words of age. 

" When by the winds of autumn driven 
The scattered clouds fly cross the heaven. 
Oft have we, from some mountain's head. 
Beheld the alternate light and shade 
Sweep the long vale. Here hovering lours 
The shadowy cloud ; there downward pours, 
Streaming direct, a flood of day. 
Which from the view flies swift away ; 
It flies, while other shades advance. 
And other streaks of sunshine glance. 
Thus chequered is the life below 
With gleams of joy, and clouds of wo. 
Then hoiie not, while we journey on, 
Still to be basking in the sun : 
Nor fear, though now in shades ye mourn. 
That sunshine will no more return. 
If, by your terrors overcome, 
Ye fly before the' approaching gloom, 
The rapid clouds your flight pursue. 
And darkness still o'ercasts your view. 
Who longs to reach the radiant plain 
Must onward urge his course amain ; 
For doubly swift the shadow flies. 
When 'gainst the gale the pilgrim plies. 
At least be firm, and undismayed 
Maintain your ground ! the fleeting shade 
Ere long spontaneous glides away. 
And gives you back the' enlivening ray. 
Lo, while I speak, our danger past ! 
No more the shrill horn's angry blast 



'm 



22 



BEATTIE'S WORKS. 



Howls in our ear ; the savage roar 
Of war and murder is no more. 
Then snatch the moment fate allows, 
Nor think of past or future woes." 
He spoke ; and hope revives ; the lake 
That instant one and all forsake, 
In sweet amusement to employ 
The present sprightly hour of joy. 

Now from the western mountain's brow 
Compassed with clouds of various glow, 
The sun a broader orb displays, 
And shoots aslope his ruddy rays. 
The lawn assumes a fresher green, 
And dew-drops spangle all the scene,_ 
The balmy zephyr breathes along, 
The shepherd sings his tender song, 
With all their lays the graves resound, 
And falling waters murmur round. 
Discord and care were put to flight, 
And all was peace and calm delight. 



ELEGY.* 



Still shall unthinking man substantial deem 
The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream"? 
On clouds, where Fancy's beam amusive plays, 
Shall heedless Hope the towering fabric raise 1 
Till at Death's touch the fairy visions fly, 
And real scenes rush dismal on the eye ; 
And, from Elysium's balmy slumber torn. 
The startled soul awakes, to think and mourn. 
O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance, 
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance, 
Who flowery vales in endless view survey, 
Glittering in beams of visionary day, 
O, yet while fate delays th' impending wo, 
Be roused to thought, anticipate the blow ; 
Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill 
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill ; 
Lest, thus encompassed with funereal gloom 
Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb, 
Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear. 
And half pronounce heaven's sacred doom severe. 
Wise, Beauteous, Good ! O every grace com- 
bined. 
That charms the eye, or captivates the mind ! 
Fair as the floweret opening on the morn. 
Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn ! 
Sweet, as the downy-pinioned gale, that roves 
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves! 
Mild as the strains, that, at the close of day, 

Warbling remote, along the vales decay! 

Yet, why with these compared? What tints so fine, 

What sweetness, mildness, can be matched with 
thinel 

Why roam abroad? Since still, to Fancy's eyes, 

I see, I see thy lovely form arise. 



* On MiB. Walker, a sister of Lord Monboddo. 



Still let me gaze, and every care beguile, 
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile; 
That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright. 
Where meekness beams ineffable delight; 
That brow, where Wisdom sits enthroned serene, 
Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien 
Still let me Usten while her words impart 
The sweet effusions of the blameleless heart. 
Till all my soul, each tumult charm'd away, 
Yeilds, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway. 
By thee inspir'd, O Virtue! Age is young, 
And music warbles from the faltering tongue : 
Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow. 
And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow. 
Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies 
Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes: 
But when Youth's living bloom reflects thy beams, 
Resistless on the view the glory streams. 
Love, Wonder, Joy, alternately alarm. 
And Beauty dazzles with angeUc charm. 

Ah, whither fled! ye dear illusions, stay, 

Lo, pale and silent lies the lovely clay 

How are the roses on that cheek decayed. 
Which late the purple light of youth displayed! 
Health on her form each sprightly grace bestowed; 
With life and thought each speaking feature glow'd. 
Fair was the flower, and soft the vernal sky ; 
Elate with hope, we deemed no tempest nigh; 
When lo, a whirlwind's instantaneous gust 
Left all its beauties withering in the dust. 

All cold the hand that soothed Wo's weary head ! 
And quenched the eye, the pitying tear that shed ! 
And mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole, 
Infusing balm into the rankled soul ! 
O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power. 
And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower 1 
Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven 1 
Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven 1 
But peace, bold thought ! be still my bursting heart ! 
We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart. 
'Scaped the dark dungeon, does the slave complain, 
Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain? 
Say, pines not virtue for the lingering morn. 
On this dark wild condemned to roam forlorn 7 
Where Reason's meteor-rays, with sickly glow, 
O'er the dun gloom a dreadful gUmmering throw? 
Disclosing dubious to the affrighted eye, 
O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high, 
Black billowy seas in storms perpetual tossed, 
And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost. 
O happy stroke ! that burst the bonds of clay, 
Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day, 
And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar. 
Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more. 

Transporting thought ! here let me wipe away 
The tear of grief, and wake a bolder lay. 
But ah ! the swimming eye o'erflows anew,— - 
Nor check the sacred drops to pity duej 



POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS. 



23 



Lo, where in speechless, hopeless anguish, bend 
O'er her loved dust, the Parent, Brother, Friend! 
How vain the hope of man ! But cease thy strain, 
Nor Sorrow's dread solemnity profane; 
Mixed with yon drooping Mourners, on her bier 
In silence shed the sympathetic tear. 



EPITAPH: 



BEING PART OF AN INSCRIPTION FOR A MONUMENT, 

To be erected by a Gentleman to the Memory of 
his Lady. 

Farewell, my best beloved; whose heavenly 
mind 
Genius with virtue, strength with softness joined ; 
Devotion, undebased by pride or art, 
With meek simplicity, and joy of heart; 
Though sprightly, gentle; though polite, sincere; 
And only of thyself a judge severe ; 
Unblamed, unequalled in each sphere of life. 
The tcnderest Daughter, Sister, Parent, Wife. 
In thee their Patroness the afflicted lost ; 
Thy friends, their pattern, ornament, and boast ; 
^nd I — but ah, can words my loss declare. 
Or paint the extremes of transport and despair ! 
O Thou, beyond what verse or speech can tell. 
My guide, my friend, my best beloved, farewell ! 



THE HERMIT. 

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, 
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove. 
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill. 
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove ; 
'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, 
While his harp rung syraphonious, a Hermit began ; 
No more with himself, or with nature at war, 
He thought as a Sage, though he felt as a man. 

" Ah why, all abandoned to darkness and wo, 
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall % 
For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow, 
And sorrow no longor thy bosom inthral. 
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay, 
Mourn, sweetest complainer, Man calls thee to 

mourn ; 
O sooth him, whose pleasures like thine pass away. 
Full quickly they pass — ^but they never return. 

" Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, 
The moon half extinguished her crescent displays; 
But lately I marked, when majestic on high 
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. 
Roll on thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue 
The path that conducts thee to splendour again: 

2 s* 



But man's faded glory what cliange shall renew 1 
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain ! 

" 'Tis night and the landscape is lovely no more; 
I mourn, but ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; 
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, 
Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with 

dew. 

Nor yet for the ravage of Winter I mourn: 
Kind Nature the embryo-blossom will save. 
But when shall spring visit the mouldoring urn 1 
O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!" 

'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, 
That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind; 
My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to 

shade, 
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. 
" O pity, great Father of light! (then I cried) 
Thy creature, who fain would not wander from 

Thee! 
Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride ; 
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst 

free." 

And darkness and doubt are now flying away ; 
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn ; 
So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray. 
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn: 
See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descend- 
ing. 
And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! 

On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are 

blending. 
And Beauty Immortal awakes from the tomb. 



EPITAPH ON THE AUTHOR. 

ET HIMSELF. 

Escaped the gloom of mortal life, a soul 

Here leaves its mouldering tenement of clay, 

Safe, where no cares their whelming billows roll, 
No doubts bewilder, and no hopes betray. 

Like thee, I once have stemmed the sea of life ; 

Like thee, have languished after empty joys ; 
Like thee, have laboured in the stormy strife; 

Been grieved for trifles, and amused with toys. 

Yet for awhile, 'gainst passion's threatful blast 
Let steady reason urge the struggling oar ; 

Shot through the dreary gloom, the morn at last 
Gives to thy longing eye the blissful shore. 

Forget my frailties, thou art also frail ; 

Forgive my lapses, for thyself may'st fall; 
Nor read, unmoved, my artless tender tale, 

I was a friend, oh man ! to thee, to all. 



ta. 



•ff- 



THE 



OP 



AVILLIAM COLLINS. 



»;« 



^ 






eontcntit!?* 



Page. 
The Life of the Author, ii 

ORIENTAL ECLOGXJES. 

Eclogue I. ..•....•1 

Eclogue n. ....... 2 

Eclogue ni. ....... ib. 

Eclogue IV. 3 

ODES. 

Ode to Pity, ; 4 

Ode to Fear, . 5 

Ode to Simplicity, ib. 

Ode on the Poetical Character, .... 6 
Ode written in the year 174G, .... 7 

Ode to Mefv, ib. 

Ode to Libert/j ib. 



Page. 
Ode to a Lady, on the death of Colonel Charles Roes, 

in the action of Fontenoy. Written in May, 1745, 9 

Ode to Evening, 10 

Ode to Peace, ib. 

The Manners. An Ode, ib. 

The Passions. An Ode for Music, - - -11 
An Epistle to Sir Thomas Hanmer, on his Edition 

of Shakspeare's Works, 12 

Dirge in Cymbeline, • - . . • .14 
Ode on the death of Mr. Thomson, - - - ib. 
Verses written on a Paper which contained a Piece 

of Bride-cake, - 15 

Ode on the popular Superstitions of the Highlands 

of Scotland, ib. 

Supplementary Stanzas on the same, by William 

Erskine, Esq., 18 



Kfit Hice ot eiriuiatn eolUnts. 



William Collins was bom at Chichester on 
the twenty-fifth day of December, about 1720. 
His father was a hatter of good reputation. He 
was in 1733, as Dr. Wharton has kindly inform- 
ed me, admitted a scholar of Winchester College, 
where he was educated by Dr. Burton. His Eng- 
lish exercises were better than his Latin. 

He first courted the notice of the public by some 
verses to a " Lady Weeping," published in " The 
Gentleman's Magazine." 

In 1740, he stood first in the list of the scholars 
to be received in succession at New College, but 
unhappily there was no vacancy. He became a 
Commoner of Clueen's College, probably with a 
scanty maintenance ; but was, in about half a year, 
elected a Demy of Magdalen College, where he 
continued till he had taken a bachelor's degree, 
and then suddenly left the University; for what 
reason I know not that he told. 

He now (about 1744) came to London a literary 
adventurer, with many projects in his head, and 
very little money in his pocket. He designed 
many works; but his great fault was irresolution, 
or the frequent calls of immediate necessity broke 
his schemes, and suffered him to pursue no settled 
purpose. A man doubtful of his dinner, or trem- 
bling at a creditor, is not much disposed to ab- 
stracted meditation, or remote inquiries. He pub- 
lished proposals for a History of the Revival of 
Learning; and I have heard him speak with great 
kindness of Leo the Tenth, and with keen re- 
sentment of his tasteless successor. But probably 
not a page of his history was ever written. He 
planned several tragedies, but he only planned 
them. He wrote now and then odes and other 
poems, and did something, however little. 

About this time I fell into his company. His 
appearance was decent and manly; his knowledge 
considerable, his views extensive, his conversation 
elegant, and his disposition cheerful. By degrees 
I gained his confidence ; and one day was admit- 
ted to him when he was immured by a bailiff, 
that was prowling in the street. On this occasion 
recourse was had to the booksellers, who, on the 
credit of a translation of Aristotle's Poetics, which 
he engaged to write with a large commentary, ad- 
vanced as much money as enabled him to escape 
mto the country. He showed me the guineas 
safe in his hand. Soon afterwards his uncle, Mr. 
Martin, a lieutenant-colonel, left him about two 
thousand pounds; a sum which Collins could 
33 



scarcely think exhaustible, and which he did not 
live to exhaust. The guineas were then repaid 
and the translation neglected. 

But man is not born for happiness. Collins, 
who, while he studied to live, felt no evil but po- 
verty, no sooner lived to study than his life was 
assailed by more dreadful calamities, disease and 
insanity. 

Mr. Collins was a man of extensive literature, 
and of vigorous faculties. He was acquainted not 
only with the learned tongues, but with the Ita- 
lian, French, and Spanish languages. He had 
employed his mind chiefly upon works of fiction, 
and subjects of fancy; and, by indulging some 
peculiar habits of thought, was eminently delight- 
ed with those flights of imagination which pass 
the bounds of nature, and to which the mind is 
reconciled only by a passive acquiescence in popu- 
lar traditions. He loved fairies, genii, giants, and 
monsters ; he delighted to rove through the mean- 
ders of enchantment, to gaze on the magnificence 
of golden palaces, to repose by the water-falls of 
Elysian gardens. 

This was, however, the character rather of hia 
inclination than his genius; the grandeur of wild- 
ness, and the novelty of extravagance, was always 
desired by him, but were not always attained. 
Yet, as diligence is never wholly lost, if his efforts 
sometimes caused harshness and obscurity, they 
likewise produced, in happier moments, sublimity 
and splendour. This idea which he had formed 
of excellence, led him to oriental fictions and alle- 
gorical imagery ; and perhaps, while he was intent 
upon description, he did not suflSciently cultivate 
sentiment. His poems are the productions of a 
mind not deficient in fire, nor unfurnished with 
knowledge either of books or life, but somewhat 
obstructed in its progress by deviation in quest of 
mistaken beauties. 

Upon the whole, Collins, by his taste and at- 
tainments, appears to have been peculiarly adapt- 
ed for the higher walks of poetry. His odes, from, 
which he derives his chief poetical fame, notwith- 
standing the disparaging remarks of Dr. Johnson^ 
are now almost universally regarded as the first 
productions of the kind in the English language 
for vigour of conception, boldness and variety of 
personification, and genuine warmth of feeling. 
The originality of Collins consists, not in his sen- 
timent, but in the highly figurative garb in which 
be clothes abstract ideas, in the felicity of his ex> 



IV 



LIFE OP WILLIAM COLLINS. 



pressions, and in his skill in embodying ideal cre- 
ations. His chief defect is an occasional mysti- 
cism. His temperament was, in the strictest 
meaning of the word, poetical ; and had he exist- 
ed under happier circumstances, and enjoyed the 
undisturbed exercise of his faculties, he would pro- 
bably have surpassed most, if not all, of his con- 
temporaries, during the very prosaic period which 
immediately followed the death of Pope. 

His morals were pure, and his opinions pious: 
in a long continuance of poverty, and long habits 
of dissipatiop, it can not be expected that any cha- 
racter should be exactly uniform. There is a 
degree of want by which the freedom of agency is 
almost destroyed ; and long association with for- 
tuitous companions will at last relax the strictness 
of truth, and abate the fervour of sincerity. That 
this man, wise and virtuous as he was, passed al- 
ways unentangled through the snares of life, it 
■would be prejudice and temerity to affirm; but it 
may be said that at least he preserved the source 
of action unpolluted, that his principles were 
never shaken, that his distinctions of right and 
wrong were never confounded, and that his faults 
liad nothing of malignity or design, but proceeded 
from some unexpected pressure or casual temp- 
tation. 

The latter part of his life can not be remembered 
but with pity and sadness. He languished some 
years under that depression of mind which en- 
chains the faculties without destroying them, and 
leaves reason the knowledge of right without the 
power of pursuing it. These clouds, which he 
perceived gathering on his intellects, he endea- 
voured to disperse by travel, and passed into 
France: but found himself constrained to yield to 
his malady, and returned. He was for some time 
confined in a house of lunatics, and afterwards 
retired to the care of his sister in Chichester, 
where death, in 1756, came to his reUef. 

After his return from France, the vyriter of this 
character paid him a visit at Islington, where he 
was waiting for his sister, whom he had directed 
to meet him: there was then nothing of disorder 
discernible in his mind by any but himself: but 
he had withdrawn from study, and travelled with 



no other book than an English Testament, such 
as children carry to school: when his friend took 
it into his hand, out of curiosity to see what com- 
panion a man of letters had chosen, " I have but 
one book," said Collins, " but that is the best." 

Such was the fate of Collins, with whom I once 
delighted to converse, and whom I yet remember 
with tenderness. 

He was visited at Chichester in his last illness, 
by his learned friends Dr. Warton and his brother; 
to whom he spoke with disapprobation of his 
Oriental Eclogues, as not sufficiently expressive 
of Asiatic manners, and called them his Irish 
Eclogues. He showed them, at the same time, an 
ode inscribed to Mr. John Home, on the super- 
stitions of the Highlands; which they thought 
superior to his other works. 

His disorder was not alienation of mind, but 
general laxity and feebleness, a deficiency rather 
of his vital than intellectual powers. What he 
spoke wanted neither judgment nor spirit ; but a 
few minutes exhausted him, so that he was forced 
to rest upon the couch, till a short cessation re- 
stored his powers, and he was again able to talk 
with his former vigour. 

The approaches of this dreadful malady he began 
to feel soon after his uncle's death ; and with the 
usual weakness of men so diseased, eagerly 
snatched that temporary relief with which the 
table and the bottle flatter and seduce. But his 
health continually declined, and he grew more 
and more burthensome to himself. 

Mr. Collins's first production is added here from 
the " Poetical Calendar." 

TO MISS AURELIA C R, 

On her Weeping at her Sister^ s Wedding. 

Cease, fair Aureha! cease to mourn; 

Lament not Hannah's happy state: 
You may be happy in your turn. 

And seize the treasure you regret. 

With Love united Hymen stands. 
And softly whispers to your charms, 

" Meet but your lover in my bands, 
" You'll find your sister in his arms.' 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OP 



(Oriental ScloflttCfii* 



ECLOGUE I. 

SELIM ; OR THE SHEPHERD's MORAL. 

Scene, a Valley near Badgat. Time, the Morning. 

" Ye Persian maids, attend your poets lays. 
And hear Iiow shepherds pass their golden days. 
Not all are blest whom Fortune's hand sustains 
With wealth in courts; nor all that haunt the 

plains: 
Well may your hearts believe the truths I tell ; 
'Tis virtue makes the bliss, where'er we dwell." 

Thus Selim sung, by sacred Truth inspired ; 
Nor praise, but such as Truth bestowed, desired : 
Wise in himself, his meaning songs conveyed 
Informing morals to the shepherd maid ; 
Or taught the swains that surest bliss to find, 
What groves nor streams bestow, a virtuous mind. 

When sweet and blushing, like a virgin bride, 
The radiant morn resumed her orient pride ; 
When wanton gales along the vallies play, 
Breathe on each flower, and bear their sweets away ; 
By Tigris' wandering waves he sat and sung. 
This useful lesson for the fair and young. 

" Ye Persian dames," he said, " to you belong — 
Well may they please— the morals of my song : 
No fairer maids, I trust, than you are found, 
Graced with soft arts, the peopled world around ! 
The morn, that lights you, to your loves supplies 
Each gentler ray delicious to your eyes : 
For you those flowers her fragrant hands bestow; 
And yours the love that kings delight to know. 
Yet think not these, all beauteous as they are. 
The best kind blessings heaven can grant the fair! 
Who trust alone in beauty's feeble ray 
Boast but the worth Bassora's pearls display: 
Drawn from the deep we own their surface bright; 
But dark within, they drink no lustrous light; 



Such are the maids, and such the charms they 

boast. 
By sense unaided, or to virtue lost. 
Self-flattering sex! your hearts believe in vain 
That love shall blind, when once he fires the swain 
Or hope a lover by your faults to win. 
As spots on ermine beautify the skin : 
Who seeks secure to rule be first her care 
Each softer virtue that adorns the fair ; 
Each tender passion man delights to find ; 
The loved perfections of a female mind ! 

Blest were the days when Wisdom held her 
reign. 
And shepherds sought her on the silent plain! 
With Truth she wedded in the secret grove ; 
Immortal Truth ; and daughters blessed their love. 
— O haste, fair maids ! ye Virtues, come away ! 
Sweet Peace and Plenty lead you on your way; 
The balmy shrub for you shall love our shore, 
By Ind excelled, or Araby, no more. 

Lost to our fields, for so the fates ordain, 
The dear deserters shall return again. 
Come thou, whose thoughts as limpid springs are 

clear. 
To lead the train, sweet Modesty, appear : 
Here make thy court amidst our rural scene. 
And shepherd girls shall own thee for their queen : 
With thee be Chastity, of all afraid. 
Distrusting all ; — a wise suspicious maid ; — 
But man the most: — not more the mountain-doe 
Holds the swift falcon for her deadly foe. 
Cold is her breast, hke flowers that drink the dew; 
A silken veil conceals her from the view. 
No wild desires amidst thy train be known ; 
But Faith, whose heart is fixed on one alone: 
Desponding Meekness, with her downcast eye«, 
And friendly Pity, full of tender sighs : 
And Love the last : by these your hearts approve ; 
These are the virtues that must lead to love " 



COLLINS'S WORKg, 



Thus Bun^ the Hwain ; and ancient Icgondo say 
The moidH of IJa^jdat vorifled the lay: 
Dear to tlie pluinii, the VirtueH came along; 
The sliephcrdB loved ; and Selirn blcseed his Bonp. 



ECLOGUE 11. 

HABSAI^; on, THE CAMEL-nniVEB. 

Scene, the DoiwrL Time, Mid-day. 

Iv silent horror o'er tlie boundless waste 
Tlu) driver llaj^wan with his camels i>aHt: 
One cruise of water on hin back he bore. 
And his light Hcrip contained a scanty storo ; 
A fan of painted feathers in his hand, 
To guard his shaded face from scorching saml, 
The sultry sun Iwul gained the middle sky. 
And not a tree, and not an herb was nigh ; 
Tlie iMiasts with pain their dusty way pursue: 
Shrill roared the winds, and dreary was the view! 
With desperat<! sorrow wild, the anVighted man 
Thrice sighed ; thrico struck his breast ; and tiius 

began: 
" Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, 
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!" 

Ah ! little thought I of the blasting wind, 
The thirst, or pinching hunger, that I find I 
Bethink thee, I lassan, where shall thirst assuage, 
When fails this cruise, his unrelenting rage? 
Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign ; 
Then what but tears and hunger shall bo thine? 

Yo mute companions of my toils, that bear, 
In all my griefs a more than equal share ! 
Here, where no springs in murmurs break away. 
Or moss-crowned fountains mitigate the day, 
In vain ye hope the green delights to know 
Which i)lains more blest, or verdant vales bestow ; 
Here rocks alone, and tasteless sands are foinid ; 
And faint and sickly winds li)r ever howl around. 
" Sad was th^ hour, and luckless was the day. 
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way !" 

Curst bo the gold and silver which persuade 
Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade I 
The lily peace outshines the silver store ; 
And life is dearer than the golden ore. 
Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown, 
To every distant mart and wealthy town. 
Full oft wo tempt the land, and oft the soa: 
And are wo only yet repaid by theo 1 
— Ah! why was ruin so attractive madcl 
Or why fond man so easily betrayed"? 
Why heed we not, while mad wo haste along, 
The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure's songT 
Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's side, 
The fountain's murmurs, and the volley's pride, 



Why think we these less j)lea8ing to behold 
Than dreary deserts, if they h-ad to gold 1 
" Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, 
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way I" 

O ceaso, my fears I — all frantic ob I go, 
When thought creates unnumbered scenes of wo 
What if the lion in his rage I mccf? — 
Oft in the dust I view his printed feet: 
And, fearful! oft, when day's declining light 
Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, 
Hy hunger rouse^d he scours the groaning j)lain, 
Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train: 
Before them Death with shrieks directs their way 
Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey. 
" Sad was the hour, and luckhsss was the day. 
When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way!" 

At that dead hour the silent asp shall creep, 
If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep: 
Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around, 
And wake to anguish with a burning wound. 
Thrice hapjiy lUvy, the wise contented poor. 
From lust of wealth, and dread of death secure I 
They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find ; 
Peace! rules the day, where reason rules the mind. 
" Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, 
When first from Schiraz' walls 1 bent my way I" 

O ha|)le88 youth ! — for she thy love had won — 
The tender Zara will be most undone ! 
Big swelled my heart, and owned the iwwcrful 

maid. 
When fixst she dropt her tears, as thus she said : 
" Farewell the youth whom sighs could not detain; 
Whom Zara's breaking heart implored in vain I 
Yet, as thou goest, may every blast arise 
Weak and unfelt as these rejected sighs I 
Safe o'er the wild, no perils may'st thou see. 
No griefs endure; nor wce|> false youth, like mc.' 
— O let mc safely to the fair return ; 
Say, with a kiss, she must not, shall not mourn; 
O ! let me teach my heart to lose its fears, 
llecallod by Wistlom's voice, and Zara's tears. 

Ho said, and called on heaven to bless the day, 
When back to Scliiraz' walls ho bent his way. 



ECLOGUE IIL 

ABRAj or, THE OEOROIAN SULTANA. 

Bceno, a Forest Time, the Evening. 

In Georgia's land, where Tefllis' towers arc seen, 
In distant view, along the level green, 
While evening dews enrich the glittering glade, 
And the tall forests casts a longer shade. 
What time 'tis sweet o'er fields of rice to stray, 
Or scont the breathing maze at setting day; 



ORIENTAL ECLOGUES. 



Amidst the niniJs of Zaf^cn's peacoful grove, 
Eiiiyra survg the pleasing cares of love. 

Of Abra first began the tender strain, 
Who led her youth with flocks upon the plain: 
At morn she came those willing flocks to lead, 
Where lihes rear them in the watery mead ; 
From early dawn the livelong hours she told. 
Till late at silent eve she penned the fold : 
Deep in the grove, beneath the secret shade, 
A various wreath of odorous flowers si le made; 
Gay-motlcycd pinks* and sweet jonquils she chose; 
The violet blue that on the moss-bank grows ; 
All sweet to sense, the flaunting rose was there; 
The finished chaplct well adorned her hair. 

Great Abbas chanced that fated morn to stray, 
By love conducted from the chase away; 
Among the vocal vales ho heard her song ; 
And sought, the vales and echoing groves among; 
At length he found, and wooed the rural maid ; 
Slie knew the monarch, and with fear obeyed. 
" Be every youth like royal Abbas moved ; 
And every Georgian maid like Abra loved !" 

The royal lover bore her from the plain ; 
Yet still her crook and bleating flock remain; 
Oft as she went she backward turned her view. 
And bade that crook and bleating flock adieu. 
Fair hapjiy maid ! to other scenes remove ; 
To richer scenes of golden power and love ! 
Go leave the simple pipe and shepherd's strain; 
With love delight thee, and with Abbas reign! 
" Be every youth like royal Abbas moved ; 
And every Georgian maid like Abra loved." 

Yet, 'midst the blaze of courts, she fixed her love 
On the cool fountain, or the shady grove : 
Still, with the shepherd's innocence, her mind 
To the eweet vale, and flowery mead inclined ; 
And, oft as s[)ring renewed the plains with flowers, 
Breathed his soft gales, and led the fragrant hours, 
With sure return she sought the sylvan scene, 
The breezy mountains, and the forests green. 
Her maids around her moved, a duteous band I 
Each bore a crook, all-rural, in her hand ; 
Some simple lay, of flocks and herds they sung; 
With joy the mountain and the forest rung. 
" Be every youth like royal Abbas moved; 
And every Georgian maid like Abra loved." 

And oft the royal lover left the care 

And thorns of state, attendant on the fair; 

Oft to the shades and low-roofed cots retired ; 

Or sought the vale where first his heart was fired: 

A russet mantle, like a swain he wore ; 

And thought of crowns, and busy courts no more. 

"That these flowera are fmind in very great abiindiinco in 
gome of tlio provinces of Persia ; see the Modern History of 
Mr. Salmon. 

2T 



" Bo every youth like royal Abbas moved ; 
And every Georgian maid like Abra loved." 

Blest was the life that royal Abbas led: 
Sweet was his love, and innocent his bed. 
What if in wealth the noble maid excel 1 
The simj)le shepherd girl can love as well. 
Let those who ruled on Persia's jewelled throne 
Be famed for love, and gentlest love alone ; 
Or wreath, like Abbas, full of fair renown, 
The lover's myrtle with the warrior's crown. 
O happy days ! the maids around her say ; 
O haste ; profuse of blessings, haste away ; 
" Be every youth, like royal Abbas, moved; 
And every Georgian maid like Abra loved." 



ECLOGUE IV. 

AGIB AND SECANDER; OR, THE FUGITIVES. 

Scene, a Mountain in Circnasia. Time, Midnight. 
In fair Circassia, where to love inclined 
Each swain was blest, for every maid was kind ; 
At that still hour when awful midnight reigns, 
And none but wretches haunt the twilight plains; 
What time the moon had hung her lamp on high, 
And past in radiance through the cloudless sky; 
Sad, o'er the dews, two brother shepherds fled 
Where wildering fear and de8j)erate sorrow led : 
Fast as they prest their flight, behind them lay 
Wide ravaged plains: and valleys stole away : 
Along the mountain's bending sides they ran, 
Till, faint and weak, Secander thus began. 

SECANDER. 

O stay thee, A gib, for my feet deny, 
No longer friendly to my life, to fly. 
Friend of my heart, O turn thee and survey! 
Trace our sad flight through all its lengthof way ! 
And first review that long-extended plain, 
And yon wide groves already past with pain! 
Yon ragged clifl" whoso dangerous path we tried ! 
And, last, this lofty mountain's weary side ! 

AGIB. 

Weak as thou art, yet, hapless, must thou know 
The toils of flight or some severer wo ! 
Still, as I haste, the Tartar shouts behind ; 
And shrieks and sorrows load the saddening wind: 
In rage of heart, with ruin in his hand, 
He blasts our harvests, and deforms our land. 
Yon citron grove, whence first in fear we came, 
Droops its fair honours to the conquering flame. 
Far fly the swains, like us, in deep despair, 
And leave to ruilian hands their fleecy care. 

SECANDER. 

Unhappy land, whose blessings tempt the sword, 
In vain, unheard, thoucall'st thy Persian lord! 



COLLINS'S WORKS. 



In vain thou court'st him, helpless, to thine aid, 

To shield the shepherd, and protect the maid ! 

Far off, in thoughtless indolence resigned, 

Soft dreams of love and pleasure sooth his mind : 

'Midst fair sultanas lost in idly joy, 

No wars alarm him, and no fears annoy. 

AGIB. 

Yet these green hills in summer's sultry heat, 
Have lent the monarch oft a cool retreat. 
Swreet to the sight is Zabran's flowery plain; 
At once by maids and shepherds loved in vain ! 
No more the virgins shall delight to rove 
By Sargis' banks, or Irwan's shady grove; 
On Tarkie's mountains catch the cooling gale. 
Or breathe the sweets of Aly's flowery vale : 
Fair scene ! but, ah ! no more with peace possest. 
With ease alluring, and with plenty blest ! 
No more the shepherd's whitening tents appear, 
Nor the kind products of a bounteous year ; 
No more the date, with snowy blossoms crowned ! 
But ruin spreads her baleful fires around. 

ECANDER. " 

In vain Circassia boasts her spicy groves, 
For ever famed for pure and happy loves : 



In vain she boasts her fairest of the fair, 
Their eyes blue languish, and their golden hair ! 
Those eyes in tears their fruitless grief must send/ 
Those hairs the Tartar's cruel hand shall rend. 

AGlB 

Ye Georgian swains, that piteous learn fron 
far 
Circassia's ruin, and the waste of war: 
Some weightier arms than crooks and staff? pro- 
pare 
To shield your harvest, and defend your fair; 
The Turk and Tartar like designs pursue, 
Fixed to destroy and steadfast to undo. 
Wild as his hand, in native deserts bred, 
By lust incited, or by malice led, 
The villain Arab, as he prowls for prey. 
Oft marks with blood and wasting flames the way 
Yet none so cruel as the Tartar foe, 
To death inured, and nursed in scenes of wo. 

He said; when loud along the vale was heard 
A shriller shriek ; and nearer fires appeared ; 
The affrighted shepherds, through the dews of 

night, 
Wide o'er the moonUght hills renewed their flight 



(^Xft^. 



ODE TO PITY. 

O THOtr, the friend of man assigned, 
With balmy hands his wounds to bind, ■ 

And charm his frantic wo: 
When first Distress, with dagger keen. 
Broke forth to waste his destined scene, 

His wild unsated foe 1 

By Bella's* bard, a magic name, ' 

By all the griefs his thought could frame, 

Receive my humble rite: 
Long, Pity, let the nations view 
Thy sky-worn robes of tenderest blue. 

And eyes of dewy light! 

But wherefore need I wander wide 
To old missus' distant side 

Deserted stream, and mute? 
Wild Arunt too has heard thy strains, 
And echo, midst thy native plains. 

Been soothed by Pity's lute. 

• Euripides, of whom Aristotle pronounces, on a compari- 
son of iiim with Sophocles, that he was the greater master of 
the tender passions, ;,y TPnyiKOiTieo^. 

t The river Arun runs by the village in Sussex, where 
Otwaj had his birth. 



There first the wren in myrtles shed 
On gentlest Otway's infant head. 

To him thy cell was shown ; 
And while he sung the female heart, 
With youth's soft notes unspoiled by art. 

Thy turtles mixed their own. 

Come, Pity, come, by fancy's aid, 
E'en now, my thoughts, relenting maid, 

Thy temple's pride design : 
Its southern site, its truth complete. 
Shall rise a wild enthusiast heat 

In all who view the shrine. 

There Picture's toils shall well relate. 
How chance, or hard involving fate, 

O'er mortal bliss prevail ; 
The buskined Muse shall near her stand, 
And sighing prompt her tender hand 

With each disastrous tale. 

There let me oft, retired by day, 
In dreams of passion melt away, 

Allowed with thee to dwell : 
There waste the mournful lamp of night, 
Till, Virgin, thou again delight 

To hear a British shell. 



ODES. 



S 



ODE TO FEAR. 
Thou to whom the world unknown, 

With all its shadowy shapes, is shown ; 
Who see'st, appalled, the unreal scene, 
While Fancy lilts the veil between: 

Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear! 

I see, I see thee near. 
I know thy hurried step; thy haggard eye! 
Like thee I start; like thee disordered fly. 
For lo, what monsters in thy train appear! 
Danger, whose Umbs of giant mould 
What mortal eye can fixed behold 1 
Who stalks his round, an hideous form, 
HowUng amidst the midnijrht storm: 
Or throws him on the ridgy steep 
Of some loose hanging rock to sleep: 
And with him thousand phantoms joined. 
Who prompt to deeds accursed the mind : 
And those, the fiends, who, near allied. 
O'er Nature's wounds, and wrecks, preside; 
While Vengeance, in the lurid air, 
Lifts her red arm, exposed and bare : 
On whom that ravening* brood of Fate 
Who lap the blood of sorrow wait: 
Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see, 
And look not madly wild like thee^ 

EPODE. 

In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice, 
The grief-full Muse, addrest her infant tongue; 

The maids and matrons on her awful voice, 
Silent and pale in wild amazement hung. 

Yet he, the baidt who first invoked thy name, 
Disdained in Marathon its power to feel: 

For not alone he nursed the poet's flame, 
But reached from Virtue's hand the patriot's 
steel. 

But who is he whom later garlands grace; 

Who left a while o'er Hybla's dews to rove, 
With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace, 

Where thou and furies shared the baleful grove ! 

Wrapt in thy cloudy veil, the incestuous queent 
Sighed the sad call§ her son and husband heard, 

When once alone it broke the silent scene. 

And he the wretch of Thebes no more appeared. 



• Alluding to the Ki/v*c «<))ukt«c of Sophxles. See the 
Electra. 
t .Eschylus. 
X Jocasta, 

§ ovS tt' OpWpft fiot] 

Hv fCev 2Mort»7t pdiyfia 8' i^ai^rji -twoi 

2f»j<Jat ^oj3w dtiaavtOfi c^M^mii Tpi;j;'af. 

See Vie CEdip. Colon, of Sophocles. 



O Fear, I know thee by my throbbing heart: 
Thy withering power inspired each mournful 
line: 

Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part. 
Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Thou who such weary lengths hast past, 
Where wilt thou rest, mad Nymph, at last? 
Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell 
Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell 7 
Or, in some hallowed seat, 
'Gainst which the big waves beat. 
Hear drowning seamen's cries, in tempests brouofhtl 
Dark power, with shuddering meek submitted 
thought. 

Be mine to read the visions old 
Which thy awakening bards have told : 
And, lest thou meet my blasted view, 
Hold each strange tale devoutly true; 
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'erawed, 
In that thrice-hallowed eve, abroad. 
When ghosts, as cottage maids believe, 
Their pebbled beds permitted leave; 
And goblins haunt, from fire, or fen, 
Or mine, or flood, the walks of men ! 

O thou whose spirit most possest 
The sacred seat of Shakspeare's breast! 
By all that from thy prophet broke, 
In thy divine emotions spoke; 
Hither again thy fury deal, 
Teach me but once hke him to feel: 
His cypress wreath my meed decree, 
And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee! 



ODE TO SIMPLICITY. 

O THOU by Nature taught 

To breathe her genuine thought 
In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong; 

Who first on mountains wild, 

In Fancy, loveliest child. 
Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song. 

Thou, who, with hermit heart, 

Disdain'st the wealth of art, 
And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall; 

But com'st a decent maid, 

In attic robe arrayed, 
O chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call ! 

By all the honied store 

On Hybla's thy my shore; 
B)' all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear : 

By her* whose love-lorn wo, 

In evening musings slow, 
Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear : 



■ The afjfTav, or nightingale, for which Sophocles eecnw to 
have entertained a peculiar fondness. 



COLLINS'S WORKS. 



By old Cephisus deep, 

Who spread his wavy sweep, 
In warbled wanderings, round thy green retreat; 

On whose enamel'd side. 

When holy Freedom died, 
No equal haunt allured thy future feet. 

O sister meek of Truth, 

To my admiring youth. 
Thy sober aid and native charms infiise! 

The flowers that sweetest breathe. 

Though beauty culled the wreath, 
Still ask thy hand to raise their ordered hues. 

While Rome could none esteem- 
But virtue's patriot theme. 

You loved her hills, and led her laureat band: 
But staid to sing alone 
To one distinguished throne; 

And turned thy face, and fled her altered lani 

No more, in hall or bower, 

The Passions own thy power; 
Love, only Love her forceless numbers mean : 

For thou hast left her shrine ; 

Nor olive more, nor vine, 
ShaJl gain thy feet to bless the servile scene. 

Though taste, though genius, bless 

To some divine excess, 
Faints the cold work, till thou inspire the whole ; 

What each, what all supply, 

May court, may charm, our eye ; 
Thou, only thou canst raise the meeting soul ! 

Of these let others ask. 

To aid some mighty task, 
I onJy seek to find thy temperate vale; 

Where oft my reed might sound 

To maids and shepherds round. 
And all thy sons, O Nature, learn my tale. 



ODE ON THE POETICAL CHARAC- 
TER. 

As once, — if, not with light regard, 
I read aright that gifted bard, 
— Him whose school above the rest 
His loveliest elfin queen has blest ; — 
One, only one, unrivalled* fair. 
Might hope the magic girdle wear, 
At solemn turney hung on high. 
The wish of each love-darting eye ; 

— Lo ! to each other nymph, in turn, applied. 
As if, in air unseen, some hovering hand, 



• FlorimeL See Spenser, Leg. 4th. 



Some chaste and angel-friend to virgin-fame, 
With whispered spell had burst the starting 
band, 

It left unblessed her loathed dishonoured side ; 
Happier hopeless Fair, if never 
Her baffled hand with vain endeavour. 

Had touched that fatal zone to her denied ! 

Young Fancy thus, to rae divinest name. 
To whom, prepared and bathed in heaven, 
The cest of amplest power is given : 
To few the godlike gift assigns. 
To gird their best prophetic loins, 

And gaze her visions wild, and feel unmixed her 
flame! 

The band, as fairy legends say, 

Was wove on that creating day 

When He, who called with thought to birth 

Yon tented sky, tliis laughing earth, 

And drest with springs and forests tall, 

And poured the main engirting all. 

Long by the loved enthusiast wooed, 

Himself in some diviner mood. 

Retiring, sat with her alone. 

And placed her on his sapphire throne , 

The whiles the vaulted shrine around, 

Seraphic wires were heard to sound, 

Now sublimest triumph swelling. 

Now on love and mercy dwelling ; 

And she, from out the veiling cloud, 

Breathed her magic notes aloud : 

And thou, thou rich-haired youth of morn, 

And all thy subject Ufe was born ! 

The dangerous passions kept aloof. 

Far from the sainted growing woof: 

But near it sad ecstatic Wonder, 

Listening the deep applauding thunder ; 

And Truth, in sunny vest arrayed, 

By whose the tarsel's eyes were made : 

All the shadowy tribes of mind. 

In braided dance, their murmurs joined, 

And all the bright uncounted powers 

Who feed on Heaven's ambrosial flowers. 

— Where is the bard whose soul can now 

Its high presuming hopes avow ! 

Where he who thinks, with rapture blind. 

This hallowed work for him designed 1 

High on some cliff' to heaven up-piled. 

Of rude access, of prospect wild. 

Where, tangled round the jealous steep. 

Strange shades o'erbrow the valleys deep, 

And holy Genii guard the rock. 

Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock. 

While on its rich ambitious head, 

An Eden, like his own, lies spread, 

I view that oak, the fancied glades among, 

By which as Milton lay, his evening ear, 

From many a cloud that dropped ethereal dew, 



ODES. 



Nigh sphered in heaven, its native strains could 
hear ; 

On wliich that ancient trump he reached was hung: 

T hither ot\ his glory greeting, 

From Widlov's myrtle shades retreating, 

With many a vow tVom Hope's aspiring tongue, 

My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue ; 
In vain — Such bliss to one alone. 
Of all the sons of soul, was known ; 
And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers, 
Have now o'crturned th' inspiring bowers ; 

Or curtained close such scenes from every future 
view. 



ODE, 

Written in the beginning of the year 1746. 

How sleep the brave who sink to rest, 
By all their country's wishes blest ! 
IVlicn Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould. 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung ; 
By forms unseen their dirge is sung; 
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
And freedom shall awhile repair. 
To dwell a weeping hermit there ! 



ODE TO MERCY. 

STROPHE. 

O Thou, who sit'st a smiling bride 

By valour's armed and awful side, 
Gentlest of skj'-born forms, and best adored ; 

Who oft with songs, divine to hear, 

Win'st from his fatal grasp the spear. 
And hid'st in wreaths of flowers his bloodless 
sword ! 

Thou who, amidst the deathful field, 

By godlike chiefs alone beheld, 
Oft with thy bosom bare art found, 
Pleading for him the youth who sinks to ground : 

See, Mercy, see with pure and loaded hands. 

Before thy shrine my country's genius stands. 
And decks thy altar still, though pierced with 
many a wound ! 

ANTISTROPHE. 

When he whom e'en our joys provoke. 

The fiend of nature joined his yoke, 
And rushed in wrath to make our isle his prey: 

Thy form, from out thy sweet abode, 

O'ertook him on his blasted road. 
And stopped his wheels, and looked his rage away. 

2t* 



I see recoil his sable steeds, 

That bore him swift to savage deeds. 
Thy tender melting eyes they own ; 
O maid, for all thy love to Britain shown. 

Where Justice bars her iron tower, 

To thee we build a roseate bower, 
Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our 
monarch's throne. 



ODE TO LIBERTY, 

STROPHE. 

Who shall awake the Spartan fife, 

And call in solemn sounds to life. 
The youths, whose locks divinely spreading, 

Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue, 
At once the breath of fear and virtue shedding, 

Applauding freedom loved of old to view"? 
What new Alcteus,* fancy-blest, 
Shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest, 

At wisdom's shrine awliile its flame conceal- 

i'lg, 
(What place so fit to seal a deed renowned 1 
Till she her brightest lightnings round reveal- 
ing. 
It leaped in glory forth, and dealt her prompted 
wound ! 
O goddess, in that feeling hour. 
When most its sounds would court thy ears, 

Let not my shell's misguided powert 
E'er draw thy sad thy mindful tears. 
No, Freedom, no, I will not tell 
How Rome, before thy weeping face. 
With heaviest sound, a giant-statue, fell. 
Pushed by a wild and artless race 
From off its wide ambitious base. 
When Time his northern sons of spoil awoke. 
And all the blended work of strength and grace, 
With many a rude repeated stroke. 
And many a barb'rous yell, to thousand fragments 
broke. 



* Alluding to that beautiful fragment of Alcseus. 
Ev Mupf ou xXaSt ro |i.<J)05 (jjopj^aco, 
i2ffrffp Ap/xo5toj xat, Aptfoyftruji', 
^i^X-tad ApftoSt ovTtut 'fidi>r]xai, 
N»j5oi5 6 tv Majcapcoc 2t ^aaiv f tfat. 
Ev /xvptov x'kaBo to |t^o$ ^oprjCiOy 
fiffrtfp Ap^o6ioj xai Api.;oy(riu)Vy 
Ot' AOrjvaitji ev Sucriat?, 
AvSpa Tojpai'j'Oi' trtrtap;^ov ixaivstr^v. 
Aft 2'f)wi' xXtoi saattai, xat atav. 
^i%a9^ Ap;UoSt.' XM Aoigoysvfuv, 
t Mrj {.iri tavta, Xsyio^c^, a 5axpvov i/jya/ys 
Arjot,, 

Callimach. Tjuj/oj tij Arjfxtjtfa. 



COLLINS'S WORKS. 



EPODE. 

Yet, e'en where'er the least appeared, 
The admiring world thy hand revered ; 
Still 'midst the scattered states around. 
Some remnants of her strength were found; 
They saw, by what escaped the storm, 
How wondrous rose her perfect form ; 
How in the great, the laboured whole, 
Each mighty master poured his soul 1 
For sunny Florence, seat of art, 
Beneath her vines preserved a part. 
Till they,* whom Science loved to name, 
(0 who could fear it 1) quenched.her flame. 
And lo, a humbler relic laid 
In jealous Pisa's olive shade ! 
See small Marinot joins the theme, 
Though least, not last in thy esteem : 
Strike, louder strike the ennobling strings 
To those,t whose merchant sons were kings; 
To him,§ who, decked with pearly pride, 
In Adria weds his green-haired bride ; 
Hail, port of glory, wealth, and pleasure, 
Ne'er let me change this Lydian measure : 
Nor e'er her former pride relate. 
To sad Liguria'sll bleeding state. 
Ah no! more pleased thy haunts I seek, 
On wild Helvetia'sIT mountains bleak: 
(Where, when the favoured of thy choice, 
The daring archer heard thy voice ; 
Forth from his eyrie roused in dread. 
The ravening eagle northward fled.) 
Or dwells in willowed meads more near, 
With those** to whom thy stork is dear ; 
Those whom the rod of Alva bruised. 
Whose crown a British queentt refused ! 
The magic works, thou feel'st the strains, 
One holier name alone remains; 
The perfect spell shall then avail, 
Hail, nymph, adorned by Britain, hail 1 

ANTISTROPHE. 

Beyond the measure vast of though , 
The works, the wizard time has wrought ! 



* The family of the Medici. 

I The little republic of San Marino. 
} The Venetians. 

§ The Doge of Venice. 

II Genoa. 

V Switzerland. 

* ' The Dutch, amongst whom there are very severe penal- 
ties for those who are convicted of killing this bird. They are 
kept uime in almost all their towns, and particularly at the 
Hague, of the arms of which they make a part. The common 
people of Holland are said to entertaii. a superstitious senti- 
ment, that if the whole species of them shovild become extinct, 
they should lose their liberties, 

tl Queen Elizabeth. 



The Gaul, 'tis held of antique story, 
Saw Britain hnked to his now adverse strand,* 
No sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary, 
He passed with unwet feet through all our land. 
To the blown Baltic then, they say, 
The wild waves found another way. 
Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountciins round- 
ing, 
Till all the banded west at once 'gan rise, 
A wide wild storm e'en nature's self confound- 
ing, 
Withering her giant sons with strange uncouth 

surprise. 
This pillared earth, so firm and wide, 
By winds and inward labours torn. 
In thunders dread was pushed aside. 

And down the shouldering billows borne 
And see, like gems, her laughing train. 

The little isles on every side, 
Mona,t once hid from those who search the main, 

Where thousand elfin shapes abide. 
And Wight who cheeks the west'ring tide. 

For thee consenting Heaven has each bestowed, 
A fair attendant on her sovereign pride : 

To thee this blest divorce she owed. 
For thou hast made her vales thy loved, thy last 
abode 1 

SECOND EPODE. 

Then too, 'tis said, an hoary pile 
'Midst the green naval of our isle. 
Thy shrine in some religious wood, 
soul-enforcing goddess, stood ; 
There oft the painted natives feet 
Were wont thy form celestial meet : 
Though now with hopeless toil we trace 
Time's backward rolls, to find its place ; 
Whether the fiery-tressed Dane, 
Or Roman's self o'erturned the fane. 
Or in what heaven-left age it fell, 
'Twere hard for modern song to tell. 
Yet still, if Truth those beams infuse, 
Which guide at once and charm the Muse, 



' This tradition is mentioned by several of our old historians. 
Some naturalists too have endeavoured to support the proba- 
bility of the fact by arguments drawn from the correspondent 
disposition of the two opposite coasts. I do not remember 
that any poetical use has hitherto been made of it. 

t There is a tradition in the Me of Man, that a mermaid 
becoming enamoured of a young man of extraordinary beau- 
ty, took an opportunity of meeting him one day as he walked 
on the shore, and opened her passion to him, but was received 
with a coldness, occasioned by his horror and surprise at her 
appearance. This, however, was so misconstrued by tlie sea 
lady, that in revenge for his treatment of her, she punished the 
whole island, by covering it with a mist; so that all who al> 
tempted to carry on any commerce with it, either never ar- 
rived at it, but wandered up and down the sea, or were on a 
sudden wrecked upon its cliffs. 



ODES. 



9 



Beyond yon braided clouds that lie, 
Paving the Hght embroidered sky, 
Amidst the bright pavilioned plains, 
The beauteous model still remains. 
There, happier than in islands blest, 
Or bowers by spring or Hebe drest. 
The chiefs who fill our Albion's story, 
In warlike weeds, retired in glory, 
Hear their consorted Druids sing 
Their triumphs to the immortal string. 
How may the Poet now unfold 
What never tongue or numbers told 1 
How learn, delighted and amazed. 
What hands unknown that fabric raised 1 
Ev'n now before his favoured eyes, 
In Gothic pride it seems to rise ! 
Yet Grjecia's graceful orders join. 
Majestic through the mixed design. 
The secret builder knew to choose 
Each sphere-found gem of richest hues ; 
Whate'er heaven's purer mould contains 
When nearer suns emblaze its veins ; 
There on the walls the patriot's sight 
May ever hang with fresh delight. 
And, graved with some prophetic rage. 
Read Albion's fame through every age. 

Ye forms divine, ye laureate band, 
That near her inmost altar stand! 
Now sooth her, to her blissful train 
Blithe Concord's social form to gain: 
Concord, whose myrtle wand can steep 
E'en Anger's blood-shot eyes in sleep: 
Before whose breathing bosom's balm 
Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm ; 
Her let our sires and matrons hoar 
Welcome to Britain's ravaged shore; 
Our youths, enamoured of the fair. 
Play with the tangles of her hair. 
Till, in one loud applauding sound, 
The nations shout to her around, 
O how supremely art thou blest. 
Thou, lady — thou shalt rule the west ! 



ODE TO A LADY, 

0<- the death of Colonel Ross, in the action of Fontenoy, 

Written in May, 1745. 

While, lost to all his former mirth, 
Britannia's genius bends to earth. 

And mourns the fatal day : 
While stained with blood he strives to tear 
Unseemly from his sea-green hair 
The wreaths of cheerful May: 

The thoughts which musing Pity pays, 
And fond remembrance loves to raise. 
Your faithful hours attend j 



Still Fancy, to herself unkind, 
Awakes to grief the softened mind, 
And points the bleeding friend. 

By rapid Scheld's descending wave 
His country's vows shall bless the grave, 

Where'er the youth is laid : 
That sacred spot the village hind. 
With every sweetest turf shall bind. 

And Peace protect the shade. 

Blest youth, regardful of thy doom, 
Aerial hands shall build thy tomb, 

With shadowy trophies crowned : 
Whilst Honour bathed in tears shall rove 
To sigh thy name through every grove. 

And call his heroes round. 

The warlike dead of every age, 
Who fill the fair recording page, 

Shall leave their sainted rest: 
And, half reclining on his spear, 
Each wondering chief by turns appea?, 

To hail the blooming guest. 

Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield, 
Shall crowd from Cressy's laureled field. 

And gaze with fixed delight : 
Again for Britain's wrongs they feel. 
Again they snatch the gleamy steel, 

And wish th' avenging fight. 

But, lo ! where, sunk in deep despair. 
Her garments torn, her bosom bare, 

Impatient Freedom lies ! 
Her matted tresses madly spread. 
To every sod which wraps the dead. 

She turns her joyless eyes. 

Ne'er shall she leave that lowly ground 
Till notes of triumph bursting round 

Proclaim her reign restored : 
Till William seek the sad retreat, 
And bleeding at her sacred feet, 

Present the sated sword. 

If, weak to sooth so soft an heart. 
These pictured glories nought impart. 

To dry thy constant tear: 
If yet, in Sorrow's distant eye. 
Exposed and pale thou seest him lie. 
Wild war insulting near ; 

Where'er from Time thou court'st relief, 
The Muse shall still with social grief, 

Her gentlest promise keep : 
E'en humble Harting's cottaged vale 
Shall learn the sad repeated tale. 

And bid her shepherds weep. 



10 



COLLINS'S WORKS. 



ODE TO EVENING. 

Ir aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 
May hope, O pensive Eve, to sooth thine ear, 

Like thy own brawUng springs, 

Thy springs, and dying gales : 

O nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired 

sun, 
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 

With hrede ethereal wove, 

O'erhang his wavy bed : 

Now air is hushed, save where ^he weak-eyed 

bat, 
With short, shrill shriek flits by on leatliern wing, 

Or vviiere the bet'tle winds 

His small but sullen horn, 

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path, 
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum : 

Now teach me, maid composed. 

To breathe some softened strain, 

Whose numbers, stealing through thy dark'ning 

vale, 
May not unseemly with its stillness suit; 

As musing slow, I hail. 

Thy genial love return ! 

For when thy folding star arising shows 
His paly circlet at his warning lamp 

The fragrant Hours, and Elves 

Who slept in buds the day, 

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with 

sedge. 
And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and, lovelier still, 

The pensive pleasures sweet, 

Prepare thy shadowy car. 

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene ; 
Or find some ruin, 'midst its dreary dells, 

Whose walls more awful nod 

By thy rehgious gleams. 

Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain, 
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut, 
That, from the mountain's side, 
Views wilds, and sweiUng floods, 

And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires; 
And hears their simple bell; and marks o'er all 

Thy dewy fingers draw 

The gradual dusky veil. 

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he 

wont. 
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! 

While Summer loves to sport 

Beneath thy lingering light; 



While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves 
Or Winter, yelling tlirough the troublous air, 

Affrights thy shrinking train. 

And rudely rends thy robes; 

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, 

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 

Thy gentlest influence own. 

And love thy favourite name! 



ODE TO PEACE. 

O THOU, who bad'st thy turtles bear 
Swift from his grasp thy golden hair. 

And souglit'st thy native skies; 
When War, by vultures drawn from far. 
To Britain bent his iron car, 

And bade his storms arise ! 

Tired of his rude tyrannic sway. 
Our youth shall fix some festive day, 

His sullen shrines to burn; 
But thou who hear'st the turning spheres. 
What sounds may charm thy partial ears, 

And gain thy blest return ! 

O Peace, thy injured robes up-bind! 
O rise ! and leave not one behind 

Of all thy beamy train ! 
The British Lion, goddess sweet, 
Lies stretched on earth, to kiss thj' feet, 

And own thy holier reign. 

Let others court thy transient smile. 
But come to grace thy western isle, 

By warlike honour led ; 
And while around her ports rejoice. 
While all her sons adore thy choice, 

With him for ever wed ! 



THE MANNERS.— AN ODE. 

Farewell, for clearer ken designed, 
The dim-discovered tracts of mind; 
Truths which, from action's path retired. 
My silent search in vain required ! 
No more my sail that deep explores ; 
No more I search those magic shores; 
What regions part the world of soul, 
Or whence thy streams, Opinion, roll : 
If e'er I round such fairy field, 
Some power impart the spear and shield 
At which the wizard passions fly : 
By which the giant Follies die ! 

Farewell the porch whose roof is seen 
Arched with th' enlivening olive's green; 
Where Science, pranked in tissued vest, 
By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drest, 



ODES. 



11 



Comes, like a bride, so trim arrayed, 
To wed with Doubt in Plato's shade. 

Youth of the quick uncheated sight, 
Thy walks. Observance, more invite ! 
O thou who lov'st that ampler range. 
Where life's wide prospects round tliee change, 
And, with her mingling sons allied, 
Throw'st the prattlijig page aside, 
To me, in converse sweet, impart 
To read in man the native heart ; 
To learn, where Science sure is found. 
From nature as she lives around; 
And, gazing oft her mirror true, 
By turns each shifting image view! 
Till meddling Art's officious lore 
Reverse the lessons taught before ; 
Alluring from a safer rule, 
To dream in her enchanted school : 
Thou, Heaven, whate'er of great we boast, 
Hast blest this social science most. 

Retiring hence to thoughtful cell, 
As Fancy breathes her potent spell. 
Not vain she finds the charmful task, 
In pageant quaint, in motley mask ; 
Behold, before her musing eyes. 
The countless Manners round her rise; 
While, ever varying as they pass. 
To some Contempt applies her glass; 
With these the white-robed maids combine; 
And those the laughing Satyr's join ! 
But who is he whom now she views. 
In robe of wild contending huesi 
Thou by the Passions nursed ; I greet 
The comic sock that binds thy feet ! 
O Humour, thou whose name is known 
To Britain's favoured isle alone : 
Me too amidst thy band admit; 
There where the young-eyed healthful wit, 
(Whose jewels in his crisped hair 
Are placed each other's beams to share ; 
Whom no delights from thee divide) 
In laughter loosed, attends thy side ! 

By old Miletus,* who so long 
Has ceased his love-inwoven song: 
By all you taught the Tuscan maids. 
In changed Italia's modern shades ; 
By himt whose knight's distinguished name 
Refined a nation's lust of fame ; 
Whose tales e'en now, with echoes sweet, 
Castalia's Moorish hills repeat; 
Or himt whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore, 
In watchet weeds on Gallia's shore ; 



Who drew the sad Sicilian maid. 
By virtues in her sire betrayed. 

O Nature boon, from whom proceed 
Each forceful thought, each prompted deed; 
If but from thee I hope to feel. 
On all my heart imprint thy zeal! 
Let some retreating cynic find 
Those oft-turned scrolls I leave behind : 
The Sports and I this hour agree. 
To rove thy scene-full world with thee ! 



* Alluding to the Milesian tales, some of the earliest ro- 
mances. 1 Cervantes. 

t Monsieur I,e Sage, author of the incomparable Adventures 
of Gil Bias de Santillane, who died in Paris in the year 1740. 



THE PASSIONS.— ANODE FOR MUSIC. 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she stmg. 
The Passions oft to hear her shell. 
Thronged around her magic cell. 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting. 
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting ; 
By turns they felt the glowing mind 
Disturbed, delighted, rabed, refined; 
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired. 
From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatched her instruments of sound ; 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art. 
Each (for madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

First Fear his hand, its skill to try. 

Amid the chords bewildered laid, 
And back recoiled, he knew not why. 

E'en at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger rushed : his eyes on fire, 
In lightnings, owned his secret stings: 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre. 

And swept with hurried hand the strings. 

With woful measures wan Despair 
Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled ; 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air : 
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair. 

What was thy delighted measure! 
Still it whispered promised pleasure. 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 
Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale. 
She called on Echo still, through all the song; 

And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; 
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her gold- 
en hair. 
And longer had she sung; — but with a frown, 

Revenge impatient rose ; 
He threw his blood-stained sword, in thunder down, 



u 



COLLINS'S WORKS. 



And, with a withering look, 
The war-tlenouncing trumpet took, 
And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo! 
And, ever, and anon, he beat 
The doubling drum, with furious heat ; 
And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between. 
Dejected Pity, at his side. 
Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien, 
While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting 
from his head. 
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed; 

Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 
Of differing themes the veering song was mixed ; 
And now it courted Love, now raving called on 
Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 
Pale Melancholy sat retired : 
And, from her wild sequestered seat, 
In notes by distance made more sweet, 
Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 
And dashing soft from rocks around, 
Bubbling runnels joined the sound; 
Through glades and glooms the mingled measures 
stole. 
Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay. 
Round an holy calm diffusing. 
Love of peace, and lonely musing, 
In hollow murmurs died away. 

But 01 how altered was its sprightlier tone 

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 
Her bow across her shoulders flung. 
Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung. 
The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. 

The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed 
dueen. 
Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, 
Peeping from forth their alleys green : 

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; 

And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen 
spear. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : 
He, with viny crown advancing. 

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest ; 
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol. 

Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best : 
They would have thought who heard the strain 
They saw, in Tempo's vale, her native maids. 
Amidst the festal sounding shades, 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing, 
While as his flying fingers kissed the strings, 

Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round ; 

Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound, 

And he, amidst his frolic play, 

As if he would the charming air repay, 
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 



Music, sphere-descended maid. 
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid ! 
Why, goddess ! why, to us denied, 
Lay'stthou thy ancient lyre asidel 
As, in that loved Athenian bower. 
You learned an all-commanding power, 
Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endeared, 
Can well recall what then it heard, 
Where is thy native simple heart, 
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art] 
Arise, as in that elder time. 
Warm, energic, chaste, subHme ! 
Thy wonders in that godlike age, 
Fill thy recording sister's page — 
'Tis said, and I believe the tale, 
Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 
Had more of strength, diviner rage. 
Than all which charms this laggard age; 
E'en all at once together found, 
Cecilia's mingled word of sound — 
O bid our vain endeavours cease ; 
Revive the just designs of Greece; 
Return in all thy simple state ! 
Confirm the tales her sons relate ! 



AN EPISTLE, 

Addressed to Sir TTiomas Hanmer, on his Edition of 
Shakspeare's Works. 

While, born to bring the Muse's happier days, 
A patriot's hand protects the poet's lays. 
While nursed by you she sees her myrtles bloom, 
Green and unwithered o'er his honoured tomb; 
Excuse her doubts, if yet she fears to tell 
What secret transports in her bosom swell. 
With conscious awe she hears the critic's fame, 
And blushing hides her wreath at Shakspeare's 

name. 
Hard was the lot those injured strains endured, 
Unowned by Science, and by years obscured ; 
Fair Fancy wept ; and echoing sighs confessed 
A fixt despair in every tuneful breast. 
Not with more grief the afflicted swains appear, 
When wintry winds deform the plenteous year 
When lingering frosts the ruined seats invade 
Where Peace resorted, and the Graces played. 

Each rising art by just gradation moves : 
Toil builds on toil : and age on age improves : 
The muse alone unequal dealt her rage. 
And graced with noblest pomp her earliest stage. 
Preserved through time, the speaking scenes impart 
Each changeful wish of Phaedra's tortured heart ; 
Or paint the curse that marked the Theban's* reign; 
A bed incestuous, and a father slain. 



• The CEdipus of Sophocles. 



ODES. 



13 



With kind concern our pitying eyes o'erflow, 
Trace the sad tale, and own another's wo. 

To Rome removed, with wit secure to please, 
The comic Sisters kept their native ease ; 
With jealous fear declining Greece beheld 
Her own Meander's art almost excelled ; 
But every Muse essayed to rise in vain 
Some laboured rival of her tragic strain ; 
Illysus' laurels, though transferred with toil, 
Dropped their fair leaves, nor knew the unfriendly 
soil. 

As Arts expired, resistless Dulncss rose ; 
Goths, priests, or Vandals, — all were Learning's 

foes. 
Till Julius* first recalled each exiled maid ; 
And Cosmo owned them in the Etrurian shade : 
Then, deeply skilled in love's engaging theme, 
The soft Provincial passed to Arno's stream : 
With graceful ease the wanton lyre he strung ; 
Sweet flowed the lays — but love was all he sung. 
The gay description could not fail to move; 
For, led by nature, all are frimids to love. 

But Heaven, still various in its work, decreed 
The perfect boast of time should last succeed. 
The beauteous union must appear at length, 
Of Tuscan fancy, and Athenian strength ; 
One greater Muse Eliza's reign adorn. 
And even a Shakspcare to her fame be born ! 

Yet ah ! so bright her morning's opening ray, 
In vain our Britain hoped an equal day ! 
No second growth the western isle could bear, 
At once exhausted with too rich a year. 
Too nicely Johnson knew the critic's part ; 
Nature in him was almost lost in art. 
Of softer mould the gentle Fletcher came, 
The next in order as the next in name. 
With pleased attention, midst his scenes we find 
Each glowing thought that warms the female mind ; 
Each melting sigh, and every tender tear ; 
The lover's wishes, and the virgin's fear. 
Hist every strain the Smiles and Graces own : 
But stronger Shakspeare felt for man alone ; 
Drawn by his pen, our ruder passions stand 
The unrivaled picture of liis early hand. 

Witht gradual steps and slow, cxacter France 
Saw Art's fair empire o'er her shores advance : 
By length of toil a bright perfection knew. 
Correctly bold, and just in all she drew : 



• Julius II. the immediate predecessor of Leo X. 

t Tlieir characters are thus distinguished by Mr. Dryden. 

} About the lime of Shakspeare, tlie poet Hardy was in great 
repute in France. He wrote, according to Fonlcnelle, six hun- 
dred plays. Tiie French poets after him applied themselves 
in general to the correct improvement of the stage, which was 
almost totally disregarded by those of our own country, Jon- 
Bon excepted. 



Till late Corneille, with Lucan's* spirit fired, 
Breathed the free strain, as Rome and he inspired ; 
And classic judgment gained to sweet Racine 
The temperate strength of Maro's chaster line. 

But wilder far the British laurel spread. 
And wreaths less artful crown our Poet's head. 
Yet he alone to every scene could give 
The historian's truth, and bid the manners live. 
Waked at his call I view, with glad surprise, 
Majestic forms of mighty monarchs rise. 
There Henry's trumpets spread their loud alarms; 
And laureled Conquest waits her hero's arma. 
Here gentle Edward claims a pitying sigh, 
Scarce born to honours, and so soon to die ! 
Yet shall thy throne, unhappy infant, bring 
No beam of comfort to the guilty king : 
The timet shall come when Glo'ster's heart shall 

bleed, 
In life's last hours, with horror of the deed : 
When dreary visions shall at last present 
Thy vengeful image in the midnight tent : 
Thy hand unseen the secret death shall bear; 
Blunt the weak sword, and break th' oppressive 
spear ! 

Where'er we turn, by Fancy charmed, we find 
Some sweet illusion of the cheated mind. 
Oft, wild of wing, she calls the soul to rove 
With humbler nature, in the rural grove ; 
Where swains contented own the quiet scene, 
And twilight fairies tread the circled green : 
Dressed by her hand, the woods and valleys smile; 
And spring diffusive decks th' enchanted isle. 

O, more than all, in powerful genius blest. 
Come, take thine eiwpire o'er the willing breast ! 
Whate'er the wounds this youthful heart shall feel, 
Thy songs support me, and thy morals heal ! 
There every thought the Poet's warmth may raise; 
There native music dwells in all the lays. 
O might some verse witli happiest skill persuade 
Expressive picture to adopt thine aid ! 
What wondrous draughts may rise from every 

page ! 
What other Raphaels charm a distant age t 

Methinks e'en now I view some firee desiga 
Where breathing Nature lives in every line : 
Chaste and subdued the modest lights decay, 
Steal into shades, and mildly melt away. 
And see where Anthonyt in tears approved, 
Guards the pale relics of the chief he loved : 
O'er the cold corse the warrior seems to bend, 
Deep sunk in grief, and mourns his murdered 
friend ! 



* The favourite author of the elder Corneille. 

t Turno tenipus erit, magno cum optavcrit emptum 

Intactum Pallanta, <fec. Virg. 

i See the Tragedy of Julius Caesar. 



14 



COLLINS'S WORKS. 



Still as they press, he calls on all around, 

Lofts the torn robe, and points the bleeding wound. 

But who* is he whose brows exalted bear 
A wrath impatient and a fiercer airl 
Awake to all that injured worth can feel, 
On his own Rome he turns th' avenging steel j 
Yet shall not war's insatiate fury fall 
(So heaven ordains it) on the destined wall. 
See the fond mother, 'midst the plaintive train, 
Hung on his knees, and prostrate on the plain ! 
Touched to the soul, in vain he strives to hide 
The son's affection in the Roman's pride: 
O'er all the man conflicting passions rise ; 
Rage grasps the sword, while Pity melts the eyes. 

Thus, generous Critic, as thy Bard inspires. 
The sister Arts shall nurse their drooping fires; 
Each from his scenes her stores alternate bring; 
Blend the fai/ tint, or wake the vocal string : 
Those Sibyl-leaves, the sport of every wind, 
(For Poets ever were a careless kind) 
By thee disposed, no farther toil demand, 
But just to Nature, owTithy forming hand. 

So spread o'er Greece, the harmonious whole 
unknown. 
E'en Homer's numbers charmed by parts alone. 
Their own Ulysses scarce had wandered more, 
By winds and waters cast on every shore: 
When, raised by fate, some former Hanmer joined 
Each beauteous image of the boundless mind ; 
And bade, like thee, his Athens ever claim 
A fond alliance. with the Poet's name. 



DIRGE IN CYMBELINE; 

Sung by Guiderus and Arviragns over Fidele, supposed to be 
dead. 

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb 

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring 
Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, 

And rifle all the breathing spring 

No wailing ghost shall dare appear 
To vex with shrieks this quiet grove ; 

But shepherd lads assemble here, 
And melting virgins own their love. 

No withered witch shall here be seen ; 

No goblins lead their nightly crew : 
The female fays shall haunt the green. 

And dress thy grave with pearly dew ! 

The redbreast oft, at evening hours, 

Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
With hoary moss, and gathered flowers, 

To deck the ground where thou art laid. 

• Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's Dialogue on the Odyssey. 



When howling winds, and beating rain, 
In tempests shake thy Sylvan cell; 

Or 'midst the chase, on every plain, 
The tender thought on thee shall dwell: 

Each lonely scene shall thee restore; 

For thee the tear be duly shed; 
Beloved, till life can charm no more, 

And mourned, tiU Pity's self be dead. 



ODE 

ON THE DEATH OP MR. THOMSON. 

The Scene of the following Stanzas is supposed to lie on ths 
Thames, near Richmond. 

In yonder grave a Druid hes. 

Where slowly winds the stealing wave ! 
The year's best sweets shall duteous rise, 

To deck its poet's sylvan grave ! 

In yon deep bed of whispering reeds 
His airy harp* shall now be laid ; 

That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds. 
May love through life the soothing shade., 

Then maids and youths shall linger here; 

And, while its sounds at distance swell, 
Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear 

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. 

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore, 
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest; 

And oft suspend the dashing oar, 
To bid his gentle spirit rest! 

And, oft as ease and health retire 

To breezy lawn, or forest deep, 
The friend shall view yon whiteningt spire 

And 'mid the varied*landscape weep. 

But thou who own'st that earthly bed, 
Ah ' what will every dirge avail ! 

Or tears which Love and Pity shed, 
That mourn beneath the gliding sail! 

Yet Uves there one whose heedless eye 

Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near i 

With him, sweet Bard, may Fancy die; 
And joy desert the blooming year. 

But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide 
No sedge-crowned sisters now attend. 

Now waft me from the green-hill's side 
Whose cold turf hides the buried friend ! 



' The harp of jEoIus, of wliich see a description in the 
Castle of Indolence. 
1 Richmond Church, in which Thomson was buried. 



ODES. 



15 



And see, the fairy valleys fade : 

Dun Night has veiled the solemn view! 

Yet once again, dear parted shade, 
Meek Nature's child, again adieu! 

The genial meads,* assigned to bless 
Thy Ufe, shall mourn thy early doom; 

There hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress, 
With simple hands, thy rural tomb. 

Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay 
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes; 

O ! vales, and wild woods, shall he say. 
In yonder grave your Druid lies! 



VERSES 



Written on a Paper which contained a Piece of 
Bride-cake. 

Ye curious hands that hid from vulgar eyes. 
By search profane shall find this hallowed cake, 

With virtue's awe forbear the sacred prize. 
Nor dare a theft, for love and pity's sake ! 

This precious relic, formed by magic power. 
Beneath the shepherd's haunted pillow laid, 

Was meant by love to charm the silent hour, 
The secret present of a matchless maid. 

The Cyprian queen, at Hymen's fond request. 
Each nice ingredient chose with happiest art; 

Fears, sighs, and wishes of th' enamoured breast, 
And pains that please, are mixed in every part. 

With rosy hand the spicy fruit ahc brought, 
From Paphian hills, and fair Cytherea's isle; 

And tempered sweet with these the melting thought, 
The kiss ambrosial, and the yielding smile. 

Ambiguous looks, that scorn and yet relent, 
Denials mild, and firm unaltered truth ; 

Reluctant pride, and amorous faint consent, 
And meeting ardours, and exulting youth. 

Sleep, wayward God! hath sworn, while these 
remain. 

With flattering dreams to dry his nightly tear, 
And cheerful Hope, so oft invoked in vain. 

With fairy songs shall sooth his pensive ear. 

If, bound by vows to Friendship's gentle side, 
And fond of soul, thou hop'st an equal grace. 

If youth or maid thy joys and griefs divide, 
O, much entreated, leave this fatal place! 

Sweet Peace, who long hath shunned my plain- 
tive day. 

Consents at length to bring me short delight; 
Thy careless steps may scare her doves away, 

And grief with raven note usurp the night. 



' Mr. Thomson resided in the neiglibourhood of Richmond 
some lime before his death. 

34 3U 



ODE 

On the -popular Superstitions of the Highlands 
of Scotland; considered as the subject of 
Poetry. 

Inscribed to Mr. John Home. 

Home ! thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads 
long 

Have seen thee lingering with a fond delay, 

Midst those soft friends, whose hearts, some 
future day. 
Shall melt, perhaps, to hear thy tragic song.* 
Go, not unmindful of that cordial youtht 

Whom, long-endeared, thou leav'st by Lavant'a 
side; 
Together let us wish him lasting truth, 

And joy untainted, with his destined bride. 
Go ! nor regardless, while these numbers boast 

My short-lived bliss, forget my social name; 
But think, far oft', how, on the southern coast 

I met thy friendship with an equal flame! 
Fresh to that soil thou turn'st, where every vale 

Shall prompt the Poet, and his song demand; 
To thee thy copious subjects ne'er shall fail; 

Thou need'st but take thy pencil to thy hand, 
And paint what all believe, who own thy genial 
land. 

There, must thou wake, perforce, thy Doric quill: 

'Tis Fancy's land to which thousett'st thy feet; 

Where still, 'tis said, the fairy people meet, 
Beneath each birken shade, on mead or hill. 
There, each trim lass, that skims the milky store, 

To the swart tribes their creamy bowls allots ; 
By night they sip it round the cottage door. 

While airy minstrels warble jocund notes. 
There, every herd, by sad experience, knows 

How, winged with fate, their elf-shot arrows fly, 
When the sick ewe her summer food foregoes. 

Or, stretched on earth, the heart-smit heifers lie, 
Such airy beings awe the untutored swain : 

Nor thou, though learned, his homeUer thought* 
neglect ; 
Let thy sweet muse the rural faith sustain ; 

These are the themes of simple, sure effect, 
That add new conquests to her boundless reign, 

And fill, with double force, her heart-command- 
ing strain. 

E'en yet preserved, how often may'st thou hear, 
Where to the pole the Boreal mountains run, 
Taught by the father to his listening son, 

Strange lays, whose power had charmed a Spen- 
ser's ear. 

At every pause, before thy mind possest. 
Old Runic bards shall seem to rise around, 



' How truly did Ck)Uin3 predict Home's tragic powersl 
,t A gentleman ot the name of Barrow, who inUroduced 
Home to Collins. 



16 



COLLINS'S WORKS. 



With uncouth lyres, in many-coloured vest, 

Their matted hair with bouirliB fantastic crowned: 
Wliether thou Ijid'st tlio well-taught hind rej)cat 
The choral dirge that mourns some chieilain 
brave, 
When every shrieking maid her bosom beat. 
And strewed with choicest herbs his scented 
grave ! 
Or whether sitting in the shepherd's shiel,* 

Thou hcar'st some sounding talc of war's alarms; 
When at the bugle's call with lire and steel, 
The sturdy clans poured forth their brawny 
swarms, 
And hostile brothers met, to prove each other's 
arms. 

'Tis thine to sing, how, framing hideous spells, 

In Sky's lone isle, the gifted wizard-seer, 

Lodged in the wintry cave with Fate's fell spear, 
Or in the (K'pth of Uist's dark forest dwells: 

How they, whose sight such dreary dreams en- 
gross. 
With their own vision oft astonished droop. 

When o'er tho watery strath, or quaggy moss. 
They see the gliding ghosts unbodied troop. 

Or, if in s])orts, or on the festive green. 
Their destined glance some fated youth descry, 

Who now, perhaps, in lusty vigour seen, 
And rosy health, shall soon lamented die. 

For them the viewless forms of air obey: 
Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair: 

They know what spirit brews tho stormful day, 
And heartless, oft like moody madness, stare 
To see tho phantom train their secret work pre- 
pare. 

To monarchs doar,+ some hundred miles astray. 
Oft have they seen Fate give the fatal blow! 
Tho seer, in Sky, shrieked as the blood did flow ! 

When headless Charles warm on the scaffold lay! 



* A summer hut, built In the high port of the mountains, 
to tend tiioir floclcs in tlie warm seofon, when tlie pasture is 
fini. 

1 The fifth (itiinzn, and tho hnlf of the sixth, in Dr. Carlylo's 
copy, printed in the first volume of tlio " TranMactious" of the 
lUiynl Society of KdinbuiRh, being deficient, linvo been sup- 
plied by Mr. Mackenzie; wliose linoa are liero annexed, for 
tho pm-pose of con>(OTriaon, and to do justice to tho elegant 
autiior of tlie Man of Keeling. 

" Or on some Ih-llying rock that shades the deep, 
Tliey view tlio lurid signs that cross the sky, 
Wliere in tho west, the brooding tem]>rsts lie, 

And hear the first, (hint rustling pennons sweep. 

Or in the arclie<l cave, where deep and dark 
The broad, unbroken billows lieave and swell, 

In iiorrid musings wrapt, they sit to mark 
The lab'ring nuKin ; or list tho mighty yell 

Of that dread s|)lrit whose gigantic form. 
The seer's entranced eye can well surv(^y, 

"JMirouuh the dim air who guides tho driving storm, 
And points tho wretched burk its destined proy. 



As Boreas threw his young Aurora* forth. 

In the first year of the first George's reign. 
And battles raged in welkin of the North, 

They mourned in air, fell, fell rebellion slain! 
And as, of late, they joyed in Preston's fight. 

Saw, at sad Falkirk, all their hopes near crowned! 
They raved ! divining, through their second sight.t 

Pide, red CuUoden, where these hopes were 
drowned ! 
Illustrious William!* Britain's guardian name; 

One Williai7i saved us from a tyrant's stroke; 
lie, for a sceptre, gained heroic fame. 



Or him who hovei-a on his flagging wing, 

O'l^r tlu^ dire whirlpool, that, in ocean's waste, 
Draws instant down whate'er devoted thing 

The falling breeze within its reach hath placed — 
The distant sejiman hears, and flies with trembling haste. 

Or, if on land tho fiend exerts his sway. 
Silent ho broods o'er quicksand, bog, or fen, 
Far from the sheltering roof and haunts of men. 

When witched darkness shuts the eye of day, 
And shrouds each star that wont to cheer the night; 

Or, if the drifted snow perplex the way. 
With treacherous gleam ho lures the fated wight. 

And leads him floundering on and quite astray./' 

Shortly after these lines by Mr. Mackenzie liad been pub- 
lished, the following were produced; which many readers 
probably will think have at least as much of CoUins's manaer 
in them: 

" For oft when Eve hath spread her dusky veil, 
And hid each star that wont to cheer the night, 

In some deep glen remote from human sight, 
The grisly wizard his associates hail. 
Thereat the thrilling verse, and charmed spell, 

Fniitastic sliapes and diielul shadows throng; 
Night's solicr ear piercing with hideous yell. 

While in the goblin round they troop along. 

"Tlienco each betakes him to his several toil ; 

To dive, to fly, to ride the wintry blast, 
To dig the mine, to cleave tho church-yard soil. 

Or rake the bottom of the watery waste. 
Each powerful drug, witli more than mortal skill, 

Where'er bestowed, or hid from searching eye. 
Selecting heedful of their tasker's will : 

Nor cease tlieir labours till the dawn descry 
Their hated impious work, and reddens all tho sky. 

" Nor wilt thou leave for other bard.s to sing, 

The nitliless siiirit of the angry flood ; 

IIow, at gray eve, in fell and crafty mood, 
O'er fen and lake ho shakes his foggy wing: 
Or when tlie curfew with his sullen note. 

Unchains, to roam the earth, each elfin sprite. 
Like some drear lamp, from out the quaggy moat, 

Tlio fiend shines forth, to lure th' incautious wight." 

* By young Aurora, Collins undoubtedly meant the first 
appearance of the northern lights, which happened alxiuttho 
year 1715; at least, it is n^ost liighly probable, from this po- 
culiarcircumstance, that no ancient writer whatever has taken 
any notice of them, nor even any one modern, previous to tlio 
above period. 

I Second sight is the term that is used for the divination of 
the Highlanders. 

} The late diike of Cumberland, who defeated the Prctendei 
Ot tlio battle of Cullodon. 



ODES. 



17 



, But thou, more glorious, Slavery's chain hast 

broke. 
To reign a private man, and bow to Freedom's 

yoke! 

These too, thou'It sing I for well thy magic muse 

Can to the topmost heaven of grandeur soar ; 

Or stoop to wail the swain that is no more ! 
Ah, homely swains I your homeward steps ne'er 
lose ; 

Let not dank Will* mislead you to the heath ; 
Dancing in mirky night, o'er fen and lake, 

He glows to draw you downward to your death, 
In his bewitched, low, marshy, willow brake! 
What though far off from some dark dell espied. 

His glimmering mazes cheer th' excursive sight. 
Yet turn, ye wanderers, turn your steps aside. 

Nor trust the guidance of that faithless light ; 
For watchful, lurking, 'mid th' unrustling reed, 

At those mirk hours the wily monster lies, 
And listens oft to hear the passing steed, 

And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes. 
If chance his savage wrath may some weak wretch 
surprise. 

Ah, luckless swain, o'er all unblest, indeed ! 

Whom late bewildered in the dank, dark fen. 

Far from the flocks, and smoking hamlet, then ! 
To that sad spot where hums the sedgy weed : 

On him, enraged, the fiend, in angry mood. 
Shall never look with Pity's kind concern. 

But instant furious, raise the whelming flood 
O'er its drowned banks, forbidding all return 1 

Or, if he meditate his wished escape. 
To some dim hill, that seems uprising near, 

To his faint eye, the grim and grisly shape, 
In all its terrors clad, shall wild appear, 

Meantime the watery surge shall round him rise. 
Poured sudden forth from every swelling source ! 

What now remains but tears and hopeless sighs 1 
His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthful force. 
And down the waves he floats, a pale and breath- 
less corse ! 

For him in vain his anxious wife shall wait. 

Or wander forth to meet him on his way ; 
For him in vain at to-fall of the day. 

His babes shall linger at th' unclosing gate ! 
Ah, ne'er shall he return ! Alone, if Night, 

Her traveled limbs in broken slumbers steep ! 
With drooping willows drest, his mournful sprite 

Shall visit sad, perchance, her silent sleep : 
Then he, perhaps, with moist and watery hand. 

Shall fondly seem to press her shuddering cheek. 
And with his blue-swoln face before her stand. 

And, shivering cold, these piteous accents speak : 



• A fiery meteor, called by varioua names, such as Will 
with the Wisp, Jack with the T.antem, &c. ; it hovers in the 
oir over marshy and fenny placcB, 



" Pursue, dear wife, thy daily toils, pursue, 
At dawn or dusk, industrious as before ; 

Nor e'er of me one helpless thought renew. 
While I lie weltering on the osiered shore, 

Drowned by the Kelpie's* wrath, nor e'er shall 
aid thee more !" 

Unbounded is thy range ; with varied skill 

Thy muse may, like those feathery tribes which 
spring 

From their rude rocks, extend her skirting wing 
Round the moist marge of each cold Hcbrid isle. 

To that hoar pilot which still its ruins shows : 
In whose small vaults a pigmy-folk is found. 

Whose bones the dclverwith his spade upthrows, 
And culls them, wondering, from the hallowed 

ground ! 
Or thithcr,t where beneath the showery west, 

The mighty kings of three fair realms are laid : 
Once foes, perhaps, together now they rest. 

No slaves reVere them, and no wars invade : 
Yet frequent now, at midnight solemn hour, 

The rifled mounds their yawning cells unfold. 
And forth the monarchs stalk with sovereign power, 

In pageant robes, and wreathed with sheeny gold, 
And on their twilight tombs atrial council hold. 

But, oh, o'er all, forget not Kilda's race. 

On whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting 
tides. 

Fair Nature's daughter, Virtue, yet abides. 
Go! just, as they, their blameless manners trace! 

Then to my ear transmit some gentle song 
Of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain, 

Their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along, 
And all their prospect but the wintry main. 

With sparing temperance, at the needful time. 
They drain the scented spring ; or hunger-prest, 

Along th' Atlantic rock, undreading climb. 
And of its eggs despoil the solan's! nest. 

Thus blest in primal mnoccnce they live. 
Sufficed, and happy with that frugal fare 

Which tasteful toil and hourly danger give. 
Hard is their shallow soil, and bleak and bare ; 

Nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there ! 

Nor need'st thou blush that such false themes engage 
Thy gentle mind, of fairer stores possest ; 
For not alone they touch the village breast. 

But filled in elder time, th' historic page. 
There, Shakspeare's self, with every garland 
crowned, 

• The water-fiend. 

T One of tiio Hebrides is called the isle of Pigmies ; where, 
it Is reported, that several miniature bones of the human spe- 
cies have been dug up in the ruins of a chapel there. 

t Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides, where near sixty of the an- 
cient Scottisli, Irish, and Norwegian kings are interred. 

§ An aquatic bird like a gooso, on the eggs of which the in- 
habitants of St. Kilda, another of the Hebrides, chiefly subsist. 



18 



COLLINSES WORKS. 



Flew to those fairy climes his fancy sheen, 

In musing hour ; his wayward sisters found, 
And with their terrors drest the magic scene. 

From them he sung, when, 'mid his bold design, 
Before the Scot, afflicted, and aghast ! 

The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line 
Through the dark cave in gleamy pageant passed. 

Proceed ! nor quit the tales which, simply told, 
Could once so well my answering bosom pierce ; 

Proceed, in forceful sounds, and colour bold, 
The native legends of thy land rehearse ; 
To such adapt thy lyre, and suit thy powerful 
verse. 

In scenes like these, which, daring to depart 

From sober truth, are still to Nature true. 

And call forth fresh delight to Fancy's view, 
Th' heroic muse employed her Tasso's art ! 

How have I trembled, when, at Tancred's stroke, 
Its gushing blood the gaping cypress poured ! 

When each live plant with mortal accents spoke! 
And the wild blast upheaved the vanished sword ! 

How have I sat, when piped the pensive wind. 
To hear his harp by British Fairfax strung ! 

Prevailing Poet ! whose undoubting mind ! 
Believed the magic wonders which he sung ! 

Hence, at each sound, imagination glows ! 
Hence, at each picture, vivid hfe starts here ! 

Hence his warm lay with softest sweetness flows ! 
Melting it flows, pure, murmuring, strong, and 

clear. 
And fills th' impassioned heart, and wins th' har- 
monious ear ! 

All hail, ye scenes that o'er my soul prevail; 
Ye splendid friths and lakes, which, far away. 

Are by smooth Annan* filled, or past'ral Tay,* 
Or Don's* romantic springs, at distance hail ! 
The time shall come, when I, perhaps, may tread 

Your lowly glens,t o'erhung with spreading 
broom; 
Or, o'er your stretching heaths, by Fancy led ; 

Or o'er your mountains creep, in awful gloom ! 
Then will I dress once more the faded bower. 

Where Jonsont sat in Drummond's classic shade; 
Or crop from Tiviotdale, each lyric flower, 

And mourn on Yarrow's banks, where Willy's 
laid! 
Meantime, ye powers that on the plains which bore 

The cordial youth, on Lothian's plains! attend! — 
Where'er Home dwells, on hill, or lowly moor, 

To him I love your kind protection lend, 
And touched with love like mine, preserve my 
absent friend! 

* Three rivers in Scotland. t Valleya. 

X Ben Jonson paid a visit on foot, in 1619, to the Scotch poet 
Drummond, at his seat of Hawthomden, within four miles of 
Edinburgh. 

S Barrow, it seems, was at the Edinbuj^h University, which 
is in the cotmty of Lothian, 



The following exquisite Supplemental Stanzas to the 
foregoing Ode, will be found to commemorate some striking 
Scottish superstitions omitted by Collins. They are the pro- 
duction of William Erskine, Esq. Advocate, and form a Con- 
tinuation of the Address, by Collins, to the Author of Douglas, 
exhorting him to celebrate the traditions of Scotland. They 
originally appeared in the EdinburghMagazine for April, 1788. 

"Thy muse may tell, how, when at evening's 
close, 

To meet her love beneath her twilight shade, 
O'er many a broom-clad brae and heathy glade, 

In merry mood the village maiden goes, 
There, on a streamlet's margin as she lies. 

Chanting some carol till her swain appears, 
With visage, deadly pale, in pensive guise. 

Beneath a withered fir his form he rears!* 
Shrieking and sad she bends her eirie flight. 

When mid dire heaths, where flits the taper blue, 
The whilst the moon sheds dim a sickly light, 

The airy unreal meets her blasted view! 
When, trembling, weak, she gains her cottage low, 

Where magpies scatter notes of presage wide, 
Some one shall tell, while tears in torrents flow. 

That just when twilight dimmed the green hills' 
side. 

Far in his lonely sheil her hapless shepherd died. 

" Let these sad strains to lighter sounds give place! 

Bid thy brisk viol warble measures gay ! 
For see ! recalled by thy resistless lay. 

Once more the Brownie shows his honest face. 
Hail, from thy wanderings long, my much-loved 
sprite. 

Thou friend, thou lover of the lowly, hail. 
Tell, in what realms thou sport'st thy merry night, 

Trail'st the long mop, or whirl'st the mimic flail. 
Where dost thou deck the much-disordered hall, 

While the tired damsel in Eysium sleeps. 
With early voice to drowsy workmen call, 

Or lull the dame while mirth his vigils keeps T 
'Twas thus in Caledonia's domes, 'tis said, 

Thou phed'st the kindly task in years of yore : 
At last, in luckless hour, some erring maid 

Spread in thy nightly cell of viands store: 
Ne'er was their form beheld among the mountains 
more.t 



* The wraith, or spectral appearance, of a person shortly to 
die, is a firm article in the creed of Scottish superstition. Nor 
is it unknown in our sister kingdom. See the beautiful Lady 
Diana Rich. — Aubrey's Miscellanies, p. 89. 

t 'The Broisnie formed a class of beings, distinct in habit 
and disposition from the freakish and mischievous elves. He 
was meagre, shaggy, and wild in his appearance. Thus, Clea- 
land, in his satire against the Highlanders, compares them to 

'Faunes, or brownies, if ye will, 
Or satyrs come from Atlas hill. 

' In the day time, he lurked in remote recesses of the old 
houses which he delighted to haunt ; and, in the night, sedu. 
lously employed himself in discharging any laborious tasfe 



ODES. 



19 



" Then wake (for well thou can'st) that wondrous 
lay, 
How, while around the thoughtless matrons 
sleep, 
Soft o'er the floor the treacherous fairies creep, 
And bear the smiling infant far away: 

which he thought might be acceptable to the family, to whose 
service he had devoted himself. But, although, like Milton's 
lubber fiend, he lovea to stretch himself by the fire,* he does 
not drudge from the hope of recompense. On the contrary, 
so delicate is his attachment, that the offer of reward, but 
partictilarly of food, infallibly occasions his disappearance for 
ever.t 

• ' — ^how the drudging goblin sweats^ 
To earn the cream-bowl, duly set ! 
When, in one night, ere glimpse of mom, 
His shadowy flail had thrashed the corn, 
That ten day-lab'rers could not end; 
Then lies him down the lubber fiend 
And stretched out all the chimney's length. 
Basks on the fire his airy strength : 
And, crop-full out of door he flings. 
E'er the first cock his matin rings.' 

VAUegTO. 

'When the menials in a Scottish family protracted their 
vigils around the kitchen fire, Brownie, weary of being ex- 
cluded from the midnight hearth, sometimes appeared at the 
door, seemed to watch their departure, and thus admonished 
them— "Gang a' to your beds, sir, and dinna put out the wee 
grieshoch (embers." ') 

lit is told of a Brownie, who haunted a border family now 
extinct, that the lady having fallen unexpectedly in labour, 
and the servant who was ordered to ride to Jedburgh for the 
sage femme showing no great alertness in setting out, the 
familiar spirit slipt on the great-coat of the lingering domes- 
tic, rode to the town on the laird's best horse, and returned 
with the midwife en croupe. During the short space of his 
absence, the Tweed, which they must necessarily ford, rose 
to a dangerous height Brownie, who transported his charge 
with all the rapidity of the ghostly lover of Lenora, was not to 
be stopped by this obstacle. He plunged in with the terrified 
old laidy, and landed her in safety where her services were 



How starts the nurse, when for her lovely child, 

She sees at dawn a gaping idiot stare ! 
O snatch the innocent from demons wild, 

And save the parents fond from fell despair ! 
In a deep cave the trusty menials wait. 

When from their hilly dens at midnight's hour, 
Forth rush the airy elves in mimic state. 

And o'er the moonlight heath with swiftness 
scour : 
In glittering arms the little horsemen shine ; 

Last, on a milk-white steed, with targe of gold, 
A fay of might appears, whose arms entwine 

The lost-lamented child! the Shepherds bold* 
The unconscious infant tear from his unhallowed 
hold." 



' For an account of the Fairy superstition, see the Intfoduc- 
tion to the "Tale of Tamlane," in that elegant work called 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. ii. p. 174. Second 
Edition. 

wanted. Having put the horse into the stable where it was 
afterwards found in a woful plight, he proceeded to the room 
of the servant, whose duty he had discharged ; and finding 
him just in the act of drawing on his boots, he administered 
to him a most merciless drubbing with his own horse-whip. 
Such an important service excited the gratitude of the laird; 
who, understanding that Brownie had been heard to express 
a wish to have a green coat, ordered a vestment of that colour 
to be made, and left in his haunts. Brownie took away the 
green coat, but never was seen more. We may suppose, that 
tired of his domestic drudgery, he went in his new livery to 
join the fairies. 

'The last Brownie, known in Ettrick forest, resided in Bods- 
beck, a wild and solitary spot, where he exercised his func- 
tions undisturbed, till the scrupulous devotion of an old lady 
induced her to hire him away, as it was termed, by placing 
in his haunt a porringer of milk and a piece of money. After 
receiving this hint to depart, he was heard the whole night 
to howl and cry, "Farewell to bonny Bodsbeck!" which he 
was compelled to abandon for ever.' 

It seems no improbable conjecture, that the Brownie is « 
legitimate descendant of the Lar FamiUaris of the ancienta 



THE END 




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